by Paul Starkey
Cheung stared at him. “Can’t you see it?”
Ibex looked down, then back up again. “I’m not sure what it is I’m supposed to be looking for, maybe you could tell me?” Ibex’s tone was conciliatory, calming, but Cheung knew it was an act. Quintus thought he was nuts, and he just wanted to keep the crazy man from shooting him.
The pale form had grown more distinct now. He could see hair, white hair covering a hump of some kind and…
I have to look!
A floorboard creaked outside the room. Cheung’s sixth sense was overridden by more down to earth ones. He spun fast and dropped to his knee, firing one handed towards the doorway. His two bullets passed through nothingness again, but this time he caught a glimpse of someone ducking out of the way behind the wall to the right of the door. His left hand steadied the gun, and now he did shift his aim to the wall behind which he was pretty certain someone was sheltering. He dropped his aim and tightened his finger on the trigger…
“Tom!”
It took several pounds of pressure to pull a trigger all the way back, and Cheung was probably more than halfway to the point of no return when the shout rang out.
“Chalice?” he yelled in reply. He had no fear of betraying his position; the gunshots had already done that.
“Yes, it’s me. You can stand down, everything’s ok.”
His mouth still felt dry, but could feel perspiration on his forehead. He didn’t ease the pressure on the trigger. Paranoia really was the Spook’s constant companion; loving soul mate and annoying harridan of an aged wife all rolled into one.
“You ok, Tom?” came Chalice’s voice again.
The question was, was she speaking willingly, or because someone had the muzzle of a gun jabbed into her ribs.
“Don’t trust her,” Ibex seethed, voice barely above a whisper.
Trust her before I trust you, Cheung thought, but annoyingly the American had a point. A lot didn’t add up.
“We didn’t hear any gunfire, Chalice. What happened?”
“There was no gunfire, because there was no hit team, Tom. Just the inopportune arrival of young master Carmichael who thought he’d pop home while his parents were away.”
Cheung frowned.
“Could be a trick.”
He wanted to tell the Yank to shut the hell up, but he was just verbalising what Cheung was thinking.
“Tom you still there?”
“Still here.” He chewed his bottom lip. He had to do something, had to gamble one way or another. If Chalice was lying then standing down would see him and Ibex killed, but if he took the shot the chances were he might kill or injure Chalice or one of the others.
“It’s a trick,” Ibex said again.
Cheung sighed. I’m really not cut out for this. “Ok, Chalice. You probably know what I’m thinking here.”
“I’d probably be thinking the same, Tom,” came the response from outside. “I’m going to step out so you can see me. My gun’s on the floor and my hands will be up.”
“Ok.”
“Coming now.”
Ibex was mumbling to himself but Cheung tuned him out. His focus was solely on the doorway. He eased the pressure on the trigger a fraction, but it still wouldn’t take much more than a twitch to put a bullet in whoever appeared.
Chalice sidestepped into view.
Irritatingly it meant nothing.
“Step towards me.”
She complied. Her hands were held high, palms facing him. He let her get two steps into the room then told her to stop and turn around.
“Want me to lose my jacket and lift my shirt up too?” she asked.
“You read my mind,” said Cheung.
She nodded. She removed the jacket slowly, actually bent down to lay it on the floor rather than dropping it; Going out of her way not to spook him. Then she un-tucked her shirt from her jeans and lifted it several centimetres. He got her to turn around again while still holding it up. He saw her empty holster, saw burnished skin, saw the hem of her knickers poking above her waistband.
But nothing else.
“Two steps to the left, then sit cross-legged on the floor, facing away from me.”
“Ok, Tom. You’re doing well, it’s all going to be fine.” She sat down.
He could see her and the doorway now. “Tyrell, you out there?”
“I am, the boy too.”
“Ok. I’m guessing the kid must be pretty spooked.” Assuming he’s real, Cheung didn’t add.
“Rabbit in headlights.”
“Ok then, let’s make this easy. Lay your weapon down then you and the boy step into view, hands held high.”
