by G D Sheehen
He stood up readying himself to go. Julie and Walsh also got up.
“Not now, Philip. You can go there tomorrow. I’m not even sure if they still live there. The place is all overgrown and I haven’t seen Mrs Richards around the village in years.”
“He’s still there I know-”
The familiar sound of the polished stone rapping off the oak door echoed down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Who could that be at this hour?” said Julie.
Julie went out of the room again and Philip walked to the far wall to look at the family photos hanging there. Most of the frames were made by his father. He focused on one in particular, which was of him, Julie and Rodge at Dublin Zoo when they were about ten years old. His parents had brought them up for the day and at the time he thought of it as the best day he’d ever had.
“Lots of good memories here, I’m sure,” said Walsh, his gaze following Philip as he scanned the other photos. He didn’t reply.
Julie returned with a puzzled look on her face.
“You never said you had company,” she said over his shoulder.
He barely registered her words and turned slowly to see Razor Ray standing next to Julie, in their family home.
Walsh stood up and spread his shoulders in an apparent act of territorial marking, sensing something was not quite right. Or had he recognised Ray from the newspapers and anticipated the worst?
“A’right, Philly boy. I was waiting in the pub for you. I didn’t think you’d be this long so I came to fetch yous.”
Philip replied with a clear quiver in his voice, “Yeah. No worries, Ray. I was just about to leave and catch up with ya.”
“I’m his sister, Julie,” she said extending her hand in a warm welcome.
Ray took her hand and managed to seem like a genuine friend.
“Thanks for driving him down from Dublin,” she said.
“Yeah, thanks Ray. I can drop him back up. There’s no need for you to hang around waiting any longer,” said Walsh, eyeing him up and taking a few steps forward.
Walsh was no gangland thug but had the sinewy build of the rugby player he had told Philip he once was. If things kicked off, he could probably handle Ray, but that was the last thing Philip wanted happening in his home in front of his sister.
“There’ll be no need for that,” Philip said and walked forward to the space between the two raging bulls. “I’ll head off with Ray for a while. I need to get some air and register all of this anyway. I’ll come back later, I promise.”
“You don’t have to,” said Walsh.
“It’s okay,” said Julie, visibly sensing the tension now, between the three men. “If you need to take care of something you should go.”
Philip walked over and hugged Julie and walked past Ray, out to the hall.
“Are you comin’ or what?”
Ray bid them a cordial good night, never taking his eyes off his potential adversary. “This is a lovely home you’ve got here. You’re lucky to live in such a nice place.”
He turned and headed down the hall and out the opened door. Philip was already waiting by the Mercedes that was parked outside the house on the roadside. The doors beeped and clicked open and they both got in without saying a word. Philip simply pointed back the opposite direction to which the car was facing, down to the car park where the package was hidden. The tyres screeched and skidded as Ray pulled a three-point turn and sped down the dark country road towards the cliff walk. Philip saw Julie’s worried face at the door as they drove away.
33
“I hope you don’t expect to ever see them again.”
The car warmed up very quickly and although the situation had a presentiment of imminent violence, Philip couldn’t help thinking about how nice it would be to close his eyes and fall asleep in Ray’s luxurious car.
“Why is your brother, Dan, such a piece of shit?” he blurted out instead.
Ray slammed on the brakes, simultaneously punching him from close range, the kind of punch you might see an expert martial artist throw after several minutes of breathing exercises, crisp and thumping. Philip felt the stretch of skin on his cheek pull apart. He felt the warm air hit his raw flesh before feeling the trickle of blood flow down his face.
“Don’t make me do you in slowly, you prison junkie psycho. Now wipe that blood before any of it gets on my leather upholstery.”
He handed Philip a packet of tissues from the holder behind the handbrake and began rolling the car along to their destination.
“That’s right. I did a little checking up on you. Spent a long time in the nut cage in The Joy. Seein’ things, hearin’ voices, freaking out in the middle of the night, shouting about ghosts and goblins chasing you.”
“Pull into this car park. That’s my van.”
Yeah right, that’s your van. Where did you get a set of wheels all of a sudden?”
“I nicked it from the hippies in the forest.”
Ray sniggered through clenched teeth, a vein on the side of his head bulging. “That shower of fuckin’ clowns. What were you doin’ there anyways?”
“Trying to get away from you.”
“That didn’t work out very well, though, did it?”
He pulled up next to the van and told Philip not to move, then proceeded to get out and inspect the van, likely to see if anyone was waiting to jump him like the girl in The Glenealo Valley the night before. Satisfied it was all clear he came around his car and opened the passenger door and ordered Philip out.
“What I meant to ask was; was there something in Dan’s past that pushed him over the edge, made him not give a fuck anymore?”
The unmistakable sound of sharpened steel scraping off the handle as it flicked open came up from Ray’s side. Face to face with Philip, his eyes squinted in malevolent purity. Philip had to take a step back he was getting so close.
He spoke from the depths of his chest, voice deepened to near imperceptibility, “I can’t wait to be done with you.”
