“Am I doing something, I shouldn’t?” I asked innocently. A dark feeling curled in my chest. I had already accepted quite a few drinks from customers. When people slurred “Have one for yourself, love.” I took them up on that to willingly.
“Just put the cash in the register.” Gina smiled sadly.
I grabbed six shot glasses and put them down on the table. “You want some?” I asked.
Gina shook her head. “Lock up when you’re done.”
I nodded keeping my head down as I poured the shots.
Gina left silently and I slammed back a burning shot of Jack Daniels. The cleaners finished and left a few moments later with nothing but grunts of farewell, I slumped behind the bar, letting the alcohol hit me. I was drunker than I generally allowed myself to get at work. I held onto the bottle for dear life, its brown liquid sloshed at the bottom. I took a swig and held the liquid in my mouth. I stood up, swaying, and strode across the main room to front door.
The lock clicked and I was left in the dim eerie bar, bathed in the glow of a street light outside. I lifted the bottle to my lips again. Alone and in pain. I slid to the floor behind the bar and closed my eyes. I leant forward until my forehand pressed against the cool floor. I tilted my head to the side and looked at the brightly coloured bottles and promises of percentages. I hated alcohol. I hated the taste but I needed it. Alcohol was my buffer, a blanket I could slip around my shoulders and hide behind. Drinking was easy.
I must have sat for a few hours but I had lost track of time. The street outside was illuminated by the sign above the theatre for the Jersey Boys and The three greyhounds pub opposite. I sighed, getting a tube at night was grim. The weirdos came out to play after two in the morning in Central.
I walked outside into the cold, my eyes clouded as I clicked the locked Bar Noir behind me. The streets were empty and I started to walk aimlessly.
I was utterly alone in a park, as I swung lazily from the cold metal children’s swings, I looked at the trees and at the bright lights of the houses around me. I couldn’t remember moving, getting up and deciding that I should venture home but the command was immediate to my drunken mind. I flashed through the darkness and my location had shifted, people walked past with their heads down in the middle of a street. A few passers-by looked at me like I was going either mug them or vomit on their shoes. The road was unfamiliar but I walked and walked, my head swam and I needed to completely rid myself of the voices in my head.
I couldn’t believe it when I saw him—Henry. He didn’t notice me as he walked briskly across the path in the dead of night. I followed and kept my head down, covering it with a blanket of limb mouse brown wavy hair. He looked angry, livid at something as he marched through the streets with his back rigid and his hands clenched by his side.
I had no idea where I was. Could I have walked all the way to Notting Hill? When I looked around at the pillared doorsteps, it must have been Belgravia.
I followed him. I couldn’t help it, I knew it was not a natural thing to think, ‘Oh, I think I will become a stalker today”. It was a compulsion, something I didn’t have to think about. I considered calling his name but something inside stopped me from calling out to him.
So, I followed Henry Blaire.
When it got to the point that he may turn around, when only two sets of feet tapped the concrete pathway, I still wandered behind him. He turned around slowly, I dove behind the nearest bin and cursed. The sudden movement made me vomit in my mouth.
He must have thought I was a homeless drunk. Well, that certainly was a new low. He kept walking. I still followed him.
When I saw him on the doorstep of an expensive looking terrace house, I had no idea how I had followed Henry in my inebriated state. We were quite a walk away from Soho and I didn’t remember getting on a tube. I didn’t know the street. I was a stupid little girl. I heard the door of the terrace house open and I hid around the corner. I poked my head around as I leant on the brick wall to stop myself from falling. I was close enough to overhear.
“Good evening Mrs. Rogers,” I heard Henry’s light-hearted voice drift to my position.
He was with a woman. My insides roiled.
There was no one on the dark secluded street and I leant out to look at them. The woman was stunning, breasts pushed high to her chin, long dark hair. Henry looked fit to seduce.
The woman took a step back; fear was written on her every feature. I leant out a tiny bit further to try and see Henry’s reaction but I couldn’t see past his mess of mahogany hair.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Lavender?” she asked, voice quivering. More fake names. I was beginning to wonder if Henry was even his real name.
“Ms. Rogers after trying to procure my services, I believe that you went to another man to kill your husband,” Henry paused for effect. “Why would you do that? Hm? It’s dangerous.” I got the impression that Henry was the dangerous one here. “The police, they pulled my name from somewhere, you didn’t tell them, did you?”
“I had to do it!” the woman barked back. “You said you wouldn’t kill him.”
“That’s because you only wanted him dead for his money.” Henry smiled pleasantly and cocked his head to one side.
“I paid twice as much…” she whimpered.
“And I still have the audio files.” He said calmly.
“You bastard!” she hissed. “You wouldn’t do the damn hit, what else was I meant to do?!”
“You may think me as morally corrupt as my occupation would imply, but the death you wish for is not justified. Killing for money is not something that I condone, neither is it something that I like to watch myself get framed for,” Henry snarled.
I kept my back pressed against the brick as I watched them converse.
The woman threw her head back and laughed.
