As she opened her eyes this time, if anything she felt worse. But on this occasion she didn’t wish for death, mainly because it was so clearly imminent.
She was sitting on a plastic chair in some foul-smelling warehouse. In the background, the outlines of piles of furniture could be made out in the patchy light coming through the grimy windows near the ceiling. There was a smell of rotting wood, decay and rust, and somewhere behind her she could hear the constant drip, drip of water. One electric bulb hung from the ceiling in front of her, offering a pool of light, in the centre of which sat something that looked like a marble font. It was made of a shiny white stone that seemed to give off its own softly throbbing light.
Spread on the floor surrounding it was a collection of weird-looking objects: a knife with a serrated edge, a ball of twine, some apples, a cup, something furry that Stella couldn’t see clearly and, most inexplicable of all, a bottle of tomato ketchup. Looking down at them with an appraising eye was the short bald guy who had been in the photo, and whom Stella had seen in the flesh for a brief moment back at Grace’s house.
Grace! Stella immediately tried to scream – she desperately needed to know what had happened to Grace – but her lips would not move. No part of her body would move. All she could do was breathe through her nose. She was restrained somehow. Something metal was wrapped around her wrists; it felt cold and yet it burned at the same time. It didn’t explain why the rest of her was immobilized, though. She willed her legs to come to life so she could stand up and run, but nothing happened. Her skull felt as if it were vibrating as she attempted to speak, but despite it all, her lips would not part.
A shadow passed over her, and then, as if ripped from a nightmare, the face of the beast was in front of her, its wild, demented eyes looking into hers, its rancid breath washing over her. Stella felt her body attempt to retch as the creature’s coarse tongue slobbered up the side of her face.
‘Bad dog!’
The beast yelped and jolted backwards as if it had been shocked. The short man walked towards her, a wide grin on his thin lips. ‘Oh, excellent – you’re awake. Do forgive the doggy, I’m afraid he’s yet to be house-trained.’
This elicited a low growl that would have stopped another man dead in his tracks, but the short man seemed unfazed. Instead, he gave an ostentatious bow, waving his hand as he did so.
‘Charlie Moretti at your service, madame.’ He straightened up and moved closer. ‘It is honestly a real treat to meet you. Frankly, I thought your kind were a myth. If time allowed, I would study you – but alas, a certain matter is pressing.’ He gave her an appraising look. ‘I wonder, do you even know what you are?’ After a long moment, he shook his head quickly, as if snapping out of a reverie. ‘Oh, such fun.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the slobber from Stella’s face. ‘Sorry about that. And where are my manners? I’ve not introduced you to the rest of the team.’
Moretti twirled his finger in the air and Stella felt herself being lifted by unseen forces and spun around. She was suspended in the air, about five feet off the ground, so she was more or less level with the other two prisoners. They looked to be welded to the corrugated metal wall. Thick metal restraints bound their hands, feet, waists and necks, leaving them pinioned in the crucifix pose. Some form of leather muzzle was also wrapped around their mouths, preventing them from speaking.
Moretti moved first to stand beneath the man, who was wearing worn jeans, a stained hoodie and a thick anorak. His eyes, looking at Stella from above an unkempt beard, were filled with terror.
Moretti waved his hands like a host on a quiz show introducing contestants to the prizes. ‘This is … Well, to be honest, I never did bother to learn his name. Let’s call him the unluckiest hobo. He’s a boring old Type Two.’ Moretti moved across to the woman in the torn nightdress and dressing gown. She looked about fifty and had curly brown hair. ‘This is Vera Woodward. Good old Vera is a Type Six, and a feisty one at that. She enjoys long walks along the beach, needlework and sacrificing herself so that her family might live. She’s also a little bit ticklish.’ He ran his fingers across the bare soles of the woman’s feet. Panicked as she was, Stella noticed that the woman’s eyes didn’t seem to carry the same fear as the homeless man’s. More than anything, she looked angry.
Moretti twirled his finger again and, with a sickening jolt, Stella spun around and was plonked roughly back into the chair, from where she could still not move.
