Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  He says, "Are you alone?" and follows me in while I chatter on about how Laurel's at a prayer circle that Star's set up, over in the woods, and I'm glad to have the place to myself without her yapping on about how many times she's kissed Ryder's arse today―but then I turn around and I see his face properly, for the first time.

  His pale features look even more closed up than normal, and there's not a trace of his about-to-shit-his-pants smile.

  'Cause Jay is dead.

  He tells me Jay is dead.

  My lovely friend was beaten half to death by Wolf North, and then that scumbag Jet Lewis finished the job.

  "I'm afraid I don't even know what they've done with his body."

  I plonk myself down on my bed. My legs won't hold me up.

  I stare at the floor. I can't take it in.

  When I look up, Hemsley is gazing around like he doesn't know where he is.

  I say, "Haven't you been in a shack before?"

  I find myself smiling 'cause the baffled look on his face is kind of funny, but then all this hurting stuff starts spewing out through my face, and I'm blubbing like a little kid, like I haven't cried since Morning died.

  My chest feels all empty, and I put my arms out like they're going to find Jay, but he's not there and it's like there's this big gap, all down my front, 'cause he's gone.

  My mouth keeps opening, but all that comes out is, "No. No."

  Poor old Hemsley, he comes over and puts his arm around me, all stiff, like he's scared to touch me.

  "I'm so sorry, Evie. It's terrible. Terrible."

  I lean my head against his chest. He smells of soap. I put my arms around him and he's as stiff as a board, but I don't think he minds.

  I cry for ages, into his chest, and he strokes my head and keeps saying he's sorry, and I'm glad he's there even if it's not really helping, 'cause nothing can.

  'Cause Jay's dead.

  I sit up. "Can you find out where he's buried?"

  He looks down. "I won't lie to you. I don't want any more lies. I don't think there is a grave."

  "What do you mean?"

  He puts his hands to his forehead, rubbing his temples. "The ones that Jet Lewis gets rid of―I think they dump them in the river."

  My friend. My Jay.

  In my head I see a picture of that fucker with Jay over his shoulder like a sack of spuds, throwing him into the river then walking away dusting his hands together, job done, and I scream the fucking place down. I'm kicking stuff and hurting my hands punching at the walls, holding my head and yelling that I'm going to go up the fucking East End and knock on that bastard Wolf North's door―and Hemsley, a nob who should be on their side, not mine, grabs me round the waist and holds me to him, dead tight, and cries with me.

  I don't know why he's so upset, 'cause he didn't know Jay, but it touches me that he cares enough to cry, and I think maybe it's the whole thing, all the evil shit that goes on here, that's upset him.

  It only lasts for a few moments, and then he straightens himself up and says he's sorry for being so emotional, but I tell him it was nice, and it helped, and he does his funny smile, but this time he doesn't look so much like he's about to crap himself.

  "Don't do anything silly, will you? I mean, don't go accusing them of murder. It'll end badly for you."

  I sigh. "Yeah. I know. I know the score."

  "We could plant a tree somewhere," he says. "For Jay. As a memorial to him. You and me, and your friend Byron. And his father, of course."

  "You don't need to bother about Brook," I say, wiping my runny nose on the hem of my jumper. "He won't even notice till he runs out of beer money."

  Then I remember that I've got to tell Jay's mate Cal, too, and that makes me cry again, 'cause there's no one else to tell. There's them in Clem's Bar, but they won't care any more than his dad apart from the fact that they won't be getting their knocked off stuff any more.

  I touch Hemsley's arm. "Yeah, about the tree. That'd be nice." But then I think of him, lying in the river. Being eaten by fishes. "I never know if I believe in the tree spirits," I say, talking to stop myself crying again. "I mean, one minute the people who are dead are supposed to be in the trees, and the next they're in the Clearing. What do you reckon?"

  My nose is running again; Hemsley hands me a clean, folded cloth hanky.

  "I don't know, Evie."

  "But we could do a tree. Like, for a memorial."

  "We will."

  "Just don't give me any bollocks about him going to the Clearing. I know you're a big believer, but I'm―"

  "I won't. Don't you worry about that."

