by Tim Weaver
‘Evelyn?’
No response.
‘Evelyn?’
I placed a hand on the door.
‘Evelyn – it’s me, David.’ No response. ‘David – from Angel’s.’
The sound of a window sliding along its runners.
I watched her on the roof, taking small steps, careful not to lose her footing on the ice. When she got to the end, she looked back, hesitated, then jumped down. I could see the pain in her face as she landed, but she didn’t make any noise. Instead she got to her feet, kicking up gravel, and ran.
I headed downstairs. The front door was now closed. The house reminded me of the flat in Brixton: the walls were plain, probably painted once, and there was no carpet on the floor, only the original boards. Along the hall I could see a kitchen, some bay windows and another closed door. No furniture in any of them except for the kitchen units and a microwave. I stepped out on to the front porch.
Then from inside the house: ‘Uuhhh…’
A voice.
I stopped. Listened.
Nothing.
I went back down the hallway, into the kitchen. The house smelt of something. It became stronger the deeper into it I got.
There were two doors off the kitchen. The first led to a small patch of back garden, strewn with weeds and
And, poking out, resting on one of the arms, a head.
I edged forward. The head. The chest. An arm locked in place, hanging off the side of the sofa, the knuckles brushing the floorboards. Inches from the fingers was a needle. It had rolled away, out of reach. Some of the liquid had escaped, pooling on the floorboards next to an ashtray over-run with cigarettes. It was a man. A boy, really. His trousers were wet, a dark patch crawling from his groin down the inside of one leg. And at the end of the sofa was a bucket.
It was full of vomit.
The stench was immense. Totally overpowering. I turned away, covering my face with my sleeve.
He couldn’t have been older than eighteen, but his arms were dotted with track marks. His veins were puffy and enlarged, clearly visible through the skin. He was as white as the snow outside, his eyes half-closed, dull yellow marks smeared below his eyelashes like badly applied make-up. I couldn’t get any closer. The smell was absolutely horrible.
Then a door opening and closing somewhere.
I looked up.
KETAMINE.
A sound from the kitchen.
I went to the hallway door and slowly opened it. I waited. I could hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Drawers opening. To my right, the front door was still closed, but now there was snow on the mat in front of it. To my left I could see the black guy who had shouted after me in the street. He was probably in his early thirties, no taller than five-ten, but wide: muscles moved beneath the skin of his neck and shoulders, and a vein wormed its way out from the corner of one eye, up on to his shaved head. He was looking out through the kitchen door at the garden.
I looked back at the kid. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was open. His tongue came out, slapping against his lips like it was too big for his mouth. His gums were bleeding. Then, as his tongue moved again, I saw something else: he had no teeth.
They were all gone.
He coughed, a sound muffled by saliva and vomit, but loud enough to carry through the house. In the kitchen, the man turned around and looked along the hallway at me.
I went for the front door, but as I got there it opened in at me. Evelyn stepped in, her cheeks flushed, anger streaked across her face. A split second later, she brought her hand up from her side. She was holding a gun. The barrel drifted across my face and I instinctively stumbled back, my hands coming up to protect me. The muzzle flashed, and plaster and dust spat out of the wall above me and to my left. Then another shot, louder this time.
I held up both hands.
‘Evelyn, wait a minute…’
She walked towards me, the gun out in front of her. It was new, in beautiful condition. A gun that had probably never been fired until today.
She stopped about two feet from me. She was going to shoot me in the head. The gun was level with one of my eyes, held incredibly still. Her fingers were pressed so tightly against the grip, perspiration was running out from under her hand.
‘What are you doing, David?’
I didn’t speak. I had a horrible feeling she would fire as soon as I did, even though she’d asked me in a gentle, almost admiring way. Even though I’d known her before Derryn died, talked with her and laughed with her.
‘What are you doing?’ she said again.
There was the smell of gunfire in the air now, burnt and nauseating. A smell that reminded me of driving through the townships before the sun was up. Behind
‘You should have left us alone,’ she said.
She moved towards me. My body tensed and I lowered my head, angling it away from the gun. She was behind me now, and the next thing I felt was the gun at the back of my neck.
‘Do you hear me, David? You should have left us alone.’
‘I don’t want you, Evelyn. I don’t want this.’
She didn’t say anything.
I turned slightly and could see her standing behind the black guy. He had the gun now, pointed right at me.
‘I don’t want either of you. I just want Alex.’
‘Alex doesn’t–’
‘That’s enough, Vee,’ the man said.
He stepped forward. Swapped the gun from one hand to another. Turned it. And – before I’d even had a chance to react – smashed it into my face.
I blacked out.
I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was a red brick building. It was the factory I had seen earlier. It stood empty and derelict: its windows smashed, its walls decorated in graffiti, its doors torn from their hinges. In front of me was a vast expanse of concrete, weeds crawling through the cracks, snow in patches.
