Blood Guilt

by Ben Cheetham

  “Not enough to hurt him, just enough to keep him subdued. I know what dose to give from working at the hospital.”

  “They don’t give Diazepam to kids.”

  Neil blinked away from Harlan’s hard, condemning eyes. With the tip of his knife, Harlan prodded Neil towards the second door. When he saw the drawn bolts that’d been crudely fitted to the top and bottom of the door, his heart began to pound. He quickly unlocked them. The first thing he saw as he opened the door was the drawings. The lower portion of the room’s walls was covered in colourful childish pictures of houses, vehicles, trees, people, animals and cartoon characters. ‘Mummy’ ‘Kane’ and ‘Ethan’ was written above the heads of three figures holding hands. Against the opposite wall, underneath a window that’d been boarded up from the inside as well as the outside, stood a bucket containing a stinking stew of piss and shit. The sight yanked Harlan’s mind back to the dungeon where Jamie Sutton had been held, and he felt a dark tide of rage and revulsion rising. It surged up his throat like choking flames when he saw the mass of crumpled blankets on a mattress. Comics, colouring pens, crisp packets, chocolate bar wrappers and Coke cans littered the bed and threadbare carpet.

  For several barely drawn breaths, Harlan stared at the bed as though turned to stone. Then, from deep within the blankets, came a flicker of movement. Forgetting his pain, he dashed forward and pulled the sheets away to reveal Ethan’s face, very pale, but alive. Alive! Oh God, the relief. It hit him like a punch to the gut, forcing his breath out in a rush. The boy was wearing filthy Spiderman pyjamas. He’d lost weight, making him look as if he might break at the merest touch, but there was no sign of any injuries. His eyes were closed, the eyeballs moving rapidly beneath their lids. A frown rippled across the smooth surface of his forehead. His dry, cracked lips twitched in a silent scream, but he was unable to pull himself from the depths of whatever nightmare he was trapped in.

  “Ethan,” said Harlan. No response. He repeated the boy’s name louder, tapping his cheek. Ethan’s eyelids flickered and a soft moan escaped his lips, but he still didn’t wake. Harlan put the torch down, its beam facing the doorway. Gently sliding one arm under Ethan’s neck and the other behind his knees, he attempted to lift him. The boy was light as a pillow, but he felt heavy as lead to Harlan. His whole body shook with the strain. His head swam in a flood of dizzy agony.

  “Here, let me help,” offered Neil, stepping forward.

  “Don’t fucking touch him!” hissed Harlan, flashing him a look of violent wrath. It was then that he saw the figure wearing a balaclava stood behind Neil. The figure was about Harlan’s height and build. In one hand – the backs of which were covered with curls of dark hair – he held some kind of old-fashioned revolver with a long barrel, which was aimed at Harlan.

  “Put him down.”

  Harlan recognised the voice immediately. It was the same voice he’d heard over Neil’s phone. He lowered Ethan back onto the mattress and stood with his body shielding him, hands spread.

  The eyes staring tensely out of the balaclava flicked towards Neil. “What the fuck’s going on?” their owner demanded to know. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s the one I told you about,” said Neil.

  “The ex-copper?”

  Neil nodded. “Put the gun down, Martin.”

  “Don’t use my fuckin’ name.”

  “He already knows your name. He knows everything.”

  “What? How the fuck–”

  “I told him.”

  Martin’s eyes popped wide. “Why?”

  A sigh heaved from Neil. “Does it matter?”

  “Course it fuckin’ does. Now tell me or I’ll blast a hole in your face.”

  “Do that and you’ll go down for murder as well as kidnapping,” said Harlan.

  “They’ll have to catch me first.”

  “You’re already caught. The police are on their way.”

  Martin cocked his head, listening. “Then why don’t I hear no sirens, eh?”

  “Sirens would warn you they were coming. I know how they work, and believe me, right now this building’s being surrounded by armed units. If you want to get out of here in one piece, I suggest you do as Neil says and put the gun down.”