“Ok. We’re coming now.”
The two of them shuffled out and into view. Not quite as planned, but Cheung could understand why. Tyrell had one hand raised, the other was clutching firmly onto the teenager’s arm. The boy (well, older than a boy) looked terrified. Rabbit in headlights didn’t begin to do it justice. Both his arms were clamped to his sides. It looked like Tyrell had had to shove him into view. When he saw the man inside the room crouched pointing a gun at him, the boy started to whimper, there was a tiny struggle as he tried to escape but, for all his infirmity, Tyrell was still strong enough to hold fast.
“Sorry about this, Tom. I would have my other hand up but…”
“I get the picture.” Cheung licked his lips again. If this was a trick it was awfully elaborate for assassins who could have—let’s be honest Cheung thought—just burst in all guns blazing. Still…
“Quintus,” he snapped.
“Oh now you want me, eh?” Said the American. “What?” he added bitterly.
Cheung didn’t take his eyes off the three people in front of him. “You’ve got a photographic memory right?”
“Not quite eidetic, but better than most.”
“Whatever. You saw the family photos downstairs. Is that the Carmichael kid?”
The pause was palpable.
“I can’t be sure.”
Cheung sighed. “Then I guess I’ll have to be.” He took his finger off the trigger and flicked the safety on. Then he slid the gun back into his holster and stood up.
“Idiot…” muttered Ibex.
“If this is a trick,” Cheung said softly, addressing whoever might still be outside the door. “Do me a favour and make it quick.”
Tyrell let out a big gust of breath. “Not a trick. Can I sit down though, my legs have turned to jelly?”
“Sod sitting sown,” said Chalice, hands still on her head. “Can I stand up?”
Chapter thirty one
I’m definitely getting too old for this, thought Tyrell. Despite Cheung having holstered his pistol Tyrell’s heart was still racing. As Chalice stood up he ushered Felix into the room. “Things are going to be ok, Felix,” he said, trying to sound as friendly as he could.
The look Felix shot him back suggested he didn’t believe a word of it.
“You can’t do this,” he said. His voice was almost breaking as he spoke, but Tyrell was still impressed that he was holding up as well as he was. This was a pretty harsh situation to walk in on.
“So, another stray lamb joins the flock,” said Ibex. He got off the bed and walked towards the boy, right hand outstretched. “Quintus Armstrong at your service.”
Somewhat dazed, Felix took the proffered hand. “You’re American.”
Ibex smiled. “You catch on quick, son. Yes, American and, unlike these fools here, completely unarmed.”
“These fools,” said Chalice as she stepped outside and retrieved the guns. “Are here for your protection.”
“So you are.” He walked over to the window now and peered out—Tyrell wasn’t surprised to see him surreptitiously wipe his palm on his trousers. “And so far you’ve protected me from a young girl and a teenage boy.” He looked back and slowly clapped his hands together. “Bravo.”
“Who are you people?” said Felix now. He looked back at where Chalice had returned. The Uzi was slung over her shoulder,
the Beretta nowhere to be seen, but she was holding the small SIG out towards Tyrell.
“Surely I don’t need that anymore?” he said.
“I think you can let Felix go now,” she said. “You’re not going to do anything stupid are you?”
“No.”
Tyrell released his grip. The boy immediately moved away to stand by the desk, keeping an equal distance from each of the strangers in his house.
Chalice was still holding the gun out towards him. “Please, John.”
He winced, but he took the gun.
“Thanks. Now Tom, you might want to draw yours as well, I want Quintus to feel as safe as possible while we all go back downstairs.”
There was a hint of something off in her voice that was hard to miss, and Tyrell was surprised when Ibex didn’t pick up on it.
“Back to the grindstone eh?”
“Something like that,” said Chalice and stared at him. Finally Tyrell noted a flicker of unease in Ibex’s eyes.
