by Cross, Amy
After a moment, he realized he could feel something vibrating beneath his feet. The sensation only lasted for a fraction of a second, and it was over by the time he looked down at his feet. Still, there had definitely been something, and he stood in silence as he waited to see if it would return.
Eventually, he began to walk again. Turning away from the main road, he took a shortcut behind one of the old factories. There were no lights, but the moon was bright and he knew the route by heart, having played in the area with his brother and sister when he was younger. Reaching the yard behind the factory, he checked his phone again to make sure that Jane hadn't tried to call back, and then he began to make his way toward the far side.
Suddenly he stopped.
There was someone up ahead, a dark silhouette barely visible in the shadows.
“Hello?” Jack called out.
No response.
Taking a couple of steps forward, he realized that there was something wrong with the shape of the figure. It seemed tall and strong, and its head seemed to have something protruding from the top. And then, with no warning, the figure seemed to fade away, disappearing into the shadows as if it had never really been there at all.
“Hello?” Jack said again.
Silence.
After looking around to make doubly certain that no-one was nearby, he took a few steps forward, trying to ignore the growing sense that he was being watched. He told himself that he was wrong, that the supposed 'figure' had actually been a brief, coincidental alignment of shadows, but as he got closer to the spot where the figure had been standing, he began to feel distinctly uneasy. Stopping, he listened for a moment, and slowly he became aware of a faint, slow creaking sound approaching from behind. He began to turn, before telling himself that he was being foolish, that there was no way anyone was nearby.
Still, the creaking sound came closer.
“Okay,” he said, turning, “what -”
Before he could finish, an arm reached around his neck and pulled him back with such force that he gasped with pain. Feeling something sharp sliding into the small of his back, he immediately tensed, trying desperately to pull away before he was suddenly pushed forward into the wall. A moment later his shoulder was grabbed and he was spun around, finally allowing him to see the figure looming over him.
“Ben -”
A long, wide blade sliced into his chest, cracking two ribs as it cut to the edge of his heart. His whole body shuddered, and a fraction of a second later warm blood erupted from his mouth and ran down his chin. He tried to say something, but his throat was filling with more blood as the figure pulled him away from the wall and gently, almost tenderly laid him down against the cold, dirty concrete.
Leaning over Jack, the figure's head was silhouetted against the night sky. He was wearing a tattered cloth mask that covered his face, with just two eye holes torn to allow him to see. Fixed to the top of the mask, a set of dried twigs and wooden latches had been linked together to form a circle, supporting several thick, sturdy hornlike structures that rose up in varied, jagged directions. Some of these structures had been broken low down, while others twisted several inches above the crown, resembling the antlers of a stag in crude facsimile. The figure tilted his head, allowing the whites of his eyes to be seen briefly through the eye holes, and a moment later he let out a muffled snort that caused the front of his cloth mask to ripple slightly.
Reaching up with trembling hands, Jack tried to push him away, but his strength was already fading.
Hunched over Jack now, the figure pulled the knife from his subject's chest and then looked up toward the sky. Through the torn eye holes, he studied the stars for a few seconds, marking out the territory of the half dozen brightest. Once he was sure of them, he looked back down and forced the knife into Jack's chest again and again, each time creating a thick red slit in the pattern of one of the stars. He looked up again, briefly rechecking the positions, while working furiously to replicate the star map on Jack's chest. Ignoring his victim's increasingly pained gasps, he dug deeper, focused purely on the task at hand until finally the tip of his knife's blade stopped directly above Jack's heart, ready to cut one more time.
“Please,” Jack whispered, reaching up with a trembling hand toward the mask. “Ben...”
Sliding the knife into his chest, the stag-headed man carved a circle and then pulled away a chunk of meat and bone. He set the knife aside and then reached in, wrapping his fingers around his prize and then slowly, carefully, lifting Jack's shuddering heart up until he was able to tear it free. Blood poured down from the heart and between the stag-headed man's fingers, dribbling back down into Jack's empty chest. The figure's cloth mask fluttered with each anxious, heavy breath. He raised the heart, watching it glisten in the moonlight, feeling its warmth, holding it higher and higher until it was above his head, dripping blood down from its position silhouetted against the stars.
Epilogue
Nine years ago
“You chased him away!” Beth hissed, hurrying after Jack as he made his way to the kitchen. “If you hadn't been such an asshole to him, Ben would still be here!”
“I didn't chase anyone away,” Jack replied, trying to keep his back to her as he grabbed a cup and poured himself another coffee. “If Ben's skipped town again, it's because he's got his reasons. Whatever those reasons are, do you seriously think there's any way he'd tell us?”
“You don't seriously think Dad's right about him, do you?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Jack -”
“He had blood on his hands,” he continued, turning to her. “I walked in on him yesterday in the bathroom, and he was washing actual blood off his hands.” He paused, seeing the shock in her eyes. “I'm sorry, Beth, I didn't want to tell you, but this isn't something I imagined, and it's not another of Dad's wild stories. I saw Ben frantically trying to wash all this blood away, and he wouldn't give me a straight answer.” He took a sip of coffee. “So come on, tell me what you'd think if you'd seen him like that.”