“We were at a house party for a few days together before and he told me-”
“He fuckin told yous what?” he said moving even closer. Philip felt the backs of his legs blocked by the two-foot car park wall. He almost fell to a sitting position but managed to stay standing.
“He told me he took the smack to forget about something that happened to him when he was young,” Philip said, disregarding his personal safety at this stage.
Ray took a step back and his deathly stare shot off to the side for a brief but meaningful moment. Philip thought he now had a chance to appeal to Ray to allow him to confront Mr Richards first before he did whatever he was going to do with him.
“We have that in common, me and Dan,” said Philip. “I feel shit about what happened the other night. I really didn’t mean it. He came at me wit-”
“You should have finished the fucking scumbag pervert off,” Ray said and exhaled deeply, his face still tightened, lips clasped. He took a deep breath and grabbed Philip by the scruff. “I don’t have time for this therapy session. Where is it?”
“In the van, under the floorboard.”
“You better not be fuckin’ with me this time, you little cunt.”
He dragged Philip to the side towards the van and pushed him forward. Philip bent down to get the keys from over the wheel and suddenly felt the tip of the knife on the back of his neck.
“What is it you think you’re doing?”
“I’m getting the keys, so I can open the van.”
“Slowly does it.”
Philip jangled the keys as soon as he found them, then Ray allowed him to rise and turn. When he turned he caught sight of the Richards’ place and stopped dead on the spot, gazing with bewildered unease towards the place he increasingly believed was where everything went wrong. Ray turned to look in the direction of the house that so entranced him. Only the top of the roof and four chimneys were visible through the untended tree line.
“Looks like a nice gaff. Who
lives there?”
“My primary school headmaster and his family. But I’m not sure if anyone lives there anymore.”
“You look like maybe yous have a bone to pick with the fella. What happened? Did he bust yous with some gear on the schoolyard?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s gonna be no school reunion tonight, or any other night for that matter. Now go.”
Philip walked around the van and shimmied with the lock for long enough to make Ray spit out a few more threats. He finally got it open and leaned in, lifted up the board and pulled out the package. He turned and handed it to him. Ray examined it closely and straight away notice it had been sliced open.
“Looks like you’ve been helping yourself.”
“I did one hit with the girl who stabbed Dan, one more later that day, and the last one before I got on the bus in Dublin.”
“That’s another ninety quid yous owe me. Where did ya leave that little tramp anyway?”
“She died after taking that hit. I thought maybe it was a bad batch, kinda hoped it would do the same to me.”
“Well, you’re just a barrel of optimism and joy, aren’t you? Don’t fuckin’ move from this spot. I’ll be right back.”
The boot of his car opened automatically with the press of a button and he hid the package in what Philip could make out looked like a secret compartment on the side body. Ray closed the boot and returned to Philip.
“What am I gonna do with you now, is the question?”
Headlights of a passing car lit up the car park. Ray looked back to see if someone was going to pull in but the car proceeded along the coast road.
“I was beginning to think this little village was abandoned or something. That’s the first car I seen since I got off the main road.”
Philip rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lower lip. The thought that he wasn’t going to find any answers before Ray had his revenge was partially clouded by the sheer exhaustion he felt.
“There’s a cliff walk over there,” he said, gesturing with a heavy tilt of his head. “We could have some privacy, to do what you have to do.”
Ray’s lips were pressed tight, he nodded slowly and said, “Lead the way.”
The trees were now swaying gently in the gathering breeze, clouds were gaining on the bright moon and the already chilled air became bitter. A wan smile, more of an acceptance of his fate, crossed Philip’s face as he looked back at the Richards’ place, one last time.
Two sets of feet scraping along the stretch of road that lead to the entrance and the floor slab reminded him of all the times he and Rodge went there together. Now he’d never get a chance to reminisce about those days. The news that he’d taken his own life left him feeling a part of him had also gone into those grounds and hung himself off a tree. It felt so familiar yet he couldn’t figure out why.
The blackened sea and the distant horizon called him to the edge of the cliff. There was relief that he got to see Julie one last time and anguish that he only got to see his nephew in that one brief moment. How he would have loved to tell him stories of his and Rodge’s childhood adventures. He deserved at least that much, but as usual Philip’s own lack of self-control robbed him of that.
The clouds were now thickening as only they can along these shores, sea and sky sending shafts of spray spitting up from the choppy tide. He inhaled a deep breath of briny air that tasted so familiar. In the clouds, the images of the Vampire King and the Dearg Due took form and this time he was willing to let his mind create for him hell in plain sight.
The warmth of Ray’s breath was on the back of his neck and he waited for the sharp blade to run along his throat at any second. The dark patch of grass at the cliff’s edge puzzled him and made him forget about Ray for an unsuspecting tragic moment. He looked out towards the horizon once more and now the clouds had reformed and presented him with an image of Eve Richards running away but running towards him, her arms outstretched, begging for help, or mercy, or rescue. If only I could remember how the story ended?