Before they could head downstairs Felix spoke up once more. “Is anyone going to tell me who you people are?” He didn’t exactly shout, but the echo of his earlier question was noticeably louder. And the words had more steel behind them. He’d figured out that these people might be killers, lunatics, or lunatic killers, but they were evidently in no hurry to harm him. This gave him some Dutch courage.
Chalice looked at him. “We’re members of the Security Services, Felix.”
“The police?”
“Not exactly; But we work for the British government.”
He looked suspicious. His eyes were drawn to Ibex. “Whereas I work for the Americans.” He smiled like a cobra.
Chalice’s head snapped back to face him. “You work for yourself, Quintus.”
He shrugged. “If we’re finished with the introductions, we should go back downstairs. I am so eager to return to my debriefing.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Now Chalice’s eyes had narrowed, her gaze boring into Ibex like twin lasers. Something was definitely amiss, but Tyrell didn’t understand what it was. Maybe it was just that Chalice had finally begun to accept that everything the man said was at best a half-truth, and at worse a down right lie?
There was no time to probe further, because from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house, Lucy Parrish screamed again.
“My, my,” said Ibex. “What did you do to poor sweet Lucy?”
“We just locked her in the basement,” said Tyrell. His gaze, along with everyone else’s, was drawn to the open doorway.
“She’s trying to play us, that’s all.”
“I’m not so sure, Chalice,” said Cheung. “That scream…it sounded real.” He shivered. “Sounded very real.”
“She probably just found a spider, and frankly I don’t really care if she found a nest of tarantulas. Now let’s go downstairs and…”
As Chalice turned towards the doorway, the heavy wooden door swung back into its frame as if someone outside had pulled it hard. The bang as it hit was like a gunshot, but they had no time to react. A heartbeat later the door flew open once more, slamming against the wall. Without pause it closed again, then opened. Over and over again the door slammed shut then burst open like the flapping wing of an insane bird, the speed increasing until the tattoo of bangs echoed around the room like a barrage of fire from a machinegun.
Tyrell’s breath caught in his throat, he felt his chest tighten and his hands begin to shake. There was nobody outside, the door was moving of its own accord.
Each time it struck the wall it did so with enough force to knock a cloud of dust and flecks of paint free from the wall. When it fell back into its housing the wooden frame shook, wood splintered and flew in every direction. He felt a graze as one splinter hit his cheek.
Almost as one, the group shrank back from the doorway. All except Chalice Knight who was inching towards the door.
“Be careful,” Tyrell heard himself say.
She nodded, but she didn’t pause. As she closed on the insanity before them he saw her hair begin to move as the breeze from the flapping door wafted over her. She was reaching towards the wood, and Tyrell had the terrible fear that the speed of the door as it moved might take her fingers with it if she got to close.
But then the door slammed open one against the wall again, and this time it stayed there, and he wondered if it’d slammed the door handle so hard into the wall that it had lodged there.
“What the hell was that?” said Tyrell.
Chalice turned her head towards him and opened her mouth to speak.
Which was when the door slammed back into its frame again. As it struck home Tyrell watched in horrified fascination as the door moved again, only this time it wasn’t swinging to the left, this time it was falling forwards, towards where Chalice still stood, her head only now turning back towards the oncoming danger. He already knew she’d be too late.
In one of those rare positive instances that ironically served to make the rest of his existence more hellish, the neurons in Tyrell’s brain fired with the speed they used to, and he reacted as he might have done seventeen years (or six months) before. He rushed forwards, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her back just as the heavy wooden slab crashed to the floor with the force of a felled oak.
The carpet was thick, but still the impact created a dull thump that filled the room, the wind caused by the door’s landing seemed to blow outwards like a hurricane, and for a moment Tyrell thought all the air had been blown out of the room because he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
It took Chalice, arms wrapped around him from where he’d pulled her to him, to make him realise the truth.
“It’s ok, John. It’s all over,” he heard her say, words muted to ears still vibrating from the madness of the door.
