‘Well, well,’ said the voice, deep with sarcasm, ‘If it isn’t the Ross twins!’
I’d never heard the voice before, but I couldn’t mistake its tone. It belonged to a certain type of individual.
‘Good evening, DCI Gray,’ said Spider in a whining voice.
‘Which one are you?’
‘Spencer, sir.’
‘Then you must be Amos?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Amos.
There was a moment’s silence. ‘And who ...’ asked Gray in a deliberate way, ‘... is your friend?’
‘He’s our cousin,’ said Amos. ‘He’s come to stay with us.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Gray.
I, of course, remained silent.
‘He’s Jamie Cameron,’ said Amos.
‘Staying for long, are you?’
‘He’s come to live with us,’ said Amos and Spencer together.
‘Doesn’t have much to say for himself, does he?’
‘He’s got laryngitis,’ said Amos.
Gray grunted, and I felt him touch my scarf. I winced at the touch. I thought he must have seen my collar. But it was not the collar; it was the Fabian mark he had seen. ‘Keeps bad company, I see,’ said Gray.
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Amos quickly. ‘It’s why Auntie decided he should stay with us for a while. She didn’t like the crowd he was mixing with.’
Gray thought that was highly amusing. ‘If you’re an improvement, it really doesn’t say much for his friends!’ He laughed again.
‘We’ve never been in trouble with the police,’ protested Spider.
‘No,’ said Gray thoughtfully. ‘You haven’t – better make sure it stays that way.’
Then he was gone, with the heavy thud of his footsteps receding into the distance.
But now I had an idea. We were standing outside a police station. All this time and I had never realised it. I was feet away from the law. Now all I had to do was get away.
**********************
Sonia was still standing over me. ‘You let Judith touch you, why not me?’ she said.
‘You’re not Judith.’
There was a moment’s silence. She didn’t move. ‘You really are an insensitive bastard, aren’t you?’ she said.
I had never heard her swear before. She was gazing at the carpet.
‘I loved Judith; of course I let her touch me,’ I said.
She frowned. ‘You could love again.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I have somebody all lined up,’ I said with a laugh.
‘Have you?’ She was deadly serious.
I sat back in my chair and took a cigarette out of my box. ‘Sure I do, lots of them; they’re all lined up waiting for me. They can’t wait.’
She gave a deep sigh. ‘Don’t you take anything seriously?’
‘What makes you think I’m not serious, just because you think I’m an ugly bastard?’
‘I don’t think ...’ she stopped and blushed under my scrutiny. ‘So, is there anyone?’ she said.
‘Yes.’ I lit my cigarette.
‘You shouldn’t smoke that in here. Judith wouldn’t like it.’
‘Judith’s dead.’
She opened her mouth to say something and then seemed to change her mind. I watched her through a cloud of smoke. ‘I wish you would come to the kirk,’ she said. ‘It would be good for you.’ I snorted and inhaled deeply. I gave her one of my special smiles. She frowned and went to move away.
‘Why did you say no, again?’ I said.
She turned back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why did you turn the vicar down – the man in black – when he asked you to marry him?’
‘My business,’ she said with a pout. The pout suited her.
‘You really shouldn’t keep saying no. There may not be a third offer.’
She pouted again. ‘What makes you think I want to get married at all?’
‘Course you do.’
She glared at me. ‘You must be the most obnoxious ...’
‘Devil’s Child,’ I finished for her.
‘What?’
‘That’s what you call me, isn’t it, the Devil’s Child?’
‘I don’t ...’ she stammered.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, turning back to my computer. ‘I don’t give a shit what you and your boyfriend call me.’
I started to work again, conscious that she was still standing there watching me. ‘I haven’t turned him down,’ she said. I stopped again and turned back to her. Her face had turned an interesting shade of pink. ‘I’ve said I want time to think about it.’
‘Why?’ I was curious.
‘Because of my father,’ she said. ‘And ... other things.’ She stared hard at me.
‘Well,’ I said, turning away once more. ‘You’d better be quick before he changes his mind. You don’t want to be left on the shelf now, do you?’
She was glaring at me now; I know she was. ‘I’ve said I would let him know by the end of the year.’
‘Doesn’t he mind?’
‘No, he’s very understanding.’
I said nothing this time. I cared so little for the man.
‘And you? When does this woman of yours turn up?’
‘Soon,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you’ll like her.’
She had no idea whether I was telling the truth or not, but she was about to find out.
Chapter 24
March 2038
That spring Andrew delivered his bombshell.
I had not seen him for a while. He had been away for a few weeks visiting his sister in Newcastle; then he had been busy catching up with his practice.
He came to visit me for a meal. He watched me as I ate my soup. ‘It’s a pity we can’t get you to a dentist,’ he observed. ‘It can’t be much fun living off soup and porridge.’ I said nothing. I had a feeling there would be more and decided to let him get on with it. ‘I may be able to find someone,’ he went on. ‘I have a friend ...’
‘Don’t bother,’ I said shortly.
‘Why not?’
‘There’s nothing to be done. It’s the way it is.’
‘What happened to your teeth?’