  Martin barked out a harsh laugh. “You must think I’m stupid. There’s no way in hell I’m putting this–” He broke off with a sharp exclamation as Neil lunged for the gun. The muzzle flashed, there was a concussive bang. Harlan felt the bullet go by his head. He staggered sideways, the smell of gun powder stinging his nostrils, ears ringing, momentarily dazzled. When his vision cleared after a few seconds, he saw that Neil and Martin were locked together. Martin’s free hand was pummelling Neil’s face with short, powerful punches. Neil had Martin pressed against a wall. Both his hands were on the gun, yanking at it, prising Martin’s fingers off the grip. As suddenly as they’d come together, the two men staggered apart. Only now, Neil was holding the gun. Gasping for breath, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, he pointed it at Martin.

  “Don’t,” cried Martin, flinging up his hands.

  “Don’t,” echoed Harlan. “You pull that trigger and your life’s over.”

  Neil looked at Harlan. And when Harlan saw his eyes he knew what he was going to do.

  “It already is. Tell Susan I’m sorry,” said Neil. Then he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back. Fragments of skull, brain matter and clotted hair splattered across the wall, oozing down over Ethan’s drawings, making it look as if some kind of massacre had taken place. Neil briefly rocked on his heels, smoke trickling from the shattered remains of his mouth, before dropping the gun and pitching backward.

  Harlan’s eyes darted between the gun and Martin. Martin’s eyes did the same. Harlan gave a slight shake of his head. For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath. Then both men went for the gun. Martin was faster. He snatched it up and brought its butt down on Harlan’s head. A corona of white light flashing over his vision, Harlan collapsed onto his face. He felt Martin press the gun against the back of his head. So this is it, he thought, this is how I die. “Don’t hurt the boy,” he said in a pained, ragged whisper. Hoping to buy some time, he added, “You can still go through with your plan.”

  “How the fuck’s that possible?”

  “I was lying about the police.”

  “You mean they’re not outside.”

  “They don’t know about any of this. No one else does.”

  Martin mulled these words over for a few precious seconds. “So let me get this straight, all I have to do is kill you and I’m in the clear.”

  “Or I could take Neil’s place as your partner. Think about it, I could tell the police I followed him here and found Ethan.” Harlan knew there was no logic in what he was saying, but every word kept him and, more importantly, Ethan alive another breath. “That way, I’d be able to claim the reward, then we could split it.”

  “And what’s to stop you telling the coppers the truth once I don’t have my gun pointed at your head?”

  “You have my word of honour.”

  “Your word of honour.” Martin snorted with laughter. “Your word of fuckin’ honour! That’s classic, that is. Nice try, mate, but I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your–” He was interrupted by a shrill female voice calling to him from the landing.

  “Martin! Martin!”

  Scowling, he bellowed back, “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I saw some people creeping about outside. I think it’s the coppers.”

  The scowl turned into taut-lipped grimace. Martin pressed the gun barrel even harder into Harlan’s head. “You fuckin’ lying bastard,” he hissed. “I ought to blow your fuckin’ brains out just for the hell of it.”

  Harlan closed his eyes and pictured Tom – the dark eyes peering out from beneath a tousle of equally dark hair, the cute snub-nose and full, smiling lips. He saw him more clearly than he had done in years. So clearly he could almost reach out and touch him. A s
ense of calm stole over him. If this really was it, he was ready.

  “Ach! You’re not fuckin’ worth it,” spat Martin.

  Harlan felt him take the gun away. He heard him sprint out the room, slam the door and shoot the bolts. Before he had time to feel relief or anything else, he heard a low whimper from beside him. Twisting his head, he saw that Ethan was awake – awake and staring at Neil, eyes like huge marbles as they took in the destroyed face, the widening slick of blood. He could almost hear the hiss of the image branding itself on the boy’s brain. From somewhere he found the strength to rise, enfold Ethan in his arms and turn him away from the corpse. The boy whimpered again and struggled weakly, but he subsided into trembling stillness as Harlan stroked his hair, shushing him and soothing, “It’s okay, Ethan. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Like a mantra, he repeated the words, until he heard booted feet in the hallway. “In here,” he shouted.