  His face looks odd. Odder than normal, I mean.

  "Wha’sup?"

  He shakes his head, like he was miles away. "What do you mean?"

  "You looked like you was deep in thought, that's all."

  His mouth draws into a thin line, like my dad's does. "I have more to tell you, but it must wait until we've seen Jay's dad. Then, we should go to see Byron."

  "I'd like that―but what else have you've got to tell me?" I feel scared. "Is it bad?"

  "It is, but it won't hurt you like Jay's death has. I promise." He puts his arm around my shoulders and it feels good. Comforting. I feel like I've got a new friend.

  Which is good, seeing as I've just lost one.

  Hemsley staggers back in shock when he enters Brook's shack. He whispers, 'My goodness' under his breath, which is mild considering what a shit pit it is. I feel embarrassed. For Jay. At least he used to clean the place, but it's fucking disgusting now. There's a hole in the roof, and the tub on the floor to catch the rain is brimming. Lazy sod can't even be arsed to empty it. That's not as bad as the piss bucket by the stove, though. Also brimming. Jay's bed is standing up against the wall, and Brook's used the space for cider making; there's a cranky old wooden press and big bottles filled with his booze, cloudy and yellow-green. The whole place stinks of rotting fruit and toilets.

  He's made muddy footprints all over the rug that Mum gave Jay. Fucking arsehole.

  I'm going to burn the whole thing down once Brook goes to doss at Clem's.

  Brook's lying on his filthy mattress, smoking weed out of a pipe. He doesn't get up; I don't think he even registers that there's a lieutenant standing in his hovel.

  Hemsley tells him about Jay, 'cause I can't. I just lean against the door, trying not to breathe in.

  Brook lies there without saying owt. Hemsley says that right now it might be best not to 'make an issue' about the fact that his son was murdered, and he's just telling him about our idea to plant a tree when Brook heaves himself into a sitting position. He lifts his right arse cheek, does a huge, noisy fart, and says, "Knew he'd come a cropper, that 'un. Surprised it took this long."

  He makes a revolting noise in his throat, spits into a bowl beside the bed, and goes over to crouch down by his cider press.

  We both stand there, waiting―I don't know what for―but Brook just busies himself picking up apples, turning them over to see if they're worth using. He's muttering at them: well, you're a rotten little sod, aren't you? Yep, you're nice, we'll use you. The bad ones, he throws into the corner. I'm guessing they'll just stay there.

  Hemsley says, "If you'd like us to stay, or get you anything―"

  Brook stops what he's doing for a moment, but he doesn't look back at us.

  "Nah," he says, in the end. "To be honest I never felt like he was my son. Might not have been, for all I know."

  Hemsley has to drag me out, 'cause I'm shouting and hollering that if it wasn't for him Jay would still be alive, that he was the best son a useless shitbag like him could've had. Oh, but I think of when I asked him to move in with Laurel and me, and he said he couldn't leave his dad―he actually cared about him―

  Brook doesn't take any notice. He just keeps sorting his stupid apples.

  I carry on shouting outside, and I'm yelling and kicking at that shack, so hard I think I might bring the fucker down with him inside it, and I ho
pe I do. A couple of people walk by and give us an odd look―a mad girl screaming, crying and shouting out all the swear words she knows, and the smart lieutenant trying to calm her down, in the muck outside a hovel in Stinky Bottom.

  In the end Hemsley puts his arms around me and holds me tight, and I cling to him and sob my heart out. He strokes my head again and says, "There, there," like my dad used to when I was a kid, and he's not all stiff this time; I feel safe and comforted in his arms.

  "Shall we go tell Cal, then?" I ask, when I'm all cried out.

  He shakes his head. "I've been thinking. It might be safer for him not to know."

  A picture of Jay being dumped into the river pops into my head. "Yeah. You're right. Byron's, then?"

  And we walk off with our arms around each other, like we're a couple or a father and daughter, trudging around Stinky Bottom in the bright sunshine of a late afternoon in Wolf North's great city of Blackthorn, where a great god called the Light looks down on us, where everyone says prayers and smiles at each other, and where your friends get murdered and you can't do fuck all about it.