They’d gagged me. When I moved, I could feel my hands had been bound, and I’d lost most of the sensation in my feet. I had my jeans, T-shirt and zip-up top on, but my coat had been removed, and they’d taken my shoes and socks. I was sitting barefoot, my soles flat to the ground. The cold was making my bones ache. There were just a few tinges of daylight still staining the sky. Night was creeping in.
I listened. I could make out cars passing on a distant road somewhere, but little else. There were two squares of old walls, half demolished, about forty feet to the side of me, the skeletons of outhouses that had once stood on the site but were now long forgotten.
That was the point. No one came here.
No one would find me.
I thought I heard movement, the sound of birds flapping their wings. I saw something arc up to my left and around. Then there were footsteps, the noise of
A bitter wind came then, cutting in across the open ground, and suddenly, with it, the smell of something. Something warm and saccharine, like boiled sweets. When the wind died down again, I could feel someone’s breath, right at my ear. I tried not to move, tried to maintain my composure, but having someone so close sent a shiver through me. It seemed to amuse them: whoever it was backed away after that, as if they’d secured a little victory.
I thought about shouting for help, about making as much noise as I could. But I didn’t have any cards to play. Out here, away from the road, no one would hear me. And even if I did somehow shake off the binds and make a break for it, I wouldn’t know which direction to run in. I’d be running into the darkness as if I was blindfolded.
More wind. Louder and colder this time.
‘Evelyn?’
The gag muffled my voice. I cleared my throat and could feel my muscles tighten. More pain throbbed in my head, and when it passed I felt dizzy and nauseous. I tried to say her name for a second time, but the word got stuck. And as I searched for it, trying to pull it out
Footsteps in the snow, moving away.
I started to turn my head, despite the pain, needing to see who was behind me. But as I di
d, I felt a hand grab me under the chin and a thumb press in against my cheek.
‘Don’t do that again.’
A man.
He let go of my face and pushed my head forward so my chin touched my chest. He held it there. Between my legs I could see blood dripping down from my face, into the snow.
‘Stay like that,’ he said. ‘And close your eyes.’
I could taste blood on my tongue. He’d pressed so hard my teeth had cut the inside of my mouth. I spat it into the snow, and watched it spread out in tiny lines.
Behind me, the man cleared his throat. Then more footsteps in the snow, crunching, fading away and coming back again. He’d been to collect something. I moved my head, discomfort forcing me to raise it slightly. I felt his hand spread across the back of my skull and a gun slide past my ear and in under my chin.
‘What did I say to you?’
‘I can’t hold it there,’ I said through the gag.
‘Move again and I’ll put a bullet through your brain.’ He shoved the gun in harder against my throat. ‘Now stay like that and keep your eyes closed.’
Who then? My thoughts drifted quickly. I was struggling to concentrate. The cold and the fear were starting to catch up with me.
He pressed the gun in harder against the side of my face, then – just as suddenly – took it away again. I stayed still, looking down between my legs, thinking it might be a trap. Instead, he reached around and pulled the gag away from my mouth.
‘Make any noise louder than a whisper and my people will be picking bits of your face up off the floor for a week.’
My people. He was in charge.
He tossed the gag past me, and it landed in the snow. I could smell his breath again. ‘Now, I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to tell me the truth. Hold anything back, and I will rip out your throat.’
He was close to my ear again.
‘First, what the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Alex,’ I said quietly.
‘Oh, I see.’ A short, aggressive burst of laughter. ‘I’m sure during your cosy little chat with Jade, she must have warned you off this… I’m not sure what you would call it, really. A quest, perhaps.’
He’d spat out the word quest and I could feel his saliva on the side of my face, slowly running down my cheek.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
I didn’t say anything. Didn’t reply.
‘Huh?’ he said. He was closer now.
I didn’t reply a second time, just looked down between my legs. To my blood in the snow. To my feet, gradually turning blue.
‘You going to answer me, David?’
I let the silence hang.
He didn’t wait long. As I was trying to formulate a plan, he hit me across the back of the head with the butt of the gun. And the white of the snow became the black of unconsciousness.
When I came to, I was somewhere else. It was dark. I could hear the wind but couldn’t feel it. I looked around me. High up, to my left, was a window. Moonlight shone through. I turned my head slightly to the right and, behind me, through the corner of my eye, I could see a doorway. I was inside the factory I had been facing earlier.
It took time for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, I could see someone sitting with their back to me, on a stairwell towards the end of the room. He was smoking a cigarette. It glowed orange rhythmically. I knew it was a man: broad shoulders, hair closely cropped, a big white hand resting on the step.
‘Are you hard of hearing, David?’ he said.
I remained still.
‘.’
‘No,’ I replied. I sounded groggy. My lower half was absolutely numb from the cold and the back of my head felt like it was on fire.
‘Good.’
He nodded to himself, took a last drag on the cigarette and flicked it out to the side. It died in the night. He came down the stairwell, his shoes clunking against the metal, and disappeared in the darkness. I could hear him moving, but couldn’t see him. His footsteps became muffled.