I smiled. ‘Too many sweets.’ I sat back and began to roll a cigarette.
He regarded me thoughtfully. ‘So, you won’t talk about your teeth,’ he said. ‘What about your leg? What happened to your leg? How did you hurt it?’
I was silent for a moment as I lit my cigarette. ‘I fell down the stairs,’ I said.
Andrew burst out laughing. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yes.’
He shook his head. ‘Somehow, I expected more.’
‘More? What more do you want? I fell down the stairs.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Something dramatic, I suppose.’ He picked up his drink. ‘I expect you were drunk at the time, or stoned?’
‘Probably both.’
‘Probably? Oh, David!’
‘What is all this leading to?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘You tell me?’
I glanced down at the floor and asked the question he had probably been waiting for all evening: ‘So, what’s in the box?’
He was delighted. ‘Ah, I’m glad you asked me that! I have something that may be of interest to you.’ He bent down and picked up the box from the floor, where he had carefully placed it at the beginning of the evening. It was made of a dark wood and about twenty centimetres square. He placed it on the table and opened it. My world spun around and then stopped still. He pulled a lock out.
‘Don’t touch that!’ I shouted. ‘It’s coated in poison!’
He looked up at me in some satisfaction. ‘Somehow, I knew you would know what it was,’ he said.
**********************
It is probably worth setting the record straight.
Many people confuse the lock with the bridle and use them as if they were one and the same thing. They are totally different.
The lock is pla
ced inside the mouth. When someone is wearing one you wouldn’t even know it. I have, myself, walked the streets of Manchester with the lock in place and no one knew; no one guessed. I couldn’t talk or move my mouth. Keeping absolutely still is your only chance of surviving the pain.
It is coated with poison; they call it medicine but it is, in fact, poison. The person fitting the lock always wears surgical gloves to protect their hands. The poison is designed to numb the mouth. It hurts the most when the lock is first put in; once the poison starts its work the pain lessons and, as long as you remain still, you can almost forget you are wearing it – which is just as well. I wore mine without a break for days. Taking out the lock is a skilled task; it can easily take the teeth with it. There are tiny levers inside on either side of the lock, which must be clicked simultaneously. You can hear the double click. If you don’t, and they try to remove the lock, then you know they will take half your teeth with it. Even done well, teeth come out; the poison loosens the teeth anyway.
So much for the lock.
The bridle is quite different.
The bridle is, in fact, a metal cage, which is locked onto the lower part of the face. The tongue is placed in a beak-like clamp made of two flat, scored pieces of metal. The jaws are tightened down around the clamp, securing the tongue in place.
No one knows if you are wearing the lock but, when you wear the bridle, everyone knows – and this is, of course, its attraction. It has an advantage over the lock in that it causes no permanent damage. For sure, after wearing it, the mouth is cut, bruised and covered in painful sores. But the lock permanently damages teeth and gums. It pulls out teeth, and the poison used stains the remaining ones yellow. The poison leaks down the throat, numbing and eventually silencing the voice. It causes muteness, which is permanent for some – or long term for others like me; I have never regained my ability to taste or feel temperature.
**********************
It was not the bridle sitting on the table now but the lock.
‘Where did you get it?’ I asked weakly.
He sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. It’s quite a story.’ He was watching me warily. I must have looked pale. He poured me a drink and passed it across. He let the moments pass. A good friend can understand distress even if he cannot understand the reason. He saw the anguish and he waited.
I stared at the lock. At last, I spoke. ‘I’ve never seen one before,’ I said.
This was not what he was expecting. ‘But you know what it is?’
‘Aye, I do.’ I reached out to it carefully,
‘It’s alright. It’s been thoroughly cleaned,’ he said.
I picked it up. It was tiny in my hand. It had felt much larger when it was in my mouth. ‘It’s called a lock,’ I said. ‘It’s designed to keep someone silent.’ I closed its jaws and demonstrated. ‘It’s placed in the mouth, the spikes keep it in place, and to release it you need to press these two levers.’ I clicked the levers and the jaws yawned open. I placed it back on the table.
‘It’s an instrument of torture,’ he said. I knew what he was hinting at. He was asking me what the sexual implications for it were. ‘Usually, yes,’ I said, ‘and a practical tool.’
He looked puzzled.
I clarified. ‘You can do lots of things to someone who can’t speak and whose every movement is agony. It gives you total control and no one else would know it, since it can’t be seen when it’s worn. It’s, as I say, a very practical tool.’
‘So, David, how do you come to recognise it?’
I shot him a piercing look. ‘More to the point,’ I said. ‘What made you think I would recognise it? Where did you get it?’ I was intrigued. Last time I had worn it I was living in Manchester. So, how did it come to follow me all the way to the remote Scottish Highlands?
Chapter 25
‘You know I’ve been to visit Gill?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Well, she had the strangest story to tell.’ He settled himself with his whisky. ‘She’s just a normal GP, like me, doesn’t get to do much that’s exciting, really. Then one day, out of the blue, she got a call from the police pathologist. They needed someone to help out; their assistant was off sick.