  Chapter 34

  Byron Lewis V

  That Jay was murdered but his killers will never be brought to justice is bad enough. My heart bleeds for Evie, raw as I still feel about Indra's death.

  Her death. Her murder. Because Slovis murdered her, sure as if he'd drawn that knife across her wrists, but poor Indra is talked about only as someone who committed a sin against the Light for which she may or may not be punished in the afterlife.

  And then there is Ryder Swift, who turns a blind eye rather than offend Wolf North's cronies.

  Boy, is this place messed up.

  They sit on my sofa, Evie blowing her nose into a crumpled hanky, while Hemsley stares at the floor and I pace the small area of floor in front of them, ranting about the injustice of these deaths.

  I wind down, and Hemsley says, "I need to tell you both something of great importance, and I must ask you to listen, without interrupting, until I've finished. There will be much to say afterwards, but you need to be quiet, because I have to concentrate, and make sure I remember everything as I heard it."

  He looks different, today. More human.

  "Okay; will we need alcohol, do you think? I have brandy."

  "I think it might help oil the wheels." He rubs his palms up and down his trousers, as if preparing for a task. "And soothe the shock. Maybe you should bring in the bottle."

  I do so, and pass the drinks around, hefty ones; Evie is especially glad of it, and says she has never tasted anything this good. I pull up a hard-backed chair to sit by the sofa, intending to keep my mouth firmly shut, but it falls open pretty quickly, as Lieutenant Hemsley reveals the truth about the Light, the Clearing, and the whole fantasy concocted by Wolf North and Ryder Swift.

  The great lie, invented so that the people of Blackthorn would fall into line.

  Hemsley talks for a long time, stopping every so often, shutting his eyes in order to recall the words of those two scheming, manipulative bastards, but neither of us butts in, as I know Evie is dying to, as well; we just sit, and wait for him to talk again.

  After he has related all he can remember, he tells us what he believes to be true about the young men who disappear from the jail block, and that Wolf North has a progressive illness that will end when he takes his own life, at some point within the next few years.

  Once finished he sits back, exhausted, and looks at us both in turn, clearly expecting a barrage of questions. But for at least a minute we're speechless.

  "Fuck," Evie says, eventually. "Gobsmacked. Totally fucking gobsmacked. I've got no words."

  "I have," I say, "but they're all a bit predictable, and I think I said most of them before."

  "Yeah." We both fall back into silence, except for Evie saying fuck a few more times.

  Hemsley says nothing; he just stares into his drink.

  She says, "Fucking Ryder. What a scheming prick."

  Hemsley looks up. "We have to put this right."

  I nod. "There's only one person at the heart of it. If it wasn't for North, Blackthorn might have a chance of being a decent city, instead of a wretched fucking hole where people get lied to on such a massive scale that I can't get my head round it."

  "And murdered without anyone having to pay the price," says Evie.

  I say, "There's only one way of stopping this. For all the future Jays and Lucas Shorts who will suffer the same fate as they did, if nothing's done. He may be ill, but it's not stopping him, is it? Two in the past year―that you know of."

  No one speaks for a while. Evie's dark eyes bore into mine. She says, "You mean we should kill the governor?"

  "I do."

  She frowns, and blows out. "Fuck. Killing a person, though―Astra told me she's done it, on the road, and she said it really changes you. Knowing you've taken someone's life. She said she felt like there was this darkness all over her, for ages."

  I pause, wondering how much to say, because I have killed. Outliers who attacked me; for a while I felt as Astra did. "It's not something to be done lightly, and it can't be with vengeance in mind, but to stop what he might do in the future."

  "Yeah, I know," says Evie. "But actually murdering someone―and it'll be hard to actually get into his house to do it―"

  "We must." Hemsley's voice shuts us both up. "We kill him. We kill Wolf North. It's the only way."

  The silence in the room seems to bounce off the walls.

  Then Evie says, "Jet Lewis, too, right? He's the one who killed Jay and those other lads."