  The bolts clicked. The door jerked inwards. Two officers wearing bullet-proof vests and armed with pistols entered the room. “Show us your hands!” bellowed one of them.

  Overcome by a sudden reluctance to let Ethan go, Harlan hesitated to do so. He knew it was illogical, but he had the feeling that he was the only one who could protect Ethan, the only one who could truly keep him safe.

  “Do it now!”

  Harlan held onto the boy.

  A female detective appeared. “It’s okay, he’s with us,” she told the armed officers, ushering them out of the room. She turned to Harlan and said softly, “I need you to let go of Ethan. We have to get him…we have to get both of you to hospital.”

  “Have you got Yates?” asked Harlan.

  The detective nodded. “And his girlfriend. They gave themselves up without a fight.”

  Harlan turned his head and murmured in Ethan’s ear, “Close your eyes.” He waited for Ethan to do so, before adding, “Promise me you’ll keep them closed until you’re a long way away from here.”

  In a heartbreakingly small voice, Ethan said, “I promise.”

  “Good boy.”

  Harlan nodded at the detective. At a gesture from her, a uniform came to scoop up Ethan and carry him away. Harlan struggled to stand, but the detective held up a hand to stay him. “There are paramedics on their way up.”

  Harlan slumped back onto the mattress. The detective looked dispassionately at Neil’s nearly faceless corpse. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s nobody,” said Harlan. “Nobody at all.”

  Chapter 23

  Harlan waved away the nurse when she offered him a newspaper. He wasn’t interested in what the media had to say about the personal histories of him, Neil Price or anyone else. And there was nothing they could tell him about the hard facts of the case that he didn’t already know. Jim had filled him in on the few details he’d been uncertain about. At first, after abducting Ethan, Yates had kept him gagged, bound, blindfolded and ear-muffled. In such a state of sensory deprivation, it was impossible for the boy to say where he’d been taken or how long he’d been held there for. All he knew was that every once in a while someone came to feed him food, liquids and tablets. At some point it seemed that, as Harlan suspected, he was moved to another place. Ethan had a vague, dreamlike memory of being lifted and carried. It was after that that he woke to find himself free of his bonds in the room where Harlan had found him. From then on, the man in the balaclava looked in on him once every day or two.

  There were other details. Things Yates told the police that contradicted what Neil told Harlan – things like how the whole sorry caper was Neil’s idea from start to finish. But Harlan wasn’t concerned with the truth or falsity of such claims. That was for the police and courts. All he was concerned with now was tying up the loose ends of his present life – his non-life – and moving forward. He’d given Susan the closure she needed, now it was her turn to do the same for him

  Susan entered the hospital room and saw Harlan lying on his bed, and her tears started to flow. Kane lingered by the door as she approached him and took his hand between hers. “Thank you, thank you. I…” She trailed off momentarily, her voice clogged with emotion. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  Harlan smiled. It was different from any other smile that’d appeared on his face in a long time. There was nothing forced or strained about it. “You don’t have to say anything else.” Thank you weren’t the words he was so desperate to hear. But looking at Susan, he realised he didn’t need to hear them, they were in her eyes, plain as ink on paper. “Have they let you see Ethan?”

  Susan nodded. “Soon as he saw me, he ran to me and gave me a great big hug. Same as always.” She drew in an elated breath, her eyes shining at the memory of that moment. A slight frown nibbled at the lines of happiness on her features. “I’d have brought him to see you, only the doctors want to keep him in a few more days to run some tests. Physically he’s fine. Nothing a few good meals won’t fix. But–” She broke off, glancing at Kane.

  “You don’t need to worry about me hearing what you’re saying, Mum,” said Kane. “I already know why they won’t let Ethan come home. They want to make sure he’s alright up there.” He pointed at his temple.

  “Nothing much gets past you, does it?” said Harlan. “Ever thought about being a copper when you grow up?”

