I nodded. He placed a phone next to me. I could hear it ringing. It rang once. Then I heard my brother’s voice. He must have been sitting on it, he answered so quickly. ‘Yes?’ he sounded impatient, eager, hopeful.
I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing happened. That was when I found out I was mute. Spider and Amos knew all along, of course.
I heard my brother say my name, then, ‘Is that you?’ I lay with the phone next to my mouth but I couldn’t speak to him. ‘Please, is that you?’
Amos took the phone from me. ‘Is that Mr Parker?’ he asked innocently.
‘No.’ I could hear the disappointment in my brother’s voice. I could hear his desperation.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you; wrong number, Merry Christmas.’
‘Yes, and the same to you.’
‘Would you believe it?’ said Amos. ‘The fucker was a jock!’
They both laughed. They threw a blanket over me as they left the room; it smelt of semen, blood and urine. They left the door open. I could still smell the cooking. They had changed the music. They had put on Silent Night ... and they were still laughing.
Chapter 33
‘Where’s Bess?’ asked the boy.
I held him to me. ‘Who’s Bess?’ I asked gently.
The boy smiled, showing a mouth of missing teeth. ‘She’s my dog,’ he whispered. He was too weak to do more than whisper.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Bess has gone.’
‘Where is she?’
I moved my hands across the boy’s face. His eyes didn’t register, he wasn’t even aware my hand had passed over. He was completely blind. ‘Bess has gone,’ I repeated weakly. ‘But I promise you I’ll find you another dog, a special dog, one who can be your eyes.’
‘I want Bess!’ he whined and tears started streaming down his face. I held him to me. There was not much to hold. He was bones wrapped up in skin. I, too, was crying.
‘Bess loved me,’ continued the boy. ‘No one else did. I promised her I’d look after her. I can’t let her down! I could never have another dog.’
‘She’s with someone else,’ I tried.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Not Bess,’ he said with confidence. ‘Not Bess.’ He began to slump and I knew I was losing him.
‘Can you tell me your name?’ I asked.
‘I have no name,’ he said. ‘They took that away from me.’
‘Please tell me your name ... from before.’
‘Those men did things to me,’ he said. ‘I’m a dirty boy now. I don’t have a name.’
I touched his face, the Fabian scar burnt deep into his cheek. ‘How old are you?’
‘Don’t know,’ muttered the boy, ‘... nine, ten, something like that.’
‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘I’m Matrix.’
‘I’ve heard about you.’ he whispered. I could barely hear him now. ‘They say you’re trouble.’
‘They’re right.’
‘You’re blind too, aren’t you?’
‘Sometimes,’ I said. ‘It comes and goes.’
He seemed to think for a while. ‘You’re lucky!’ he said, ‘To be able to see some of the time, you’re lucky.’
‘Yes, I am,’ I whispered back.
But he didn’t hear me. He had slumped completely in my arms now and he was dead. The Fabian mark stood out dark across his pale cheeks.
‘Now, do you understand?’ I asked, placing the boy gently on the ground.
Angus said nothing; he simply stared.
Raqeeb came up to me at that point. He stopped, saw the body of the boy and began to mutter a prayer. We sat in silence for a while and then Raqeeb helped me to my feet. Angus moved forward, as if to help, and then stopped.
‘He’s the only one,’ said Raqeeb. ‘We’ve searched the entire building. ‘There’s no one else.’
‘How many Fabian?’
‘Four, we have them tied up by the kitchen.’
I frowned. It didn’t make sense. ‘Something doesn’t smell right,’ I said, ‘four NF and one discard; that can’t be right.’
Raqeeb swung his arm around. ‘We’ve been everywhere! There is no one else. Remember there was a body bag two days ago, maybe they’re waiting for fresh supplies.’ He shook his head. ‘The strange thing is - the Wakefields have gone.’
‘Who’re the Wakefields?’ asked Angus.
‘They own this pod. It’s a husband and wife team,’ I said. I didn’t tell him the reputation the couple had for enjoying pain – inflicting it, that is. They were known for their tastes in blood and screams. They were feared – even by other Fabians. I had hoped to capture them, but they had gone, which meant they must have known we were coming. I frowned. ‘Let’s look around,’ I said.
Angus, Euan and Stewart followed me as we wandered around the deserted building. Raqeeb picked his way through boxes and crates. We were in a large detached house, set in its own grounds, in a middle class suburb of Durham. Most of the houses in this area looked like this. There was money here and, in this particular house, there was also a small factory.
Piles of clothes were heaped up on benches and shelves, clothes hung from rails ready to be packed, some were partly sorted, others were already packaged and ready to go. The factory made clothes – children and baby clothes mostly. Bright colours and cheerful designs decorated jumpers, jackets and tiny trousers and skirts. Bright pinks and blues, cartoon characters and smiling faces looked down on us as we walked from the packing area to the production line – a normal production line.
**********************
It was the early hours of the morning and I thought I had finished for the night. I was fuzzy and high on some stuff that Amos had given me. Sounds kept drifting in and out of my consciousness. I was aware of a nagging pain but I couldn’t quite work out from which part of my body.
