Night Watcher

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘Sorry love, I’m not in the mood,’ he shouted over his shoulder, as he vanished up the dark street.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Julie slowed when she reached the end of the alley, but even then it was not enough and she almost collided with an elderly couple as she turned onto Whitehall Street. ‘Sorry,’ she panted. The breath whistled out of her throat in a wheeze as she struggled to regain her composure.

  ‘And so ye should be,’ the old man scowled. ‘Running out of the alley like that, ye near knocked us down. A woman of your age should know better, it’s not as if ye’re a lassie.’

  ‘Shh, Charlie, she didna mean it. Did ye no, hen?’ The woman smiled apologetically and, grasping her husband’s arm, she pulled him along the street. ‘C’mon or we’ll miss the start . . .’ her voice faded as they turned the corner and continued along Whitehall Crescent.

  There were more people than usual hurrying along the pavement. Some were coming from the direction of the railway station and some from the car park under the Tay Road Bridge which lay just beyond Tayside House. They formed a constant stream of bodies that met and merged in front of the massive building that towered over the city like a watchful sentinel of the ruling Council. She could only guess that some pop star or celebrity was appearing at the Caird Hall.

  Julie weaved her way through a mass of people hurrying in the opposite direction. Sidestepping to avoid a couple who seemed intent on pushing her out of their way she narrowly avoided bumping into an old busker with an accordion. She veered sharply to her right, battling through the crowd where more than once she collided with passers-by, but she sped on to cries of, ‘Canny up there,’ ‘What’s all the hurry,’ ‘Watch where ye’re going,’ or the more prevalent, ‘Get oot o ma fuckin road.’ Intent on catching up with Nicole, she paid no heed to any of them.

  Tayside House loomed in front of her. She sped past the metal mesh barriers which denied access to the escalators, and then through the short tunnel that connected the buildings on either side. With the multi-storey tower now at her back Julie gripped her shoulder bag close to her body and started to run. A combination of breathlessness and despair clutched at her insides. She was determined to catch up with Nicole, although afraid she would not, unless Nicole had been hindered by the throng of people as well.

  ***

  Nicole drew her hand back in disgust. The feathers were stiff and cold. As stiff as the body they clothed. She bit her lip as another scream threatened to erupt.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ The voice came out of the darkness behind her.

  She jumped and shrank back against the side of her car. He was tall and fairly young, although his face was in shadow.

  He raised a hand in a reassuring gesture. ‘It’s just that I heard you scream . . .’ his voice tailed off, ‘but if you’d rather I went . . .’ He turned and started to walk away.

  ‘No! No!’ Nicole pulled herself away from the side of her car. ‘It was just the shock, you see.’ She struggled to regain control of her breathing. ‘I . . . I wasn’t expecting it and it took me by surprise. It’s something horrible and it’s on the front seat,’ she looked at the black object. ‘I don’t want to touch it again.’

  He looked over her shoulder, ‘Christ, what the hell is it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I think it’s dead.’ She wanted to cry and her body stiffened as she held back the tears.

  Leaning into the car, he grasped the tip of a wing and held the blackbird up so that it dangled, wings outspread. ‘Christ, how the bloody hell did that get there?’ He looked at it for a moment and then threw the body into the shadows. ‘Some bloody sick buggers going about,’ he muttered.

  The dull, thudding sound of the bird hitting the ground vibrated from her head into her body, leaving an aching nauseous emptiness behind. The silence that followed was even more disturbing.

  ‘Will you be all right now?’ The stranger’s voice jarred her back from the black void into which she had been sinking.

  ‘I . . . I think so.’ She glanced at the driver’s seat in her car, still seeing the body lying there, although she knew it was gone, thrown into the dark recesses of the car park.

  ‘Here. I’ll wipe your seat for you.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave the leather a vigorous rub.

  He fidgeted for a moment and she sensed he wanted to leave. ‘I’ll be fine now.’ She sat in the seat with a jaunty confidence she did not feel. ‘Thanks for your help. I don’t think I could have touched that thing.’ Her foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The wheels spun, and with a roar of the engine the car sprang forward. Looking back over her shoulder as she slowed for the exit she noticed he was still standing where she had left him.

  ***

  Julie’s footsteps slowed when she reached the car park and she slipped behind one of the overhead carriageway’s support pillars. From this position she could see Nicole standing beside her car, although she could not hear her or see her face clearly. The young man Nicole was chatting to bent over the car and then made a peculiar throwing motion. Trust her to find a man, Julie thought, even in a car park. She was like a cat in heat, and they seemed to smell her out.

  Julie sidled round the pillar trying to get a better view, but she was still too far away to hear anything and had to be content with standing in the shadows and watching. She wanted to move nearer, but was afraid to in case she was seen. Gripping her arms round her body, she was oblivious of everything around her except for Nicole.

  In this state of mind it felt as if she were in a world apart, a strange place made up of shadows and fear, where revenge was the controlling force that held her in its grip and would not let her go. A world where she was an automaton pre-programmed for a task that was impossible for her to complete. A world where she did not really like herself anymore, but found it impossible to change and become the old Julie.