“Well, what is done is done. We are both in checkmate, you go down I go down.” Ms Rogers laughed back.
I closed my eyes, I made sure they were tightly shut and after a second and took a deep breath. Henry was going to prison.
I looked back at them both.
“You really shouldn’t have said that,” Henry purred. He stretched out his long fingers and caressed the side of the woman’s face but in Henry’s eyes, there was no tenderness. As soon as he touched her, her legs gave out as if she was fainting. Her eyes wide, seeing nothing. Henry pushed Ms Rogers’s limp body forward into her hallway and stepped in after her. He closed the door without another word,
I put my hands to my mouth to stifle my shock, the scream that built in my throat.
I fell backwards as I scrambled to find my feet, I tried to run away but I couldn’t move. The words ‘My hit man is a monster’ echoed in my head over and over as I watched every light in Ms Rogers’s terrace house turn off and leave the street in darkness.
4.
In my dreams, pale blue eyes watched as I ran through the concrete grey-washed streets and the rain pelted me. I woke with a gasp and clutched my bedsheets as my throat constricted. All I could see was Henry and how he killed that woman, draining the life out of her with a simple touch.
My phone, which was on the floor by the futon, sent out a little green glow. I picked it up and checked the time, it was ten in the morning and I was lucky it was my day off. I was too hungover to function and my heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Henry was a monster. That was all kinds of fucked up.
That woman, Ms Rogers, she wasn’t a hit. From the conversation, she wasn’t someone who he was going to kill initially. She had done something but I was too hungover to think straight.
He’d probably kill me too.
I tried to stay calm but couldn’t. I pushed myself off the futon and grabbed a pair of ripped well-worn jeans, I froze in the middle of my room as I looked down I saw water drip from my chin—I was crying.
I rubbed my face viciously and told myself to man up.
Henry could have been a serial killer. Maybe he was human, plagued insa
ne and liked to kill people. Or he was a monster; that deadly touch and pale blue eyes meant something. I didn’t know why supernatural would make it better. The truth was, it didn’t.
I was such a fucking hypocrite. He was still killing people, and it was still wrong and disgusting.
I left the house on autopilot.
The library was surprisingly quiet for a Thursday, the one day a week that it opened until seven instead of five. I never liked books, anything other than bestsellers anyway. Mel was always the reader, she loved books much more than I did. I couldn’t help thinking about her as I wandered aimlessly through the dusty stacks of paperbacks covered in cheap plastic.
After ten minutes of searching the reference computer and the internet, I found nothing but an upcoming vampire movie that some people had become obsessed with—there was just book series after book series of paranormal fantasy romance, and conspiracy theories. One stated that there was a mental illness where people physically needed to drink blood to survive. Yeah, okay…?
The dictionary of mythology gave me one thing to think about, the one thing that seemed to be relevant to me and the look in Henry’s eyes, like a man possessed:
An Incubus: a devil in a male body, a spirit attacking women at night.
I settled on five books, a vampire encyclopaedia, a dictionary of mythology, as well as some supernatural fiction—it couldn’t hurt. All I knew was that Henry was not human. I wanted to know if he would kill me. Maybe he’s just injected that woman with a sedative, a girl can dream.
I got home and dumped my books on the floor, I sprawled out and flicked through every single one. I had no idea what I was looking for.
His touch had caused Ms Rogers to swoon or collapse for lack of a better word. He looked completely normal except the fact he was pale and stupidly beautiful.
I kept gravitating to the vampire thing. But deep down—it felt worse and more dangerous than that. He killed people but I already knew that. Maybe it was the look in his eyes as he touched Ms Rogers that bothered me. Maybe he’d kill me too because after all how was I any different from that woman on the doorstep?
We’d both hired him to kill for us.
As I sat in the middle of the hardwood floor of my living room collecting dust, my psychosis was now feeding itself. I didn’t know where to turn. I was alone in my house considering every possible alternative. What would be better? If Henry was a hit man, just a plain old murderer, or a real monster, did I care? I couldn’t even answer that.
I picked up my phone in my shaking hands and dialled. I considered calling my mother but I knew that I would have to apologise for shouting at her and I didn’t feel like it. So, I did the next best thing.
“Hello, Chris?”
“Fia. God, you sound awful,” Chris was chirpy. I groaned audibly.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Can you come over…? I need someone to keep me company right now,”
Chris knew where I lived but that was only because he’d had to take me home in the early days when I couldn’t handle my drink as well. He used to be my best friend—back when that meant something.
“Something must really be wrong…” Chris whispered.
“Not really…” I hedged.
“When do you want me round?”
“As soon as possible,” I replied. After I clicked off the line, I put my phone back on the bare floor with great care. I reached over and moved my vampire-themed and mythology books under my futon in hopes that I wouldn’t be asked any questions.
Chris arrived with bells on. He seemed surprised that I wasn’t in my pyjamas. I was fully dressed but apparently, I looked “as crap as he felt.”
I thanked him for the sentiment.
“Come in.” I stepped backwards. Chris bowed his head and walked through my front door. He stopped for a few seconds and gaped back at me.
