I tried to run and that caused people to die and Claudia to be abducted, maybe killed.
It was impossible to decide what to do. Anything I did had negative results.
I caught Sandrine’s eye in the mirror as she checked behind as she drove. A flicker in her eyes; did I imagine it? I looked away and then back again. As I was watching her she caught my eye again. An almost imperceptible frown, but it was there.
I turned and looked out of the window but saw nothing; my brain working overtime. Something felt different. It was hard to explain but I kept feeling that there was something I should be able to see, something that would change everything but I couldn’t locate it.
How often do we hover on the edge of enlightenment, edging closer but constantly missing the mark? My mind was racing now; what had I missed? I thought back over the last few days to see if anything triggered some recognition but nothing presented itself.
I turned back to look at the mirror, to see if that woke that feeling of understanding, but nothing; Sandrine’s eyes were firmly fixed on the road ahead and I felt that she was doing so deliberately to avoid my gaze.
The two guys in the car were otherwise engaged, the one in the front checking his phone and the one next to me asleep against the window.
After about an hour we stopped at a motorway service station.
My hands were untied and I was let out of the car.
Sandrine came over to me as I was rubbing my wrists. “Use the toilet and if you want something to eat or drink you can give it to one of us to buy for you. I don’t have to tell you to behave; you’re more than aware of the consequences of your actions by now.”
We all walked together to the service station doors. We could have been a group of friends on a road trip. Near to the doors was a van selling branded coffee, sandwiches and cookies. Two police officers were standing by the van, one waiting for a drink and the other emptying a sachet of sugar into a paper cup full of, what looked like, coffee.
They both had guns. I felt an urge well up inside me; I wanted to grab one of them and ask for help but I did nothing. Something in my head told me that I could be doing something very dangerous and I felt incredibly alone.
No one could help. I could possibly save myself but many more might die, Claudia being one of them if she was still alive.
The officer at the counter looked at me, expressionless, and then turned away as his coffee was handed over.
Did I look different? If I did it was clearly overlooked as he took his coffee and joined his female partner with her sugar-laden coffee as they walked past us and off to what I assumed was their vehicle.
The female officer brushed my arm as she went by and I felt the hard edge of her sidearm brush against my hip as she squeezed through the gap between us.
As we walked through the sliding doors Sandrine turned to me. “Good choice.”
I walked to the toilet and was surprised to see that they didn’t stop or even follow me in. I used the toilet, washed my hands and face and walked out.
None of them were visible and so I wandered around the station, looking absently at the stuff for sale outside the shops, all of it aimed at the traveller or the tourist. Relative normality swirled around me. Children walking with parents, single men in suits carrying coffee, a young girl sitting on a stool by a temporary display stand offering something called ‘Gel Nails’.
Scanning the crowd I couldn’t see any of my fellow travellers and so I walked outside. Sandrine was leaning against the wall near some cashpoint machines, smoking a cigarette. She watched me as I approached but said nothing when I reached her. We stood in silence until the others arrived and then, after a brief exchange between them all, she stamped out her cigarette and we headed back to the car.
They left my hands loose and I climbed into the back. I guess I proved that I wasn’t going to do anything to cause issues. Minutes later and we were back on the M4 motorway, Reading behind us, heading towards London.
I’d assumed that we were going into the centre of London and then on to Ethan’s office near Liverpool Street station but no sooner had we gone past Heathrow Airport we were heading off the motorway and into the western suburbs of London; an area of Greater London I don’t know very well at all.
We seemed to drive a long way north and I had no idea where we were.
Sandrine stopped the car and got out. She walked a distance away from us and made a phone call; obviously not a call she wanted me to overhear. Is that a good thing? Did it mean that I might live longer than today?
She finished her call and got back into the car. We carried on for a while and eventually started making some turns down smaller roads which made me think we were close to our destination. After some time the car pulled to the curb and we stopped.
I looked out and saw that we’d parked outside what looked like a derelict theatre. Through the chain-link fencing that surrounded the lot I could see that the windows were boarded up and graffiti decorated the large wooden doors. Litter surrounded the front steps and the outside paint was peeling and faded, which made it all the more surprising when Sandrine clicked a button on a unit on the sun visor of the car and a large chain-link gate slid aside to allow us to drive through. She pulled the car in front of the main doors and switched it off.
We all got out and Sandrine manoeuvred me to the front steps. Behind me the car doors slammed shut and the car pulled away, leaving me and Sandrine standing alone.
I stood quietly while Sandrine obviously waited for something else to happen.
Eventually one of the large wooden doors opened and a woman came out.
Monique. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. They spoke to each other quietly, out of my earshot for a moment, and then Sandrine walked off towards the gate.
Monique looked me over and then said, “Follow me, Matthew,” and she led me inside.