‘I want you all to know that the sacrifice you will make today is for the most noble of causes. You will die so that a sick child may live.’ Moretti clutched his hands to his chest melodramatically. ‘Ain’t that just the most beautiful thing. You should feel proud – you’ll be part of something truly special. It’ll be the highlight and the finale of your sad little lives.’
Moretti made his way over to Stella and placed his finger on her nose. ‘It does seem a waste of your unique qualities, but sadly I made an agreement and I am very much a man of my word. And now …’ Moretti turned on his heel and clapped his hands in the air twice, like a flamenco dancer. ‘On with the show!’
Stella heard what sounded like a fist being banged against the metal door. The beast snarled.
‘Aha,’ said Moretti. ‘Perfect timing. The last piece of the puzzle, arriving right on schedule.’ He turned to the beast. ‘Be a good doggy and pick up that pile of metal rods over there.’
The beast stared at Moretti for a moment too long, and the smile fell from the short man’s face.
‘Don’t make me ask twice,’ Moretti warned. ‘You know I don’t like to do that.’
The beast turned and effortlessly snatched up the pile of six-foot-long rods.
‘Good boy!’ Moretti turned to his audience of three again. ‘You know, when I first met Mr Merchant here – or “doggy”, as he likes to be called – I was not impressed. He seemed boorish and dim. Still, I needed a doggy and my first attempt at making one had resulted in a nasty crater in the ground.’ He grinned at the beast. ‘Oh yes. You weren’t my first attempt. Heavens, no. I’d imagine in your whole crappy life you’ve never been anyone’s first choice.’
The beast’s mouth opened in a snarl, which Moretti ignored. ‘His one redeeming quality was the sincere love he had for his poor sickly daughter, Cathy. He would do anything to save her. Anything, that is, except follow simple orders.’ Moretti took a step closer to him. ‘Still, despite the endless screw-ups, the carnage you left in your wake, and the unwanted and downright inconvenient attention it attracted, I managed to make lemonade out of the shitty little lemons you brought me. So I just want to say this …’
A more insistent fist thumped on metal this time.
‘Coming!’ hollered Moretti cheerfully, before lowering his voice again. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this moment so much.’
Moretti’s hands became a blur of movement. The metal rods spun out of the beast’s grip and started to wrap themselves around its body. It let out a roar of frustration as it fought in vain against the constricting metal before losing its footing and tumbling messily to the ground, its arms pinned tightly to its sides, its legs bound. Stella could see its muscles straining against the restraints, but there was no way it could free itself. Another rod wrapped itself around the beast’s snout, forcing its mouth closed and leaving it only able to whimper pathetically.
‘Moretti,’ came a raised voice from somewhere outside.
‘Just. A. Second!’ Moretti snapped, irritated at having his fun interrupted. He leaned over the beast and looked into its glowing eyes. ‘I’d say it’s nothing personal, but it really is. You remind me of every mouth-breathing knuckle-dragger who made my life hell as a child, not to mention the ones in prison. People like you made me what I am. So, you see, all of this is kind of your fault.’
Moretti straightened up and motioned in the air. Stella could hear what sounded like a large metal door opening with a screech of ill-maintained metal.
‘What the hell
are you doing, leaving us out there?’ said the accentless voice of someone who was making no effort to hide their irritation.
Moretti looked directly at Stella and waggled his eyebrows. ‘Ohhh, I’m in trouble now.’
The owner of the voice appeared beside Moretti: a bald man with a hawkish demeanour, who was dressed in a black suit. He was freakishly tall – almost seven feet when drawn to his full height. He walked with a stoop, however, as he pushed a wheelchair in front of him. In it sat a teenage boy, entirely hairless, whose skin was a pallor that Stella had never seen on the living. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, attached to a cylinder that sat beneath the chair.
‘Everyone,’ said Moretti, ‘this is Xander and his young friend Daniel. Daniel and Xander, this is everyone.’ Xander, the tall man, avoided looking at Stella and the other prisoners. The boy’s eyes looked so dim it seemed he was unaware of where he was. Moretti looked pointedly at the beast as he spoke again. ‘Daniel is the poor sick child we shall be curing on this fine day.’