  “Fuck that.”

  Susan flashed her son a sharp look. “Watch your language or you’ll get it!” As Kane lowered his gaze and muttered under his breath, she continued, “Isn’t there something you wanted to say to Harlan?”

  Kane stood silent a moment, chewing his lips as if working his courage up. Then, with only a faint trace of his usual sullen indignation, he said, “Thanks for finding my brother, and…and I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

  Susan frowned. “What do you mean? What did you do to him?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Harlan. “Kane’s apologised and it’s over.”

  The lines faded from Susan’s forehead. She sucked in a big breath and let it out in a shudder. “You’re right. It’s over and my beautiful baby boy will soon be back where he belongs. That’s all that matters.” Some anxiety crept back into her expression. “The only thing that worries me is taking Ethan back to that house. I mean, how’s he ever supposed to feel safe enough to sleep there again?”

  “So don’t take him there. Put it up for sale and rent somewhere until you find a new place to buy.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I’ve barely got bus fare to get home, never mind money enough to shell out on the mortgage and rent at the same time.”

  “I want you to have the reward for finding Ethan.” The shadow that fell over Susan’s face, prompted Harlan to add quickly, “It’s not a gift. The money’s yours by right. Well, to be precise, it’s Kane’s. Without him, Ethan would still be locked up in that flat.”

  Looking at his mother with excited, pleading eyes, Kane opened his mouth to speak. But seeing the frowning uncertainty of her face, he thought better of it and resumed biting his lips. “I suppose you’re right,” said Susan, not sounding entirely convinced.

  “So you’ll take the money.”

  Susan thought a moment longer, then the shadow left her face. Harlan smiled again, both at the leap of joy in Kane’s eyes as his mum nodded, and at the way the boy turned to him as if expecting him to somehow magic up the cash right that instant. There was relief as well as amusement in Harlan’s expression. The thought of accepting the reward turned his stomach. If Susan had refused it, he would’ve instructed the solicitors to distribute it to whatever worthy causes they pleased. And after all, what worthier cause was there than Ethan? The money wouldn’t erase the memory of what’d happened to him – only time and love might do that – but it would make things easier. After everything he’d been through, surely he deserved that much at least. Harlan was careful not to let Susan see his relief. He knew she’d reverse her decision if she got even the slightest hint that taking the money was charity.

  “Does this mean we’re gonna
move house?” Kane asked eagerly. When Susan nodded, he continued, “Fuckin’ wicked! Can we get one of those plasma tellies for the front room?”

  “Kane, what did I just say about watching your language?”

  “Sorry, Mum, but can we?”

  “We can’t afford a new telly.”

  “Yes we can. We’re gonna be rich.”

  “Seventy-thousand pounds is a lot of money, but it doesn’t make us rich.”

  Kane’s lips contracted into a pout. “Harlan said it’s my money. So that means I can spend it on what I want.”

  “If you think I’m gonna let you piss that money away on TVs and the like, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “But–”

  Susan raised a warning finger. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

  With a huff of annoyance, Kane turned and stomped from the room. Susan rolled her eyes at Harlan. “Honestly, kids! Who’d have ’em?”

  I would, was Harlan’s instant thought.

  Susan blinked guiltily, as if she’d read his mind. “Sorry. I forgot about…y’know, about your son.”

  Harlan smiled, but it was the old forced smile. “You don’t ever have to apologise to me.”

  “But I want to.” Susan squeezed Harlan’s hand, looking into his eyes. “I want…” For a second she seemed to be struggling to find the words she was looking for. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe she was thinking the words, but finding it difficult to say them. She cleared her throat as if clearing a slight blockage from her mind. “I want you to be happy.”

  The strain vanished from Harlan’s face. Happy. The word vibrated through his body. Was it possible for him to be happy? He didn’t know. He was certain of only one thing: it was possible now for him to try. He squeezed Susan’s hand back. Their eyes remained in contact a moment longer, then she glanced worriedly towards the door. “Go after him,” said Harlan.