Inside the old theatre the hallway smelled damp and old. The ticket office was piled up with boxes and old, ripped posters hung on the wall. A short flight of steps led up to a short corridor where signs pointed the way to seating: Stalls, Dress Circle, Boxes 1-3.
We walked past all of the signs and, at the end of the corridor, we reached a double door marked ‘Staff Only’.
Monique pushed the door open and waved me through. A room opened up with faded velvet-covered chairs and a table to one side. Boxes of papers and old office furniture were stacked up against one wall.
Standing next to a filing cabinet was Luther. I’d not seen him in months and the sight of him raised an extra level of fear in me. I’d been scared all the way here but somehow the sight of him standing here now brought all of the past back in an instant.
He looked at me and then to Monique. “Take him inside and come back here.”
Monique grabbed my arm and led me through another door in the opposite wall and then she turned and left.
There, standing next to the window, looking oddly thin and small, stood Ethan.
“You’re a difficult kid to find, Matthew. You’ve made yourself into a complicated irritation.”
I said nothing.
“Did you think I’d just leave you alone? Did you think you’d be able to just drift away?”
“I don’t know what you want from me. I just want to live my life.”
Ethan snorted. “You do, do you? And what about everyone else? Do you think they want to live their lives too?”
“I’m not responsible for what happened to the people you hurt!” I said. “You did that, not me.”
“Ha! Do you think I’m talking about the people who died because of your incompetence? I don’t care about them. I’m talking about people who really matter; people whose lives had purpose, those who you killed!”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” I shouted.
It was now Ethan’s t
urn to be quiet for a moment, then, “What does it mean to be a killer, Matthew? Do you have to pull the trigger?”
I said nothing.
“Come on now, I didn’t plant the bomb, so did I kill those people?”
“Yes. You ordered it. You did it.”
“Ah, so you can kill someone without actually killing someone. Interesting. Remember that carefully.”
Ethan stared at me and his eyes burned into me. “Do you recognise this person?”
He handed me a sheet of paper. I took it and looked at the image. It was a printed photograph of a woman. She appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties, dark hair and obviously smiling for the camera.
At first I didn’t recognise her but then something triggered in my memory. “Who is she?”
“Oh come on, Matthew, can’t you tell me?”
“I’ve seen her before but I don’t know where. Who is she?”
“She’s the reason we got to know each other, Matthew. She’s the reason we’ve been playing this little game.”
I looked again at the paper to try to jog my memory. Then it struck me. “I drew her on an eagle,” I said, almost to myself. My memory flashed back to the woman who said she couldn’t leave. I drew her sitting on the back of a soaring eagle, flying off to be free. She’d cried and said it was too difficult. I’d not given it much thought at the time as many people become emotional over their dreams.
And yet, she was one who stuck in my memory. For some reason, she was one that I keep on remembering.
“Ah, so you do remember. At least that’s something.”
I remembered how she’d come to me in Trafalgar Square because she was interested in what I was drawing. I remembered our conversation and the look on her face when she saw what I drew.
“She wanted to be free like a bird,” I said. “She wanted to fly away and so I drew her on a bird; so she could fly like a bird.”
“Oh,” said Ethan, “she flew alright.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“She was my wife, Matthew. She said she was unhappy. She said that I was controlling and abusing her. She said that she wanted to get away and live her life away from me. She said that she didn’t like the lifestyle but she was mad, of course. Who could not love this life? She had everything: money, clothes, cars, respect. She travelled the world, met some of the world’s most famous people, partied with the rich and famous and wanted for nothing. Until, of course, some little fuck of a kid put it into her head that she could be as free as a bird.” He was angry now, spitting out the words as he said them.
I said, “You killed her son.”
A flicker of something in his eyes but he ignored my comment.
“So, she came to me and told me. We were standing on the balcony and she showed me the picture and I laughed at her. Why wouldn’t I? It was ridiculous. She didn’t need any more freedom and she belonged to me. I told her that she belonged to me but she kept on babbling and crying like some crazy person about being free and flying like a bird so I took the painting from her and ripped it up. I ripped it up and threw it at her. I told her to forget that bullshit and recognise the life she had.”
“Then what happened?” I feared that I knew the answer.
“She told me that she would fly and be free of me forever. She climbed up onto the wall surrounding the balcony and spread her arms. I told her to get down but she just looked back at me and laughed, telling me that I couldn’t tell her what to do anymore. Then she just fell.”
I could picture it; I could see her in my mind, falling quietly, finally at peace.
“I lost what was mine because of you. You, putting dangerous thoughts into her head. Now do you get it, Matthew? Now do you see why you had to be taught a lesson about accepting the consequences of your actions?”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Yes, you did!” he screamed. “You pushed her to have wild ideas way beyond what she was entitled to.”