  The stutter of a nearby motorbike engine roused her from her reverie in time to see Nicole slide into her car, roar the engine and take off with a wheelspin that put her on a collision course with a pillar. Julie caught her breath, but Nicole straightened the car and drove out of the car park. Too bad, she thought, a dent in her bonnet would have given Nicole something to think about.

  ***

  The drive home seemed twice as long and, apart from an occasional car travelling in the opposite direction, was more deserted than usual. Wind tore at Nicole’s hair as she drove and her body shivered uncontrollably. She pressed the electric hood control, but nothing happened. It had always worked before and considering the cost of the car it should not have failed. But her driving was erratic and the car was not responding in its normal way. The engine spluttered and stuttered and occasionally a red light flashed on the dashboard. She shrank lower in her seat as the vulnerability of her situation struck her and, although she loved her sports car, she was now wishing she had taken the Saab this morning.

  Turning her head to look over her shoulder was becoming a habit, like a tic that was uncontrollable. She did not want to do it, but even though her car mirror told her there was nothing there, still could not prevent herself. Most times when she looked there was only the dark, winding, country road behind her, although, early in her journey, a tailgating car made her break out into a sweat until it roared past with an angry honk of the horn.

  Nothing else seemed to be moving on the road and she listened to the stutter of her engine with growing alarm. The single headlight of a motorbike almost dazzled her as it reflected back from her mirrors, ‘Dip your light, you fucker,’ she muttered under her breath in an attempt to stop the burst of nervous reaction that left her quivering.

  Reaching for her handbag on the seat beside her, she fumbled with the clasp, ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ she muttered as her slippery fingers struggled with the catch. She must have travelled miles before the bag eventually opened. She wiggled her fingers down past her purse and chequebook, past the comb and make-up bag, past the plethora of junk, rummaging for the
remote control, which somehow or other always seemed to slip to the bottom. Scott always said she should not keep it in her handbag, but then, when did she ever do what Scott said, or anybody else for that matter. Even as a child if she had been told to do one thing she would do the opposite.

  Her fingers had only just closed over the remote when the motor bike screamed past her car in a cloud of dust and fumes that almost choked her. The fumes still lingered in her nostrils when she pressed the remote button and the gates to her property slid open. She drove through them as fast as she could and only breathed properly again once they closed behind her.

  The long winding drive up to the house had never before seemed so hostile and deserted and when she reached the garage she was reluctant to leave the car. Not that the sporty model provided any protection, but at least it offered her a degree of mobility. Besides, the security lighting was off and the garages were in darkness. The logical part of her brain told her it must be a fuse, but the other part, the irrational side of her, feared the worst. She imagined shapes in every shadowy corner and footsteps in every rustle of the shrubbery.

  The wind whistled through the orchard, bending tree boughs and shaking bushes. Leaves rustled and moved. Shadows danced. She remembered stories of a big cat stalking through the Angus countryside and saw gleaming green eyes in the darkness among the trees. She thought about the moving shadow outside her dining room window last night and as each fear joined to other fears, she grasped her body with shaking arms and shrank into the seat of her car.

  Long before Scott arrived home she froze into an immobility that she found impossible to break on her own.

  The lights from Scott’s BMW splashed over Nicole as he drove up to park beside her. Even then she still could not move. She heard his door slam and the crunch of his feet approaching.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘You’ve scraped your car. How the hell did you manage that?’

  She looked up at him with a mute plea in her eyes. Couldn’t he see she was distressed? What was wrong with him?

  ‘Well, are you going to sit there all night? Get your butt off the seat and have a look.’ He bent down and traced his finger along the length of the car. ‘That’ll cost a pretty penny to put right,’ he grumbled. He pulled the door open, grasped her arm and pulled her from the car.

  The top part of Nicole’s body moved, but her feet and legs were reluctant to follow, and it was only when her face was in danger of coming into contact with the gravel that she managed to regain her balance. She leaned heavily on Scott’s arm, pressing her body into his. Shudders turned her into a quivering weakling. Hot tears pricked her eyes threatening the defences she had so carefully built round herself over the years. But Nicole would not cry. She had not cried since she was a child and, although she had difficulty quelling the threatened flood, she did not cry now.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ Scott tightened his arms round her. ‘Been in an accident or something?’

  Nicole could sense Scott’s perplexity. He was not used to her needing him in this way, although she could discern that in some strange way he was enjoying it.

  ‘It’s been a horrible day,’ she muttered. ‘Horrible things have happened.’ The flood was in danger of breaking.

  ‘Can’t have been that bad.’ He patted her, treating her like a child or a pet animal. ‘Come on into the house and have a drink. You’ll feel better.’ He guided her to the side door, flung it open and flicked the light switch. With both hands still on her shoulders, he pushed her gently into the kitchen.