On the ground the beast rocked and gave forth a pitiable whine.
The tall man did not divert his eyes from Moretti. ‘Could you please minimize the histrionics? My employer engaged your services to do this quickly and quietly, something I hear you have singularly failed to manage thus far.’
Moretti stood over the font and moved his hands in a series of complicated gestures. ‘Sorry, it’s so hard to get good help these days.’
‘You’ve turned this simple task into a freak show.’
The joviality dropped from Moretti’s voice entirely. ‘Simple? Simple? Nobody could have done this but me.’
‘Nobody else was willing,’ said Xander, shifting the blanket draped over Daniel’s legs, ‘which is not the same thing. My employer granted you your freedom for a very specific purpose. He can take it away again just as quickly.’
Moretti dropped his hands to his sides. ‘Oh, I’m sorry – should I leave you to do this simple task yourself, then?’
‘Do not attempt to bluff, Moretti. You do not have the cards. We both know you would do anything not to go back there.’
Moretti spun around, his eyes bulging. ‘And you think it is a great idea to threaten somebody who has nothing to lose?’
Xander looked momentarily taken aback by the ferocity of Moretti’s tone. ‘Calm down, Mr Moretti. Despite the setbacks, it appears this is about to work out well for all parties.’
‘Yes, it will, if I’m allowed to go about my business uninterrupted.’
Xander ran his long bony fingers down the front of his suit and gave the slightest of nods.
‘Very well, then.’ Moretti turned his attention back to the font and resumed the sequence of hand gestures. ‘And I trust you have remembered the rest of our agreement?’
Xander took out a handkerchief and patted it against his cheeks. ‘Get this done and you will get exactly what was agreed.’
‘Excellent.’ Moretti stared into the font for a good twenty seconds before raising his head and favouring the room with a broad smile. ‘Well, then …’ He spread his arms out wide. ‘It’s showtime!’
CHAPTER 46
‘Take a right here,’ said Sturgess.
Hannah looked at the road sign. ‘It says no right turn.’
‘Take a right!’ hollered Banecroft from the back seat.
‘Christ,’ said Hannah, executing the turn and heading down the thankfully empty one-way street. ‘I can see why Stella so enjoyed the “driving lesson” she had with you.’
‘Unless you two stop making goo-goo eyes at each other and get a move on, she won’t get a chance at another.’
‘Left here,’ said Sturgess. ‘Is he always this charming?’
‘You’re actually catching him on a good day.’
‘Pull up here.’ Sturgess checked the screen of the phone in his hand and then studied their surroundings. They were in a warren of backstreets that seemed to comprise mainly storage units covered in rather dull graffiti, an MOT garage that had gone out of business, and a large abandoned warehouse. It was now 10 a.m. on a bright March day. ‘If this thing is right,’ he continued, ‘then Stella’s phone, and hopefully Stella, are in that warehouse over there.’
‘OK,’ said Banecroft, opening the back door. ‘Let’s go get her. She’s already late for the Friday morning meeting.’
‘Wait,’ said Sturgess. ‘We should call in back-up.’
‘Right,’ replied Banecroft, ‘from the police. Remind me again: what did they do when there was the first hint of hairy-monster involvement in proceedings?’
Sturgess opened his mouth, but no words came out.
‘Exactly as I thought. They shut you down. The police turn up, what’re the odds they arrest us, seeing as you are in possession of stolen evidence?’
Sturgess looked down at Ox’s phone.
Banecroft slammed the car door behind him and hobbled up the pavement. Hannah and Sturgess exited the car wordlessly and followed him. Hannah ran a few steps to catch up with her boss and lowered her voice. ‘Do you have to go out of your way to offend people?’
‘No, I find I don’t need to. They keep putting themselves in my path.’
The trio stopped before the warehouse behind its wire-mesh fence.
‘How are we going to get in?’ asked Hannah.
‘There’s a gap in the fence over there that we could crawl through,’ suggested Sturgess, pointing, ‘but I don’t know how we can get inside.’