  "No." Hemsley has clearly thought this through already. "Jet's the murder weapon, not the killer. Like Byron said, this isn't about vengeance. It's about removing an evil force from this world, so that what happened to Jay and others will never happen again."

  Evie reaches for the bottle, fills her glass, and takes a gulp. "I'll do it. I'm not scared of him. I'll find a way."

  "I'd never let you," says Hemsley. "Aside from the fact that it would be hard for you to get close to him, I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

  "Hemsley's right," I say, "Look, I'm probably the strongest out of the three of us―no offence, Hemsley―and I've got the most combat experience―"

  "No." Hemsley's usually colourless cheeks have gone pink, and he lurches forward to take the bottle. "I'm doing it."

  "Hey―" I'm ready to challenge him for the privilege of committing murder.

  "I'm going to do it. No arguments." He takes a sip of the brandy. "You two―you've both lost people you cared for, and I won't pretend that my loss equates with that, but it's significant." This is hard for him, that much is clear. "I believed in the Light, utterly and completely, and I've lost my vision of my future. The promise that I would one day be reunited with someone I loved. The faith I had in Wolf, too. It's―it's like waking up from a wonderful dream." His voice breaks, and I feel so bad for him. Poor old Hemsley; he's always seemed such an oddball. A stuffy git. People mocked him behind his back. But he had his hopes and dreams, like everyone else.

  Then Evie says, "What about Ryder?"

  I say, "Ryder's not a murderer, he's just a slimy bullshitter."

  "But he's worse, in a way. 'Cause he pretended to be our friend." She wipes angry tears away from her cheeks. "When I think about the stuff he did, to make us believe―all the little stories he made up, like Peter, and getting drunk 'cause he couldn't cope with the burden, when me and Jay had to save him from getting alcohol poisoning off that shine down Clem's―" Her face crumples up. "Oh―Jay―"

  She brings her fist up to her mouth and wipes her eyes on her tatty old jumper sleeve. "We've got to tell everyone. Everyone. So they know what bastards those two are."

  But Hemsley says, "No. We absolutely cannot do that."

  Evie's mouth drops open. "What the―why the hell not?"

  He gives her a little smile; he has kind eyes. I've never noticed that before. "Think about it."
/>   "I am, but―"

  "No, I mean really think. Take a step back." He pauses. "Most folk, if asked hypothetically, would say that they would rather know any truth, however hard it is to stomach―"

  "That's why we've got to tell them all!"

  "No. I've given this a great deal of thought. I sat at home and mulled it over for an hour before I came to see you, and played out every possible scenario, and I ran through it all again on the way down here. And I'm sure about this. The repercussions might be too much for Blackthorn to endure."

  "Well, I can face anything―"

  "I don't doubt that, but you're not most people."

  My mind runs ahead. "Evie, he's right. Picture it. Say we gather a group―your family, Laurel, Star, Joe. Astra, Chase and Raven, who were Ryder's friends before he came to Blackthorn. Darius. Imagine sitting in front of them and telling them what Hemsley's told us. For a start, they probably won't believe us; they'll think we have an agenda."

  "And even if they half do, they might not want to hear it," says Hemsley.

  "That too." I nod. "D'you realise how much this Light bullshit means to them? How Hemsley feels―that's how they'd feel, too. They'd say he heard wrong, or made it up. Star would run to Ryder, who'd go straight to Wolf. 'Specially now that he's made that 'accept or leave' rule. We'd get evicted, immediately, or arrested for causing trouble and locked in a cell." I look Evie straight in the eye. "Or we could end up in Jet Lewis's wagon."

  "And if they do believe us it will be worse," says Hemsley. "There will be anarchy. Food production will slow down, there will be lynch mobs out for Ryder, Wolf, Star, and anyone else who has fed them these lies. There will be riots. Fights. Arson. This place would be hell on earth. A total breakdown. People would die. Many of them."

  I sit back, hands behind my head. "All that, and more. But right now―oh shit, this makes me sound as bad as them, but it's the truth―right now, they're happy. The city is working together for a common good like it hasn't in years. If they find out, all that collapses."