by Tim O'Rourke
“Where you heading?” he grunted.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said, offering him a friendly smile.
He peeked back at me, unsmiling, from behind the heavy bags of flesh that hung about his eyes. “Well maybe you’d like to step out of line until you’ve made up your mind.”
I glanced back over my shoulder and could see that there was no one else in line behind me. I faced front and smiled through the glass at him again from beneath my hood. “I was wondering if you can remember serving a guy yesterday…”
“I serve a lot of people a lot of the time,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest and rocking back in his seat.
“This guy was about my age – in his early-twenties,” I started to explain. “He has dark messy hair, blue eyes and stubble…”
“Don’t remember him,” the clerk said. “Now unless you want to buy a ticket, step away from the window, I have other customers…”
“There are no other customers,” I said. “I just need to know if you saw my friend yesterday…”
“Do you have a picture?” the guy sighed.
“No,” I said, knowing that I now sounded dumb.
“Then I can’t help you,” he said.
I stepped back from the window and turned away. What was I to do now? The clerk was a complete jerk and didn’t want to even listen to me, let alone offer any help. I could buy a ticket and head for Snake Weed, but Nev’s bike wasn’t outside on the rack so he might not have even got this far or even come to the station. I could be wasting valuable time if I headed for Snake Weed and Nev wasn’t even there. Glancing up, I spotted something, then turned back to face the clerk.
“That CCTV camera,” I said, hooking my thumb back in the direction of the far corner of the ceiling, “does it work?”
“Of course it works,” the clerk grunted. “Now do you want a ticket to travel or not? You can’t just loiter here all day – it’s an offence you know…”
“I want to see the CCTV footage for yesterday morning,” I said through the glass partition.
“Are you a cop?” the guy sneered back at me with one raised eyebrow.
I had once been a cop, but not any longer. Back then the guy would have let me into the ticket office to view the CCTV with one quick flash of my badge – but now. “No, I’m not a cop,” I said.
“Then get out of here before I call one,” he said, reaching for a telephone that sat to one side on the counter behind the glass.
Knowing that I was getting nowhere fast with the clerk, I turned away and left the ticket office. I went back to my car, climbed inside, and listened to the rain bounce off the windscreen and roof. If I could just get a look at the CCTV, then I would know if Nev had come to the station yesterday and headed for Snake Weed. But the clerk was determined not to help me, however much I smiled sweetly at him. I needed someone who could be far more persuasive than me. Someone who always managed to get their own way in the end. Taking my phone from my pocket, I found Potter’s number and hit the dial button.
Chapter Eight
If I could have thought of another idea other than calling Potter for help, then I would have grabbed at it with both hands. But I had little time, and Nev needed my help. I had to put my own feelings to one side if I were going to help him. He deserved that much at least. I had let Nev down very badly, and if I could in some way put that right, I would, even if it meant calling on Potter. I sat with the phone pressed to my ear.
“What?” Potter said. He sounded irritable as usual.
“It’s me, Kiera,” I said, then took a deep breath. I felt nervous – like I was calling up a guy I hardly knew to arrange a date.
“I didn’t think you wanted to speak to me,” he said. He drew a deep breath too, but not because he was nervous. He was smoking, I could tell.
“I don’t want to speak to you,” I said.
“Then what are you doing now?”
I could picture him smirking in my mind’s eye and I felt the sudden urge to disconnect the call. But I didn’t. I stayed on the line for Nev’s sake – or that’s what I tried to tell myself at least.
“So what do you want?” he asked, breathing deeply again as he sucked on the cigarette I could picture hanging from one corner of his mouth.
“I need your help,” I said.
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Nev is in trouble.”
“Nev?” Potter said as if he’d forgotten all about him. “Nev who?”
“Stop playing games with me, Potter, I don’t have time,” I sighed. “Are you going to help me or not?” I swallowed hard, taking some of my pride with it. “You know very well who I’m talking about – the guy I was having dinner with the other night before you came barging in.”
“Now why would I want to help him?” Potter asked.
I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. “Because you would be helping me, just how I helped you.”
“And how did you help me?”
“When I saved Sophie’s life,” I whispered.
There was a long silence from Potter’s end of the line. “Where are you?” he eventually asked.
“Outside Havensfield Railway Station,” I said, opening my eyes again.
“What the fuck are you doing all the way out there?”
“I’ll explain when you get here,” I said. “How long will you be?”
The phone clicked dead before he answered.
I placed the phone back into my pocket, then pulled back my hood. Lowering the vanity mirror, I looked into it and straightened my hair. In the distance I heard what sounded like the approaching rumble of thunder. Was there another train coming, I wondered. But deep inside, I knew it wasn’t a train or thunder. I knew that sound far too well to mistake it for something else. I caught the sight of a black fleeting shadow reflected in the vanity mirror, then Potter was yanking open the passage door and climbing inside.