Anger blazed in me. “I didn’t kill her, you did! You think she had what she wanted but you treated her like some… thing; a dog to be controlled. Can’t you see how she clearly felt like a prisoner? You gave her things but she was kept in a cage and you killed her only son!”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Matthew. Have you still not learned to recognise the consequences of your own actions?”
“Have you? Do you really think that someone like me could drive someone to kill themselves with a picture? Drawings aren’t deadly weapons! Yes, I understand that my drawing might have made her realise how miserable she was with you but it was you that made her miserable! You’re crazy! You have lectured me on accepting the consequences of my actions but what about you? What about all the people you killed? What about the misery that you caused her?”
“Enough!” Ethan screamed at me. His face was bright red and he was shaking. I’d pushed him too far but what did it matter? I knew I wasn’t getting out of here. I knew that these walls were the last things I’d see but his rage still made me nervous.
However, as quickly as the rage arrived, it receded back into its box.
“Ah, very clever, Matthew. How easily you try to deflect your guilt onto others but it’s to no avail because now you know. Now you know your responsibility in my wife’s death. Now you know why you’ve been taught this valuable lesson and now you know why it’s time for the game to end.”
I heard a click and looked towards the door to see that Monique had returned and I now found myself staring down the barrel of a silenced pistol.
This was it, the end of my life. Terror seized me but I didn’t know what to do. I could feel tears running down my face. I looked directly at Monique to see if there was any sign of compassion in her but all I saw were cold, dark eyes staring at me over the gun.
She’d conned me; the story about Karen, the tears, the slap in the face, the accent; all of it part of the game.
I tried to say something, I have no idea what, but nothing came out. For several seconds I waited for my death; my mind was blank and I had nothing left inside me.
Then, to my surprise, Monique swivelled to her left and two short, muffled cracks let out, like someone hitting a pillow with a stick.
Two shots hit Ethan in the chest. He just stood there at first, shocked, his face straining to remain upright. He staggered over to a table and worked his way around to the far side. Monique kept the gun trained on him as he fumbled for the drawer. Opening the drawer he pulled out a silver gun. Monique stiffened, preparing to deliver another shot, but it wasn’t needed. Ethan sagged against the table, coughing, and then crumpled to the floor, out of sight; silent.
As he hit the floor I saw nothing but his hand on the far side of the desk. Monique walked around the desk and looked down at Ethan. She raised the pistol and fired twice more. Red spray flew over his dead hand and I was pleased that the desk stood between us. I had no desire to see more than necessary.
I took a couple of steps backwards and stumbled, half fell into a chair; my head spinning. I heard Monique move and, with a scraping noise, a bin slid across the floor and jolted against my foot. At first I was confused by this until my stomach caught onto the idea and I vomited into the bin.
I heaved a few times until nothing was left and continued to heave a couple more times until my gut was hurting.
Finally, I sat up to see Monique looking down at me, a bottle of water and an old rag in hand. I took both, wiped my face and drank from the bottle. I’ve never been handed more bottles of water than I have in the past year.
“I don’t understand,” I said finally.
“I know,” she said in her new, French accent, “but now is not the time. We have things to do. Come with me.”
She yanked me up to my feet and led me out of the room. As we walked through the first room I sa
w a body slumped against the wall. Luther. I have no idea what happened to him but whatever it was it was pretty final. She dragged me through the door and back to a large area behind the main foyer but I was not ready for what was waiting for me.
Roche.
Alive and well and standing next to Sandrine. He shot me a twisted smile and said, “Things are not always as they seem.”
I just stood there until Monique broke the silence. “We still have work to do. Matthew, you must stay here and we will search the building. We need to find the woman.”
The three of them walked off in different directions, starting at the top of the building, leaving me in this large area. My legs were really wobbly and so I went over to a broken door and sat down against the wall.
22
Claudia sat on the small cot in her cell and watched her captor as he sat at a table. He seemed to be reading something on a tablet and every now and then he made some noise under his breath.
Occasionally he looked up as noises of people walking around thumped on the ceiling above but whatever he was reading drew his attention back with little delay.
Claudia wondered how much longer she’d be here; what her fate was going to be. Terry leaned back on his chair and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He lit one and Claudia watched as the thin trail of smoke drifted up into the air and started to swirl towards a vent above his head.
She closed her eyes.
***
It had been a couple of minutes since the three of them had left and I sat in the silence listening for any sign of their return. I had no idea where they were searching or how long they’d be. I also had no idea how many others were in the building. I can only assume that by them leaving me here I was in the safest place but I wasn’t sure if that’s what I wanted.
Most of what I’d been doing so far had been passive; making as few decisions as possible, hoping to avoid conflict rather than seek it out, thinking that would be the most positive thing to do. But it hadn’t worked. People had died, I had been run around Europe and here I was, in a building of violently killed people waiting to see what was going to happen next.
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