He turned to Ray, his mouth slackened and eyes widened. The look on his face must have given pause to what Ray was deciding to do, he lowered his knife and gave a look that seemed to ask ‘what the fuck is with you?’
Not a thought for the force of his capture that might rain down on him at any moment made him hesitate to drop to his knees and start digging furiously with his hands on the dark patch on the grass. It was a futile attempt and the involuntary shrieks of pain he let out, scraping his raw fingers along the hard soil, wasn’t enough to make him quit.
“What the hell are you playin’ at, Philly? Are you gonna dig your way out of this?” he said and let out a humourless laugh.
“There’s something buried here that might be able to tell me why my best friend killed himself seven years ago.” He looked towards the house. “He hung himself in that fuckin’ place over there, and I can’t remember why because I’m a sick schizophrenic junkie cunt.” Tears of anguish and despair flowed down his pale face. “Please, Ray. Let me finish what I came here to do. Then you can cut me to pieces, do what you fucking want with me.”
The cut on his hand had opened up and blood trickled down his fingers. Now his cheek and hand were covered in blood. Ray reached down and at first Philip thought he was going to finish him off, but instead he handed him the knife.
“Here, use this. You might have better luck than with your hands.”
His body trembling with anticipation, he sliced square sections in the soil and stabbed repeatedly before digging away the loose earth with his hands. Ray watched on with interest. After a full five frantic minutes of cutting and digging, the knife suddenly let out a blunt clanking noise. It had clearly struck something metal.
Ray lowered his body, tilting his head slightly in a mixed expression of surprise and wonder.
“What have you got buried there? Is it more gear?” he said and chuckled.
Philip seemed oblivious to his presence at this stage. His digging changed from the hectic hacking to an action with considerably more precision and care as if he were digging up a loved one who’d been buried alive. The soil formed a small mound next to where he dug and when the surface of the object became clearer he began scoring around its perimeter. With a little shimmying he pulled out the discoloured, with hints of red, tin box and got back to his feet, panting like he’d sprinted a hundred-metre dash.
His heavy breathing settled as he rubbed the excess earth off the surface and stared at his treasure with a look of relief and nostalgia. Ray snapped the box out of his hand and, Philip forgetting the predicament he was in with Razor Ray, made a sudden rush for him to grab it back.
Ray pushed him back with ease and said, “Watch it there, Philly. I’m gonna have a look in here first, make sure it's nothing that could hurt me. Then, I might give it back.”
Philip looked poised to pounce on him but knew how easily he’d be overpowered and beaten. “It’s nothing that concerns you, Ray.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
After struggling with it for a few moments he discovered it was sealed shut with tape so instructed Philip to pick up his knife and return it to him. He scored along the rim of the lid and popped it off with muted clink. The inside walls of the box glimmered off the moonlit sky and its contents looked perfectly preserved after their twenty-five-year hiatus underground. Ray took out the notepads, a look of disappointment crossing his face.
“What the hell are these?”
“They’re stories I wrote when I was a child.”
“Why did you bury them here?”
“To forget what I’d written, and to hide them from someone.” He glanced in the direction of the Richards’ place and Ray followed his line.
“What is it with that place?”
A short silence followed, then Ray examined the front cover of one of the three notebooks. “‘Cloudcrawler and the Horseman.’ What’s it about?”
“It’s about a k
id who hunts demons.”
“Demons?”
“Who prey on the weak, the sick and the innocent.”
Ray opened the first page and tried to read but couldn’t make out the faint pencil written words in the darkness.
“C’mon, let’s head back to the car and have a look at this. I like a good yarn.”
“What are you gonna do to me?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but don’t push me.”
Ray pocketed the knife and led the way back to the car park, opening the passenger door for Philip before he got in the driver’s side and turned on the overhead light. He read in silence, frowning and squinting during several sections. A few agonising minutes later he turned to Philip, a look of disgust on his face.
“Why would a child write dark shit like this?”
“I can’t remember what I wrote, but I know it had something to do with whatever happened in that house when we were young. Something that drove me to drugs and my best friend to suicide.”
Ray looked at him with something other than contempt for the first time. He clenched his lips tight in what Philip read as an attempt to suppress an emotion he didn’t want anyone to see. The wind picked up and sent some spray from the sea up over the line of the cliff in the distance. The clouds converged, rolled and tucked into a maddening threat of an oncoming storm. Ray took a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket and offered one to Philip. He refused and Ray lit one up, exhaled deeply after the first powerful pull, trying to release a tension that was building in him.
“We had an uncle, me and Dan. He was our fucking hero when we were little fellas. When I was about eleven, me folks were out and I was at home alone with him one night.” He paused and took three gasping pulls from his cigarette. “He made me swear it had to stay our secret and if anyone found out, they’d lock me up for being a ‘sick little bastard’, were his exact words. I later found out he’d been doing it to Dan too.” His eyes glassed over and he turned away from Philip, looked out into the darkening sea and sky. He handed the notebook the Philip and rested his head on his hand, supported on the ledge of his window, and smoked more contemplatively as Philip read from the quarter-century-old pages.