Amos was laughing – always a bad sign. He knelt down beside me. ‘We’ve a treat for you, Matrix,’ he said. ‘There’s someone very special who wishes to spend some time with you. Make sure you treat him well.’
I waited.
At least they weren’t moving me to the wet room.
A man came into the room. I hardly heard him; he walked like a cat. Amos told me his name. My heart missed a beat. He had just named my childhood friend, someone I trusted, someone who cared for me and would never hurt me. My time had come. I was to be rescued! By now, I had given up hope of anyone finding me. That hope returned.
And still I waited.
The man bent down and whispered in my ear. ‘Matrix! You and I are going to have so much fun together.’ He had the voice of a woman. It was not a voice I recognised.
I soon would, though.
**********************
Here, we could see sewing machines lined up and reams of coloured cloth. The place should have been buzzing with activity. It was not; it was lifeless and, except for the young boy, no sign of its workers. I stopped and breathed in deeply, took in the smell of the place and scanned the room. There were machines enough for at least a dozen workers – just a normal factory floor.
**********************
They called him Paula and he was an expert in pain. No one was as good as he was ... and all the time he talked to me in his soft woman’s voice. I thought I had been in hell before. I was wrong.
**********************
Atheed came up to us, his dark normally smiling face unsmiling. Atheed was Raqeeb’s brother. They looked nothing alike. Raqeeb was short, plump, with round startled eyes and a full head of hair. Atheed had no hair, was tall and slightly stooping. He hardly ever stopped smiling and he had a handsome set of bright white teeth. They both had the delicate singsong voice of northern India tinged with a Yorkshire accent. He was shaking his head. ‘There is no one,’ he looked around us at the quiet factory floor. ‘This is not what we were led to believe; this is just a normal production line.’
**********************
He took me to places where no one else had ever taken me and he brought me back, still alive, barely, but alive. He came close many times. Once, Amos intervened; he came in and stopped him – if he hadn’t I would have been dead.
Nothing was swift, nothing happened quickly, he specialised in slow torment. Sharp needles, tiny knives, pushed in slowly, even lovingly, sometimes simply left, sometimes twisted and turned and then forgotten. The next day after a visit, Spider would often find something small, shiny and intricate buried in my flesh.
He was a patient man; his sessions were long; he would book double – if not triple – time. He would arrive and the first thing he would do was remove the lock and the irons; they were too crude and clumsy for his taste. He did much more interesting things.
**********************
‘Matrix,’ said Raqeeb, a touch of urgency in his voice. ‘We need to leave.’
I nodded absent-mindedly and walked towards a side room. It, too, was full of boxes, some of them quite large. The Mackay brothers had not spoken a word since the boy had died in my arms. I wished I had a name for him – it seemed the least I could do, give him a name, something taken from him.
Angus came up to me. ‘There’s nothing here but that boy. This is just a normal factory.’
**********************
He worked to music; light baroque or Italian opera were favourites. He would put his music on and then prepare my body, covering me in sweet-smelling oils, making me slippery to the touch, talking and giggling like a little girl; his laughter was light and highly pitched. Even now, I can feel him running his hands over me, pressing and caressing me, and I can hear his laughter and his soft silky voice against the impossibly beautiful music in the background and I can smell the sweet oils.
I would hear the clink of a box – the box that contained his tools, his instruments – and I would hear him opening the lid. There would be long seconds as he selected his tool, a needle perhaps, a scalpel or a knife. And then he would start.
**********************
I said nothing. I simply pointed at the floor. Angus looked. Across the floor, next to each workbench, was a large iron ring; a thick chain was attached to each ring. There were manacles on the benches and stains on the floor.
Just a normal factory.
**********************
I have never wanted death so much as I did when that man started on me. I had experienced so much pain, it had become my life; it had filled my every moment and every second.
But until he came into my small world of pain, I had no idea that there could be more: a greater darkness, a deeper abyss, which, once entered, was almost impossible to leave.
He let me scream and I did scream; the scream of a mute is different to someone who can speak. For someone like Paula, it would have been exquisite.
**********************
We walked in silence into the side room. Angus bent down and opened an outsized metal box, which was sitting on the floor. He began rummaging through it. He pulled out a metal collar, which was attached to a large metal ring by a long adjustable rod; long manacles were, in turn, attached to the ring. The manacles, ring and collar were all spiked on the inside. It was a complicated construction, and he held it up high to get a better look at it.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he said.
**********************
The scream was important. It was what he wanted. He needed to know. Because it was only when I had stopped screaming, and was on the point of death, that he knew that I had reached that place of absolute agony; it has no name – because no one ever comes back to name it.
**********************
I tried to make my voice sound casual, but I felt myself break out in sweat just looking at it. ‘It’s called a breaking iron,’ I said.
What would you expect in a normal factory?
**********************
It is the place on the edge of life and death; it is a place of torment because it pierces every fibre of your soul and every part of your body; the only way out is death – unless you have the power and the skill to bring your victim back.