I tried to think again where I’d heard the voice before. He spoke differently to the others. More control. More authority.
‘Are you in charge?’ I said.
No reply.
Then, suddenly, he was behind me.
‘What did Jade say to you?’
‘Nothing.’
He sighed. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not.’
He stopped. All I could hear was my own breathing. Then, slowly, from my side, the gun snaked into view.
‘These hurt,’ he said, and shoved it hard up under my chin. My muscles twitched. ‘You’d better start dancing with me, David, or I guarantee I’ll be putting you in the ground next to your wife.’
They knew all about me. They knew my name. They knew about Derryn. There had been a hole in
‘Jade told me I was in danger.’
‘Well, she was right. Do you know why?’
‘I can guess.’
‘So take a guess.’
‘Alex.’
‘Please. You think this is all to do with him?’
I shrugged.
‘Don’t shrug at me.’
‘I don’t know.’
A pause. ‘I’m guessing that little mess at the church was yours.’
I didn’t answer; didn’t want to admit I’d been through Michael’s stuff.
‘Breaking and entering is a crime,’ he said.
‘What the fuck do you call this?’
The man laughed. ‘Difference is, you don’t know who I am. I know who you are. I know all about you.’
He pressed the gun in against my cheek, and I could feel the outline of the muzzle.
‘Was the address for the church in that box?’
I paused. The box. He knew about the box.
‘David.’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘On the back of a birthday card.’
‘What else was in there?’
I thought of the picture I’d given to Cary. ‘Nothing. Just photos.’
I nodded.
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not.’
His hand dropped away, the gun with it.
‘Okay, let me tell you something. The reason you’re here and not sitting with your feet up by the fire at home is because you’re standing on the outside of a circle, and you’ve caught a glimpse of what’s on the inside.’ The smell of boiled sweets again. ‘Unfortunately for you, once you’ve caught a glimpse of the inside, you can’t just walk away again – which is why you’re freezing to death in the middle of this fucking hole.’
I was starting to drift in and out of consciousness.
‘I know about you, David,’ he continued. ‘I know about your background, where you come from, what you do. It’s my job to know all that, because it’s my job to ensure people like you don’t fuck up what I’ve built. And you know what? Reading about you made me wonder: this quest of yours, is it about the kid – or is it about your wife?’
I looked up, turned, and he held up a hand. Grabbed the side of my face. Forced it back down, further this time, until my head was almost between my knees.
I felt blood rise in my throat.
‘You’re a big man, David,’ he said, ‘but her death makes you easy to control. When people die, it hurts. It sucks you dry. You feel so hollow inside, you wonder if you’re ever going to be normal again. But when people die, you’ve got to let them go, because they’re gone. Your wife, the kid you’re trying to find, they’re gone.’
‘If he was gone, I wouldn’t be here,’ I said.
He yanked my head towards him and moved in next to my ear, his lips brushing against the side of my face. ‘You want to die, David – is that it?’
I felt his fingers wriggle at either side of my head, like he was trying to get a better grip before he reached round and put the gun in my mouth. Then – lightning fast – he punched me in the side of
the face – so hard it was like being hit by a freight train. I tipped sideways, the chair going with me, hitting the ground head first.
Darkness.
I opened my eyes. My head was being pressed down between my legs. All I could see were my feet, flat against the floor, my toes in a puddle of melted snow. His hand was around the back of my neck, his fingers locked in place behind my ear. A trickle of blood broke free from my hairline. It ran down across my forehead and into my eye.
‘What else do you know?’ he said.
I twitched, tried to shake the blood away from my eye, but his hand pressed harder against my head. Forced me down even further between my knees.
‘What else?’ he said again.
‘You recruit people.’
‘Is that what Jade told you?’
I nodded.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you lying to me again, David?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. What else?’
‘Some of you are supposed to be dead.’ I paused, tasting the blood in my mouth. He pushed down on my neck again – he wanted me to continue. ‘You’ve got a flat registered to a company that doesn’t exist, and a pub you’re using as a way to make money. A front. Full of your people, who rotate when questions start getting asked. When a hole starts to appear, you shift them somewhere else and the hole closes up.’
‘What else?’
‘That’s all I know.’
‘Bullshit. What else?’
I stopped, tried to think. That was pretty much it. When he’d told me I was on the outside of the circle looking in, he was right. I’d caught a glimpse of something on the inside; I knew something wasn’t right, that something was up – that Alex could actually be alive. But I didn’t know how and I didn’t know why.
‘What else?’ He forced my head down again, and something clicked. A bone in my neck. I felt a shooting pain arrow along my spine, up into my skull.
He thought I knew more, and – as I tried to form a plan – I realized I could play on that. Maybe it would be the only way out. Pretend I knew more than I did and he’d have to find out what. See how far I’d dug my way in.