He realised he was hyperventilating; his breaths coming in short ragged gasps, none of which were allowing enough air into his lungs. He’d thought he was being so brave, so heroic in saving Chalice, but once more the illness delighted in kicking his legs out from under him whenever the man he’d been showed any inclination to put his head above the parapet.
He’d been through this before though, and now he knew what was wrong he willed himself to calm. At first he closed his eyes, so the sight of the empty doorway wouldn’t exacerbate his panic. Then he opened them again because darkness was nowhere near as calming as the strength he saw in Chalice’s eyes. He had just saved her, but her look reassured him that she would always do her best to save him.
“Better?” she said at last, a faint smile gracing her ripe lips. Years ago he would have wanted nothing less than to caress those lips with his own.
“Fine,” he said, and she let go of him. He tried not to feel abandoned.
It was then that he realised the others were moving; talking.
Ibex was stood in the doorway. He’d reached a hand out to touch the frame but his palm was hovering millimetres from the surface. “A draught, must have been. Old house like this…”
“It blew open before, that’s why I fired.” Said Cheung. He was looking down at the door like it was an alien artefact. Tyrell didn’t blame him for that, when he looked down at it, it was all he could do not to be reminded of the lid of an old sarcophagus. “That could have been a draught, a door blowing open is a draught, a door having an epileptic fit isn’t a draught.”
“Nonsense,” said Ibex turning away from the door, hands thrust nonchalantly into his pockets. A little too nonchalantly Tyrell thought. And he hadn’t once touched the frame.
“Felix, you ever experienced anything like that here?”
If anything the teenager looked more spooked by the door than he had by all the people waving guns about. His eyes were wide, and he was looking straight at Chalice but it was clear he wasn’t seeing her, wasn’t hearing her either.
“Felix!”
His eyes snapped back into focus. “Wha…what?”
“Felix,” she said again, her tone softer this time. “I ask
ed, has that ever happened before?”
He actually laughed, a jagged sound; not quite on the verge of hysteria, but he was pretty close to it. “You’re joking, right?”
Chalice shook her head; she glanced down at the door. “No, I’m not joking.”
Felix was shaking his head now with a vehemence that threatened to separate his head from his shoulders. “Nothing like that has happened before, I mean there are the other things, I mean, dad says there are funny things that happen here occasionally…but nothing…I mean nothing like this.”
Chalice’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of things?”
Felix didn’t get a chance to respond. Another scream erupted from below, and Tyrell was sure he saw the doorframe vibrate again. The scream lasted several seconds, a banshee wail of torment, but the silence that followed was somehow more disquieting.
They all looked towards the doorway again. “You know, Chalice,” said Tyrell, a sudden pang of guilt assailing him. “I’m inclined to think Lucy isn’t playing us.”
She looked at him. Took a deep breath. “Fine, we’re going downstairs.” She looked at each of them in turn. “All of us. I don’t know what’s going on but we’re not taking any chance. I’ll go first, then Felix, then Quintus. John, you and Tom bring up the rear.” She hefted the Beretta. “Be careful, but don’t go shooting at nothing.”
“I’ll try,” said Tyrell, remembering how nervous he’d been earlier before Felix appeared.
As they trooped towards the door Cheung put a hand on his shoulder.
“Yes?”
The younger man was smiling; it was a weary, nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Thanks for that, but I think she was talking to me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m impressed at your restraint. If that door had flown open on me I’d have emptied the entire mag. Three shots showed restraint.”
Cheung frowned. “Two shots. I only fired two shots through the doorway.”
“But we heard…”
“Three, yeah I know.”
He looked past Tyrell now, past the fallen door, towards the bed, or perhaps the space next to the bed. Tyrell frowned. Were those powder burns on the carpet? Before he could investigate further, Cheung was heading for the door. “Anyway,” said the younger man. “We’d better see what’s occurring with Lucy.” Then, muttered under his breath so Tyrell only just heard, he added bitterly, “Bitch.” And then he was out of the room, and Tyrell was alone.