“Where the fuck is all your stuff?” he asked with wide eyes.
“I put it in storage,” I said shrugging. I walked past him into the kitchen, I offered Henry a drink and he said no.
“All of your stuff?” Chris inquired with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, it started with one object…because of the memories…then everything just kind of began to remind me of her, I couldn’t even stay in the house,” I whispered.
“I remember,” He told me with a weak smile. “You used to drink into the late hours at the bar then… didn’t actually go home.”
“I still don’t like being here.” I shivered.
“Why not?”
“Because everything has her stamp on it.”
“Then why don’t you move?” he asked.
“Because everything has her stamp on it,” I repeated in a dead voice. Chris shoved his hands in his pocket and sat down on the wooden floor. I sat on the futon. We were in silence for a few seconds.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Andrew Eaton,” I replied sharply.
“You haven’t seen him?” he accused.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. Chris shifted his weight and pulled his legs up into a more comfortable position.
“Don’t you feel it?” he breathed. “Seriously bad vibes from that man, like something screaming at you to stay away.”
I blinked, taken aback by the answer. “I don’t feel that,” I admitted.
“That’s because you’ve got crap instincts.”
I snorted in response.
“Andrew Eaton? You seriously asked me over here to pump me for information.” Chris said.
“What else would I be pumping you for?” I bit back pointedly.
Chris threw his head back let out a bark of a laugh. “What can I say, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I really don’t know much. All I know is that no one knows who he is,” Chris said, “he’s here…he’s there…been around a long time. Never lets anyone touch him. One time a guy tried to shake his hand, he thumped him so hard he passed out. Plus, you know, I don’t even know why you would know him in the first place.” Chris rolled his eyes at me, “you must like pretty boys because you’re ignoring the danger siren in your head.”
“Maybe I don’t have one,” I murmured.
“Maybe.”
“You’re a pretty boy and you’re from a bad background,” I joked. “I know what your dad does for a living. How come I have to stay away from Eaton and not you?” I wondered out loud.
“Because you’ve known me forever, we were both bad together. We’re both good together,” Chris quickly realised what he had said and blushed.
“Thanks, I guess,” I smiled. “You’re like a sister to me…”
“But I’ll never live up to Mel,” Chris sighed I froze.
I was envious he could remember her without the tainted dizzy sickness I had. There were no good memories anymore, they had all been tainted.
“Sorry Fia, I really don’t know much about Andrew Eaton other than…well, that’s just it, no one knows much about him. That’s a statement in itself.”
“No one knows much about me.” I offered.
“Well, you’re not infamous anymore. Although you were very much a hell raiser back in the day,” Chris chuckled.
“Yeah, I was an arsehole: a disappointment. Mel was the good one, she was perfect.”
“You talk about your sister like she was this ray of light, you always talk yourself down. Mel was human Fia, she made mistakes too.” He said.
“What do you mean?”
“I just wonder what it was like for her on the pedestal.”
I coughed and bile rose in my stomach. “I never put Melanie on a fucking pedestal Chris,” I growled.
Chris left soon after and I had no more information than before.
I lay on my bed and listened to my inner monologue. It made no sense and screamed at me to run.
All the voices begged different things of me and I couldn’t bear the strain.
I wouldn’t
have to see him again. I wouldn’t need to.
The instruction on the USB had instructions on how to wire the money without ever seeing him again. I could wire it to his account and it would never be traced.
I pulled out the vodka from under my futon, the vampire and mythology books came as well. I took a long slug from the bottle before I slumped down and fell to sleep.
“Run, Sophia! You have to run and never look back!” My sister screamed. I knew I was dreaming but her voice was too real.
“I can’t…I have to look back, if I don’t look back you’ll get left behind,” I screamed.
Somehow I couldn’t turn around as I ran. It felt like I was being chased, a hounding dark feeling of something crawling up on me. It gained on me for every step that I managed to scrape.
Something was going to catch me.
Something was going to get me.
I turned around, pulling oxygen into my lungs and turning back to my sister, she wasn’t there.
Henry stood in the middle of the road, his hair flung back off his face; dirty and slick with dried blood. His mouth was smeared in the stuff. He was smiling like the devil.
I woke up with a start and my eyes flitted around the room.
It was immediately obvious that I wasn’t alone. I stared into Henry Blaire’s pale blue eyes. My vision was poor in the darkness but my hand flew to my mouth in fear.
He stood in the corner, his eyes boring into mine. The moonlight bounced off his face giving his skin a translucent quality and making his hair darker. He looked like he wanted to kill me like he needed to.
One of my books dropped to the floor. ‘Dictionary of Mythology.’ I started screaming, choking on my own fear. It came in splutters as it forced its way out.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Henry growled. My hands were shaking as I grabbed the empty vodka bottle.
“Get away from me!” I screamed back as I brandished the bottle like a weapon.
“Stop,” Henry commanded with more composure, this time, he held his arms up.
Daemons of London Boxset (Books 1-3) The Bleeders, The Human Herders, The Purebloods Page 5