“You were quick,” I said, glancing sideways at him.
“Now that’s something I hope I never hear you say again,” he said, taking a cigarette from a crumpled packet.
“What I meant was that you didn’t waste any time in getting here,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Are you following me?”
“In your dreams, hot-lips,” he mumbled from the side of his mouth as he lit the cigarette.
I wound down the window an inch. I’d given up asking him not to smoke in my car. I’d stopped doing that at least two lifetimes ago.
“So what kind of trouble has this kid got himself into?” Potter asked, blowing smoke through his nose.
“Nev isn’t a kid, he’s as old you,” I reminded him.
“He looks like a kid,” Potter remarked. “I saw the paint all over his fingers. What does he do for a living – finger-fucking-painting? I’ll show him what a real man does with his fingers.”
“Prop a cigarette between them?” I shot back.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said.
“I know what you meant,” I told him. “But I chose not to be drawn in by your juvenile comments. This is serious, Potter.”
“So what’s gone and got your knickers all in a twist?” he said, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette and into the foot-well of my car.
“I got a text from Nev this morning saying that he needed my help,” I started to explain.
“Help with what, exactly? Tying his shoelaces, perhaps?” Potter cut in.
“Look, if you’re just going to sit there and be a dick, then you might as well go,” I said, leaning across him and pushing open the passenger door.
Potter placed one hand over mine. His touch was soft. That light and shade in him confused me so much. “Okay, I’m listening,” he said, catching my eye.
Slowly, I pulled the door shut and slid my hand from his hold. The urge to keep my hand in his was maddening, but I fought it. But I found it harder to break his dark stare. He looked at me with those deep black pools. His hair was still damp with rain, and thick, black
strands of it hung over his brow. The collar of his long, dark coat was turned up against his neck and he almost seemed to stare over it at me. And however much I didn’t want to admit it – however hard I tried to bury my feelings for him – as soon as we were together again, I was fighting a constant battle within myself. I wanted to touch him, hold him, pull him close into me, kiss him, tear off his clothes, push him down, make love to him and let him make love to me. But I knew that we couldn’t do any of those things. I looked away back out across the carpark toward the cycle rack. I had to stay focused. I had to concentrate on helping Nev.
“I tried to call Nev back after receiving his text but got no answer – just the sound of ringing,” I started to explain again. “So I went to where he lives and the old lady that lives there…”
“He lives with an old woman?” Potter said. “He’s not into necrophilia, is he?”
“She’s not a corpse, for crying out loud!” I snapped at him. “She’s his landlady.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Potter said. “I was just checking that’s all. It’s just that you don’t know much about this guy...”
“I know enough to know that he doesn’t go around shagging dead people,” I shot back, fast losing my patience again. “Now can you just be serious for once, or get out.”
“Sorry,” he sighed, flicking the butt end of his cigarette out the gap at the top of the window. He lit another one at once.
“Mavis said…”
“Who’s Mavis?” Potter cut in.
“The old woman,” I sighed deeply, then continued. “Mavis said that Nev had left home yesterday and she thinks he might have headed to a place called Snake Weed…”
“Where’s that?” Potter interrupted.
“You really don’t know?” I asked, raising one eyebrow at him.
“No. Should I?”
“Maybe not,” I said thoughtfully. “Anyway, Mavis believes that he would have ridden his bike to this station then caught a train to Snake Weed.”
“So is his motorbike here?” Potter asked, glancing through the rain-spattered windscreen.
“It’s a push bike,” I said,
“A push bike?” Potter grinned at me, the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Yeah, a push bike,” I said right back. “So what?”
“Well, how do you know it’s not one of those?” he said, pointing with one finger in the direction of the cycle rack.
“Because none of them have a shopping basket attached to the front,” I said.
“A shopping basket!” Potter sputtered, coughing up a lungful of smoke. “What is this kid, some kind of fucking Miss Marple wannabe?”
“He uses the basket on the front so that he can go into the Ragged Cove and get groceries for Mavis. She has problems walking.”
“This Nev sounds like a right boy scout, if you ask me,” Potter said.
“Well. I’m not asking you what you think, I’m just asking for your help,” I reminded him.
“I was just saying, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t,” I said.
“So what is it you want me to do, exactly?” Potter asked.
“I asked the ticket clerk in the station if I could view the CCTV,” I said. “I just want to check it to see if Nev actually came to the station yesterday and caught a train to Snake Weed. But he’s being a real jerk and refuses to help me. So I thought you might be able to use your charms on him. Persuade him to let me take a look at the CCTV footage from yesterday.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Potter said, making his hands into fists – cracking sounds coming from his knuckles.
“No violence, Potter,” I warned him.
“God, you really are a right killjoy, aren’t you,” he smirked back. “Okay, I’ll tickle the arsehole into submission.”
“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, that’s all,” I said, pushing open the car door and climbing out. Potter reached out and grabbed my arm, yanking me back into my seat.