‘Gill didn’t hesitate; she was intrigued and went over that same day. Only to be told when she arrived that all she was needed for was to be the second signature on the death warrant. She was a wee bit disappointed but went along with it. They kept her hanging around their reception for a while and she was starting to get angry.
‘My sister has something of a temper, you understand?’ he said.
Knowing Andrew, I could believe it.
‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘They eventually brought the death certificate out. It recorded accidental death on a fifteen-year-old girl. The clerk told Gill that once she’d signed it, she could go. Of course, Gill refused, as she wanted to see the body before signing anything.
‘He bustled off and there was some chatter in the back room. She was kept waiting until, eventually, someone came out to talk to her. At first they tried to persuade her that it was standard practice for the person signing off as second signature not to see the body.
‘It was, they explained, merely a paper exercise. My sister would have none of it. Finally, after a much more heated discussion, she was told she could examine the body. She was kitted up and allowed into the lab.’ He paused for a moment. ‘My sister is no soft touch, you understand. She’s a real tough one, but she didn’t like what she saw.’
I was intrigued by his story. This was not what I was expecting.
After taking a sip from his drink, he carried on talking. ‘Gill described the body of the young girl. She was, she said, painfully thin and covered in cuts and bruises. She had led a rough life – there was no doubt about that – but the most striking feature of her body was her face. Burnt into her left cheek was the sign of the inverted cross, the sign of New Fabian.’
He registered my look of surprise. ‘Can you imagine it?’ he asked. ‘That a young girl could be so dedicated to the cause that she would have that done to her face?’ He watched me carefully, his eyes scanned down. He could see my own mark on my neck. ‘Perhaps you can,’ he said softly.
He waited for me to say something. I remained silent and so he carried on. ‘That was not the only thing ...’ He looked at the lock, sitting on my table. ‘She found this in the poor wee girl’s mouth.’ He paused expectantly.
‘Where does your sister live?’ I asked abruptly.
‘You know that, she lives in Newcastle.’
I did know, but it didn’t make sense.
‘And all of this happened in Newcastle?’
‘Aye, it did.’
No it didn’t make any sense.
‘David, I’ve never asked you about your past. I’ve taken you as you are now. What you did and who you were friends with once are of no importance. Wherever you went wrong, you’ve shown yourself since as being ...’
‘Did she have any other marks on her body? Marks like ...’ I could barely say the words, ‘like mine?’ I said tentatively.
‘There was no sign of depraved sex,’ he answered bluntly. ‘I asked my sister exactly that question. She was fifteen but no virgin – not unusual even though it is illegal.’ He trailed off. ‘She mixed with some rough people, wicked people. My guess is her family may have been Fabian – who knows? Perhaps that’s why she’d been taken into care.’
‘Taken into care? What do you mean?’
‘Oh, she was sectioned,’ he said quickly, ‘under your Section Twenty-six. She was a ward of the state.’
That’s when it made terrible sense. I think I knew then, deep down; I knew – but I had to be sure.
**********************
The two weeks were almost up; I had very little money left in my bank before the opportunity arose for my escape. Spider had been caught short. He had problems with his bladder, from comments overheard; I gathered he was a liability, especially in his
bed. When he had to relieve himself, he had to do it quickly.
‘I’ve got to go, Amos!’ he whined.
‘Well, get on with it!’
We were hanging round the ATM. It was much later than usual – it felt like night-time; Spider let go of my arm and moved away. I heard his trouser zip go down. I heard the piss. I struck out with my left foot at Spider and my right fist at Amos. I hit something twice and had the satisfaction of hearing a cry of pain from both my tormentors; then I made a run for it. I ran straight into the police station and into somebody’s arms. I collapsed.
‘What’s going on?’ said a loud, stern voice.
I couldn’t speak – I had the lock in – so I did the next best thing; I took off my clothes. I wanted them to see the breaking irons. I wanted them to see that I was in shackles.
‘Hey! The bastard’s taking off his clothes!’ shouted another voice.
I had my jacket off now and was pulling down my trousers.
‘Stop him!’ shouted someone. There was real panic in his voice.
I was dragged off; one person took one arm and someone else took the other. I was physically lifted off the floor, which is no mean feat, as I am a tall man. But they were taller.
I struggled.
I was thrown on the floor; I heard a door slam behind me. I managed to get to my feet. Most of my clothes were off or wrapped around me. I pulled the rest off. I was standing naked in the police station. Everyone would be able to see me in my irons. Everybody would be able to see the metal waistband, the collar, the arm and leg-bands. Everybody would be able to see my body, which must be covered in cuts and bruises still. I pulled off my sunglasses; everybody would be able to see what they had done to my face.
They did.
Everybody saw me and laughed.
Spider and Amos were brought in. I was dressed and bundled out.
I heard one last whisper before I left the station. ‘Be more careful next time! You’re lucky Gray’s on holiday.’
I was punished, of course. They strung me up on one of their chains. They suspended me, like a trussed chicken, from the ceiling and they beat the shit out of me. Spider took out his knives and ran his monogram down my back – a long black spider’s web – and took my left nipple as a souvenir.
The Dream Catcher Diaries Page 21