‘Aha!’ said Banecroft, snatching a small leather case from the pocket of his overcoat and holding it up. ‘Allow me to introduce you to the freedom of the press.’
CHAPTER 47
It turned out that the ‘freedom of the press’ was what Banecroft called his lock-picking kit. They found a padlocked entrance to the side of the building, at the end opposite the huge loading-bay doors. They stood outside and listened, but they could hear absolutely nothing, which was odd. Hannah put her ear against the corrugated metal wall and heard muffled voices and an animalistic whine. It was as if any noise from inside was being dampened somehow.
Banecroft seemed to take a perverse delight in picking the lock while being observed by a detective inspector. As he worked, Hannah had a chance to study Sturgess’s face. He seemed incredibly uncomfortable and kept opening and closing his eyes.
‘Are you OK?’ she whispered.
Sturgess nodded. ‘Yes, just a migraine.’
Banecroft opened the padlock in roughly a minute and then admonished himself for being out of practice. They opened the door painfully slowly, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. In the end, they needn’t have worried, as piles of old furniture stacked high were blocking the far end of the room from view. Precarious-looking columns of chairs, sofas on top of sofas, old-fashioned wooden wardrobes and chests of drawers were piled side by side in a haphazard fashion. The place stank of decay and rot. Behind it all, they could hear what sounded a lot like a voice chanting.
Banecroft set off through the jungle of remaindered furniture at an awkward, crouched hobble. He held out his crutch, useless as a support, like a makeshift weapon. Hannah and Sturgess followed, and the trio worked their way through, making their way to a vantage point behind an old cabinet upon which some prehistoric tins of paint rested.
As she looked over the top of the cabinet, Hannah had to place her hand over her mouth out of fear that she would make an involuntary noise. Two figures hung from the wall, arms splayed out as if being crucified. In the middle of the room, Stella sat awkwardly in a chair, her body rigid, her hands cuffed. A freakishly tall man stood beside a young man in a wheelchair, and at the centre of it all, she could see the short, bald man. He had his back to them, and was waving his arms over something that was emitting a glowing light. He was chanting words in a language Hannah didn’t recognize, and the light was growing steadily brighter.
The three of them hunched back down behind the cabinet.
‘Right,’ said Hannah softly. ‘Now
we’re here, what are we going to do?’
‘Personally,’ said Banecroft, ‘I’d be in favour of Johnny Law here popping a cap in the little slaphead’s ass. I’m happy to testify that he was armed.’
‘I would not shoot a defenceless suspect,’ said Sturgess quietly.
‘He’s unarmed – I very much doubt that’s the same thing.’
‘And besides, I don’t have a gun.’
‘What?’ replied Banecroft. ‘Is it in your other suit or something?’
‘We don’t normally carry guns, and they certainly don’t let you take one home with you after you’ve been suspended.’
‘Well, we could use my gun, but, oh yeah, the bloody police took it away.’
‘Shut up. Both of you,’ hissed Hannah. ‘Or at the very least, keep your voices down. We’re not shooting anyone, and besides, in case you didn’t notice, right behind him are innocent hostages. I’m pretty sure bullets pass through people.’
‘Well, we’d better do something,’ said Banecroft, ‘and fast. Laughing boy is building up to something and I don’t think it’ll involve pulling a rabbit from anywhere.’
Behind them, the chanting grew louder, as if voices from unseen people were now joining in. Banecroft stood up and looked over the cabinet again.
‘I’ve got an idea. A really terrible idea.’
Stella watched as Moretti waved his hands above the font, his eyes closed, vocalizing words she couldn’t understand. Xander watched on, while the boy seemed only vaguely aware of his surroundings. If he was looking at anything, it was at the beast who now lay on the ground, trussed up helplessly. It was only because Stella tried to look away and shift her eyes, the one part of her body she could control, that she saw something move. The old furniture was piled seemingly at random around the warehouse, and it was hard to make out because of the now almost painfully bright light coming from the font, but there had definitely been some kind of movement to her right.
The Stranger Times Page 30