“It’s just as difficult for me as it is for you,” he said, all signs of humour gone from his eyes.
“What is?” I asked.
“Us being together like this,” he said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking his arm free and climbing from the car.
Chapter Nine
Potter followed me back into the ticket office. Another train roared through the station, making the floor tremor and the windows rattle in their ancient frames. There were no other passengers about, so I approached the ticket booth.
“Not you again,” the clerk sighed, looking up at me.
“I was hoping that perhaps you had changed your mind about me viewing the CCTV from yesterday.” I smiled at him through the glass.
“I’ve already told you, lady, I’m not going to change my mind. So if you don’t want me to sell you a ticket, I’m taking a break.” Pushing his chair back, the clerk stood up, yanking a blind down over the window. The words, Position Closed, were stencilled across the front of the blind. I glanced at Potter who had been standing out of sight from the clerk by the door that led into the ticket booth.
Without saying a word, Potter closed one fist around the door handle. He pushed against it but the door was locked. I watched as his fist shape-shifted into a claw. He twisted the door handle again, and this time it broke free and clattered to the floor.
“Potter’s way saves the day.” He smiled at me before throwing open the door and striding into the ticket booth.
“You can’t come in here,” the guy said, jumping up out of his seat. He had opened a box of sandwiches and there was a pot of tea brewing. “This is a restricted area. No public access.”
“Do you want a slap?” Potter growled at him.
“No,” the clerk said, puffy eyes now bulging as Potter loomed over him.
“So I suggest you just shut the fuck up and sit down and no one will get hurt. Do you understand?” Potter said, rolling back his lips into a snarl and giving the clerk the briefest glimpse of his fangs.
With the redness fast fading from the man’s jowls, he slumped back down into his chair and I couldn’t help but notice the sudden dark patch that was forming in his lap.
“Do you understand?” Potter whispered, leaning into the man.
The clerk simply nodded.
“Good,” Potter said, standing straight.
I closed the door to the ticket booth so the three of us were alone inside. With the blind still drawn down over the window, we couldn’t be seen from outside.
“Now, I’d be very grateful to you if you could show my friend the CCTV from yesterday morning,” Potter said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He lent against the wall.
Without putting forward any further objections, the clerk swivelled around in his chair and faced a monitor attached to the wall. With his fingers twitching nervously, he hit the keyboard that was on the counter before him. The monitor flickered to life. The screen was divided into four squares, each showing a different image of the station. The first showed the carpark, the second the ticket office, the third platform one, and the last, platform two.
“Take it back to yesterday morning,” I said, staring up at the screen.
I heard the keys clack as the man’s fingers twitched over them. I could smell roast beef wafting from the sandwiches on the counter. Without looking at them, I reached out, snatching one of them up. I felt hungry again. I took a bite. The beef tasted salty. It tasted good. “There,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich. “I can see Nev.”
In the first square, I could see Nev wheeling his bike across the carpark towards the front of the station. He then disappeared out of shot. But I could now be certain that he had come here. I looked at screen two as he walked into the ticket office, wheeling the bike at his side. I watched him head to the ticket booth. The clerk, whose sandwich I now ate and Potter had caused to wet his trousers, was sitting behind the glass. Nev approached him and bought a ticket.
&
nbsp; “Where was he heading?” I asked the clerk without looking away from the monitor. I didn’t want to miss a thing.
“Silent Gorge,” the clerk said.
“Where the fuck is that?” Potter said, propped against the booth wall.
“Is it near to a place called Snake Weed?” I asked the clerk.
“Yes,” he nodded without looking at either of us. “Silent Gorge is the nearest railway station to Snake Weed. Snake Weed is too small to have its own…”
“Okay, I don’t need a frigging geography lesson,” Potter said, dropping his cigarette to the floor and squashing it flat with the heel of his boot.
“So you did remember my friend then?” I asked the man.
“Only now that I’ve seen him,” he said.
Whether this was true or not, I didn’t know or really care. All that mattered was that I could now say for sure that he had headed for Snake Weed. “What about the bike?”
“He would have put it in the guard van on the train,” the clerk said.
I continued to watch the monitor as Nev walked out of the ticket office onto the platform where he waited for his train. His wait wasn’t long before a train pulled into the station. And just like the clerk said he would, Nev placed his bike into the guard van, then climbed on board.
“Seen enough?” Potter asked, stepping away from the wall.
“Yes,” I said, turning away and heading for the door.
Placing his hands on the clerk’s shoulders, Potter turned him round so that he could look into the man’s face. “Now listen to me, if I so much suspect that you’ve told anyone about me and my friend, I promise I will find out who or what you love most in this world and kill it. I don’t care if it’s your wife, girlfriend, or your pet fucking hamster. Whatever it is, I will find it and rip its fucking heart out. Do you understand me?” Potter snarled just an inch from the clerk’s face.