“Ben isn't a killer,” she replied, although her voice seemed a little more fragile now, as if some of the certainty had ebbed away.
“So where did the blood come from?” Jack asked. “Tell me that, huh? If Ben's this squeaky-clean, totally innocent guy who never hurt anyone, why did he have all that blood on his hands? And before you try defending him, it wasn't just a patch here and there, it was smeared all over his hands, and there was more on his shirt.”
“He probably -”
“What?” he continued, stepping past her. “He probably just got covered in blood in some innocent way? Then why did he refuse to even acknowledge it had happened?”
“Because you always believe the worst about him!”
“No,” he replied, turning to her again, “I don't believe the worst, I know the worst. And one day you're going to see it's true, and I'm sorry, Beth, but it'd be easier if you get to that point sooner rather than later.” He paused for a moment, seeing the tears in her eyes. “Ben isn't a good person. Hell, it's worse than that. He's a very bad person, worse than you can even imagine, and one day you'll see that for yourself. I wish it wasn't the case, but it is.” Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me. I'm not wrong about this.”
***
“Wait a moment!” Ben shouted, stumbling across the room until he reached the window. Pulling the curtain aside, he peered out and saw a scrawny-looking girl waiting outside in the sun, leaning against the railing that overlooked the empty swimming pool. Pausing for a moment, he finally tapped the window to get her attention. “What do you want?” he called out. “Who are you?”
“Does Bobby still live here?” the woman replied, stepping toward the window.
“Bobby?” He paused. “Yeah, Bobby lives here. I'm a friend of his, I'm just staying for a few days.”
“So is he in?”
He shook his head.
“Well, where is he?”
“At work
.”
“What time will he be back?”
“I don't know,” he replied, still trying to clear his head slightly after the previous night's heavy drinking session. “Do you want me to give him a message or something?”
“Can I wait inside until he comes back?”
He paused. “Um... No, sorry. I don't think that'll be possible.”
“Fine,” she muttered, reaching into her pocket and pulling out an envelope. “Can you give this to him?”
He nodded. “Just slide it under the door.”
She frowned. “What's wrong? Are you scared of me?”
“I'm just being a little careful these days,” he replied. “Slide the damn thing under the door, I'll make sure Bobby gets it.”
“And tell him Elaine came by.”
“I'll tell him that too.”
Sighing, the woman set the envelope down and then slipped it under the door. Ben looked down and realized he still couldn't shake a sense of panic in his gut, not even as he heard the girl walking away from the door. He picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands, before setting it down on the table. Just as he was about to head back to the sofa and get some more sleep, however, he looked back at the door, and finally he pulled the chain across, turned the key and swung it open before leaning out onto the walkway.
The morning sun was so bright, he had to squint.
Looking around for a moment, he realized that the apartment complex was dead as hell. He was quite certain that people from Bowley would be looking for him, and that if they knew where he was staying, they'd be at the door in no time. Still, he figured he'd covered his tracks pretty well, and that there was no way they could track him down. Closing the door, he turned the key again and then shuffled back toward the sofa. He had to think about where to go next, about how to keep running so that the consequences of his actions would never catch up to him. The one thing he knew for certain, as he lay down and got comfortable again, was that going back to Bowley would be suicide.
If he ever went home, sooner or later someone from the Border would kill him. Of that, he had no doubt at all.
Part Seven
Prologue
Nine years ago
“Tell me about your life,” Paula said with a smile, resting against Ben's bare chest as they lay in bed. “Tell me what happened to your eyes.”
Turning to her, he frowned.
“My eyes?”
She nodded, looking first at one of his eyes and then at the other. “They're...” She paused. “Whenever I ask you about your life before you met me, you always brush it off. You tell me everything was boring, but I can see that's not true. A boring life doesn't give someone the kind of eyes you've got.”
“What the hell are you on about?” he asked with a smile.
“I'm serious!”
He shook his head.
“So tell me about your boring life.”
“All because of my eyes?” he asked, with a faint smirk. “Jesus...”
“Eyes are the window to the soul,” she told him.
“Well, if you ever get tired of working in that store downtown, you could try getting a job for a company that makes greeting cards. They lap that cliched stuff right up.”
He smiled and looked away, hoping to somehow reset the conversation. When he turned back to her, however, he found she was still staring at him.
“Knock it off.”
“Knock what off?” she asked.
“Jesus, you're getting on my nerves.”
“I want to know the kind of life you've lived?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because sometimes your eyes scare -” She stopped abruptly.
“My eyes what?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“My eyes scare you?”
“Let's not talk about it,” she replied, turning and looking over toward the window.