If you can take that precious thread of life and pull back the soul just before it plunges into a dark release, before it takes flight, then you can truly bring someone back from the pit of death itself. They come back screaming, and, so ... you begin again.
You pause, rub sweet smelling ointment into the body, turn up the volume on the music – and you begin again.
And the screaming starts once more – only this time it is more intense.
I dreaded his visits more than anything. This was when I knew that I was lost. I had lost everything – my soul, my body, my mind. Only one thing was left to me and I no longer wanted it – my life.
It was time to give up.
*********************
Angus glanced across at me. ‘Why?’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘You can break horses can’t you? Why not people?’
He stared at me.
I limped across and took it from him. ‘The collar fits around the neck. It’s designed to be tight. The more you move, the more it hurts. The large ring wraps around the waist – same principle. The manacles should fit right up to the elbows and can be tied to the back of the waist ring, holding the arms locked in place in the small of your back.’ I was holding it up for him to demonstrate the various parts. Euan and Stewart had wandered across and were watching. I pointed to the front of the waistband. ‘You can manacle here, as well, if you wish,’ I said, pulling out the rod. ‘This rod attaches to the front of the collar and waistband. You pull it tight ...’ I tugged at it, ‘and now you can’t move. You have no choice but to crouch.’ I threw it back in the box. ‘That, my friend, is a breaking iron.’
I went to move away but Angus grabbed me. I pulled back immediately. ‘I’ve told you before, don’t touch me!’ I growled.
It didn’t stop him. He pulled back my shirt, to have a better look at my neck. He saw the scars traced all around. ‘Shit!’ he muttered.
I pulled back, again. ‘They didn’t break me!’ I said angrily.
He nodded, but said nothing. The three brothers walked away. I touched my neck. I was lying, of course. I defy anyone to spend more than a few hours – let alone weeks – in the breaking iron, and not cry like a baby. I know I did.
Chapter 34
Whitey took me out a third time – not to visit the police, but to entertain his friends. I was trussed up and roosting, waiting for clients, when Spider came in and released me. ‘You’re going to a party, Matrix,’ he said laughing. He rolled me into a body bag and he and Amos carried me out.
I was thrown into the boot of a car and taken for a trip. When they rolled me out again, I knew I was at a party. I could hear voices, lots of voices, male and female and children, as well. There was dance music playing and the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. I could smell food and the air was warm. I was aware of many bodies moving and circling around me and the light was bright. Despite the fact that I was trussed up and struggled to move, they still managed to lead me through the crowds; people moved aside to let us through. I wondered what sort of people would be at a party that didn’t comment on a bound, helpless man being taken through their midst.
Then, the sounds became muted and my vision darkened. I knew I was in a confined space. They trussed me up tightly in leather bands, contorting my body, bending it down. I couldn’t move; the straps held me tight.
‘You’re our fucking machine,’ hissed a voice in my ear. It was Whitey.
The night seemed eternal: people coming in to use me, then leaving and being replaced by someone else. How can I begin to explain the depths of my humiliation and despair? And, yet, for me, it was just another working night, not so very different to my bedroom.
At some point far into my endless night a man came in. He
touched my face and ran his fingers over my eyes. ‘Is he human?’ asked the man.
‘Are any of them human, sir?’ It was Whitey and I could not mistake the note of subservience in his voice; I had never heard it before.
‘He has the eyes of the beast.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who does he belong to?’
‘The Ross twins.’
‘Ah, yes, good men.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Has he served a purpose here tonight?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
‘Then I think he should be rewarded. He is substrata, he has contributed, that should be something that earns his gratitude, and now I would like to see him rewarded.’
‘What did you have in mind, sir?’
‘Dispose of him.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘I want this discard disposed of; Amos can find another one.’
‘I still don’t understand ...’
‘Ever since I was a child, I have had nightmares of a beast with yellow eyes. He chases me and then he devours me. I dream it often. This beast is not going to take me; terminate his existence; he has done his bit, better to end it.’
‘But, Mr Harrison, he’s a blind mute – he can do nothing to you!’ Whitey sounded incredulous.
‘Dispose of him, destroy him, finish him, tonight; is that clear enough for you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
At the end of the party, Whitey came in. ‘You’ve spooked our Leader, Matrix. We can’t have that; this is the end for you.’
He put me in a body bag. I believed him; I thought my time had come, but Whitey chose to ignore Harrison and he simply took me back to Amos and Spider. The fact was he had other plans, plans he chose not to share with his leader, plans that I was, of course, completely ignorant of.
This, then, was my introduction to Mr Martin Harrison, the leader of New Fabian. For years after this I would dream of him. I was back in that room, trussed up like a chicken, waiting once more for death, and I would hear his hard voice and wake up sweating and full of terror. It was to be many years before I was finally able to release myself from that room, many years before I was free of the horror and ready to stalk him, chase him and devour him – just as his dreams had foretold.
The Dream Catcher Diaries Page 25