  She froze. Stared. Shrank back into his body. A scream pushed its way up from her throat. She bit her lip until the blood came, to prevent it escaping, but was unable to stop the tortured groan it turned into.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Julie gathered her coat round her body, holding it tightly closed at the neck to keep out the cold blast of the wind. This is stupid, she thought, as she walked back towards Tayside House. Adrian was right, her obsession with revenge was eating at her, turning her into somebody even she could not recognize. It made her feel dirty. Maybe she should give it up, go back to Edinburgh, forget Nicole ever existed, forget Dave. Ah, but how could she forget Dave. A tear trickled down her cheek, solitary and cold, just like she was. In fact she thought she would never be warm again. How could she give up on Dave? It was a betrayal of everything that was important for her. And yet, it was destroying her, for with Nicole’s destruction came her own, and she knew that with victory there would also be defeat.

  Depression gripped her and she wanted to slide into the darkness. Maybe it would have been better to join Dave instead of following this course of revenge which was all consuming and was bound, in the end, to destroy her.

  Julie stumbled back the way she had come, barely conscious of her surroundings, oblivious to a junkie busker with his outstretched hand and an accordionist who only seemed to know one tune. She knew she should return to her flat and jog the poison out of her system, but there was no one waiting for her there and her flat would be empty and cold. Despair gripped her. Tiredness seeped through her body, sapping her energy. She wanted to lie down, to sleep never to waken, to join Dave wherever he was now. Her feet slowed, and when she left Tayside House behind her she turned in the direction of Whitehall Crescent and Donovan’s pub.

  It was warm inside and it buzzed with noise and life, however, she was on her third vodka before she started to revive and relax. She had never been much of a drinker before Dave died, but that had changed. Maybe it was the poison eating away inside her that made the difference or maybe it was just missing him. Missing his teasing about how prim and proper she was. Missing his laughter – laughter that always jolted her out of a bad mood. Missing his arms around her. Missing him just being there.

  ‘Another vodka.’ She waved her glass at the barman.

  She twirled her stool round and leaned her back against the bar while she sipped her drink and watched for a table to become vacant so she did not have to perch on the bar-stool that was just a little too high for comfort. Knowing she would have to be quick, she was ready when the crowd at the corner table started to move, and lifting her drink she crossed the room and slipped into an empty seat.

  ‘My, you were quick off your mark. We almost collided.’ He was medium height, had shoulder length hair, narrowed eyes that seemed to see right through her; several heavy gold chains round his neck and a fistful of finger rings that made her wonder how he managed to lift his glass.

  ‘Get you another drink, love?’

  She shook her head, ‘No thanks,’ and turned away from him hoping he would take the hint.

  ‘Oh well, whatever,’ he said, sitting down and placing his glass on the table. ‘Here on your own, love?’

  She looked over to the barman, but he was deep in conversation with a man at the end of the bar. Their heads were close together as if whatever they were saying to each other should not be overheard.

  ‘I’m waiting for someone,’ she said, hoping he would believe her and leave her alone.

  ‘That’s okay, love. I’ll just keep you company until he gets here.’ He pushed her glass over to her. ‘Drink up, love and I’ll get you another.’

  A hand reached over and took the glass from her just before it reached her lips. ‘I think that drink’s contaminated.’ The man from the end of the bar smiled down at her. ‘Hoppit, Sammy, or I’ll run you in and don’t you bother this lady again, she’s with me.’

  ‘Sorry pal. Didn’t realize she was your bird.’ Sammy’s eyes darted round the bar looking for a way out that would not damage his reputation.

  ‘Drink somewhere else, Sammy. I don’t want to see your face around here again.’ He held a finger up to the barman who came over with another drink. ‘Wash this one away, Stevie. I don’t think it would be healthy to drink it.’

  ‘Sure thing, Bill.’ The barman grinned at Julie. ‘You’ll be safe enough now.’

  ‘What the hell,’ said Julie, not sure
what had just happened.

  Bill slid into the seat beside her. ‘I’d better sit down in case chummy comes back.’ He held out his hand, ‘I’m Bill Murphy and I just saved you from a fate worse than death.’

  He grinned at her with a grin that was so infectious she had to smile back. ‘What is this fate you saved me from?’ Her eyes appraised him. He seemed nice in a pleasant sort of way. Attractive, but not too attractive, with his brown hair and eyes and slightly misshapen nose suggesting he might have been in a fight at some time.

  ‘Stevie saw him spike your drink. Says he’s done it before to girls who don’t have anyone with them, and he doesn’t want the pub to get a bad name.’

  ‘Oh,’ she swirled the vodka in her glass, ‘I see.’ She looked up at him from under her lashes. She liked what she saw. She also liked the note of quiet humour in his voice. Instinctively she knew that this was a man to be trusted. She relaxed, and for the first time in months Dave was not at the forefront of her mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was the kind of night he liked, where even the stars were hidden behind a cushion of darkness which enveloped everything, leaving the whole world in shadow, although some shadows were deeper than others. It was in these deeper shadows that he sought anonymity to observe the one he had been ordained to watch.

  He was there in the car park when she found his first gift. He watched her reaction. Savoured her fear.

  Ah, that was the delicious part, the fear.

  But her show of bravado irked him, even though he realised this was just one of her many pretences, because she would not want it to be known that she was afraid. For he knew that this woman, like all of her kind, ruled by inducing fear in others.

  There was still much more for him to do, although the night was not yet over, nor were all the gifts yet received.

  The motor bike felt firm and solid between his legs as he waited and watched in the shadows of the cars.