“My eyes scare you,” he said after a moment. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
He opened his mouth to ask again, but he was starting to feel that old crushing feeling, the same feeling he got whenever he spent too long with one woman. Even as she reached under the covers and put a hand on his belly, he was already starting to think of ways to get rid of her.
“You talk in your sleep,” she told him finally. “If you want to know why I ask so many questions, that's why. You talk in your sleep, and you say stuff that doesn't...” She paused. “You mentioned a stag-headed man last night. You seemed to be having a nightmare, I almost woke you.”
He froze, eying her with concern. “What else did I say?”
She smiled. “Tell me what the -”
“What else did I say?” he asked again, more firmly this time. “No messing around here, tell me what I said!”
“Or you'll beat me?”
“Or...” He paused. “Just tell me.”
“You seem worried. What's wrong, Ben? Are you scared that maybe you spilled some of the secrets you keep so tight during the day?” She smiled, watching the fear in his eyes, before kissing his shoulder. “Relax,” she continued, “it was all just... I mean, it was obviously some kinda dream. It didn't make sense at all. It just made me wonder what really goes on in that head of yours, that's all.”
He sniffed, staring at the ceiling as she placed several more kisses on his shoulder.
“So you're sticking around, right?” she asked after a moment. “You seem like the kind of guy who might burn through a town pretty fast, but I'd kind of... Well, I'd like it if you stayed for a while longer. So I could get to know you, you know?”
“Sure,” he muttered, his mind already on other things.
“You don't mean that.”
“If you say so.”
“You're so spooked,” she continued, “it's almost like... Well, its almost like you're worried you let out some secrets.”
“I just didn't know I talked in my sleep. That's all.”
“Everyone does sometimes.”
“Not me.” He paused, before flinching as he felt another kiss on his shoulder. Pulling away slightly, he scratched the flesh where the last kiss had fallen, as if it itched like a scarred bullet-wound. “I should get going,” he muttered. “I've got a lot to do today. I need to go find a job.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Any goddamn kind.” He sat up and looked across the room, seeing his clothes sprawled across the floor. He had a vague memory of pulling them off enthusiastically the night before, in the dark, and of ripping some buttons from his shirt. He and Paula had been a little drunk after the bar, desperate to get to one another's naked bodies; now he had a slight headache and he just wanted to shower, drink coffee and get back to being alone. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“Do you want to work in a kitchen?” she asked suddenly, leaning closer and letting her chest brush against his arm.
He turned to her.
“My uncle owns a restaurant,” she continued with a smile. “He's always looking for someone hard-working to keep the kitchen under control. You need to be a bit of a bully to do the job right, but I feel like maybe you've got that in you. You need to be fair, too, and inspire respect, and you can't take any crap from people. If you're interested, I could set you up with a meeting.”
Pausing, he couldn't help noticing the way her green eyes constantly shifted, as if she was watching him intently.
“Why do I get the feeling,” he said finally, “that you're reeling me in?”
“I'm just offering you the chance of a job,” she pointed out, pulling the sheets a little further up to make sure her modesty was protected. “Don't go thinking it's a goddamn marriage proposal. It's just a job. It's hard work, it's dirty, and you'll get cursed at a lot and you'll be expected to curse right back. Plus there's a lot of fish water. I worked there one summer when I was younger, and my overriding memory is all this gunky water from the boxes the fish comes in. Think you can manage a
job that involves fish water?”
He paused again, before smiling. “Honey, I was born for that kind of job.”
“Then we'll drop by the restaurant this morning.”
He nodded, although the sickening sensation in his belly was already starting to grow. Having only just left Bowley, he felt as if he was already being dragged into another entanglement. Then again, as Paula climbed out of bed and walked past the window, her naked body silhouetted against the light curtains, Ben was starting to think that maybe it was impossible to avoid all entanglements. The whole world seemed to be filled with invisible strands, and even walking down the street was a risk for a man who desperately wanted to be alone. Still, he told himself that taking a job with Paula's uncle didn't mean anything in the long-term; it was just a matter of convenience, something to put some cash in his pockets while he worked on a plan to take off again. It didn't mean a damn thing, even though he felt, deep down, that he was already snared.
“While we're there,” she said, fixing her hair in the mirror, her bare ass picked out by the morning light, “we might as well grab lunch.”
Hook, line and sinker.
I
Today
Taking a deep breath, Beth continued to watch the door to the diner for a moment. Shivering in the cold morning air, she hadn't quite plucked up the courage to go inside, not yet. Nearby, some men dressed in Santa costumes were singing carols, while families hurried past on their way to the stores. Beth, however, merely shuddered and looked down at her phone, reading the message for the thousandth time that morning:
If you're serious, meet me at the Bowley diner at 9am on Christmas Eve. Terms as outlined in advert. No nego. Luke.
“If you're serious,” she muttered, trying to work out what that meant. Was it a trap? Was it an attempt to lure her into doing something awful? What were the rules of entrapment again? Or was it – and this was an option she was taking equally seriously – some kind of mistake, or perhaps even something she was imagining?
