Sudden Death

by Phil Kurthausen

  ‘Hi,’ said Erasmus.

  The man ignored him and sniffed the air.

  ‘Catherine, have you been smoking?’

  She rolled her eyes and winked at Erasmus.

  ‘Busted,’ she whispered as she passed Erasmus and walked over to the man. She embraced him and kissed him on his cheek.

  Erasmus’s eyes widened in surprise as the man gripped Cat tightly.

  ‘This is Ben Bridge; he’s our physics teacher. Ben, this is Erasmus he is Rebecca Kelly’s lawyer.’ She laughed as she said this and pulled Ben closer to her.

  He held out his hand for Ben to shake but he ignored it, and instead nodded his head ever so slightly in the only acknowledgement he seemed willing to give Erasmus.

  ‘And her boyfriend.’ Ben turned to Cat. ‘We’ve got reservations at seven remember,’ said Ben. Even though he was standing a few yards away Erasmus caught the unmistakable stench of halitosis.

  Cat kissed him again. She must be very much in love or have no sense of smell, thought Erasmus, and then instantly mentally reprimanded himself. Maybe Ben had hidden, very well hidden, qualities?

  ‘Of course, I was just coming. Erasmus was leaving now as well, weren’t you, Erasmus?’

  ‘I was, and thanks for all your help. Here’s my card. If you could let me know how the talk goes that would be great.’

  He handed her the card.

  Ben was all but scowling at him now. Erasmus nodded an unreturned goodbye to him and left the classroom. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Ben’s eyes were fixed on his back like laser sights.

  CHAPTER 24

  Hands were reaching out to him but there was something wrong with these hands. It took him a moment to work out what it was and then, with a lurching, vertiginous sense of horror, he realised what it was. These hands were children’s hands but they weren’t attached to bodies. The hands, sticky with blood, moved slowly out of the darkness and held onto him, stopping him from moving. They wanted something from him, something he couldn’t give: they wanted him to save them. Bloody hands covered his body now, hands in his mouth, stopping him from breathing properly, he began to choke, to suffocate and from somewhere far away a loud knocking heralded new terrors.

  Erasmus awoke in a twisted pile of sheets and duvet. There was a bang from downstairs on the communal front door. Erasmus checked his alarm clock: 3.25 a.m. Another bang. Why didn’t whoever it was just ring the flat they wanted? He lay there for a second, maybe one of the other residents would go and see who it was. He knew that was unlikely. Ali in the apartment above had moved out weeks ago to go and work with his brother in Iraq and Mark and Sue were ‘travelling’ at the moment for a few months – they had looked a bit peeved when Erasmus had referred to it as ‘going on holiday’. In any case, the other two apartments were empty so who the hell would be knocking for him at this hour?

  ‘Fuck!’

  Erasmus got out of bed and slipped on a pair of combat pants and a T-shirt. He picked up the baseball bat he kept by the side of his bed and went downstairs. The large, high ceilinged hallway was cold and he regretted his choice of T-shirt immediately. He ran down the cold stairs and paused by the thick wooden door. There was no glass but he could hear somebody moving about outside and then, making him jump, the pounding on the door began again.

  He positioned the bat behind his shoulders, ready to swing, and then Erasmus opened the door.

  Wayne Jennings stood there, swaying and grinning the grin of someone who has spent the night, and probably the day, drinking.

  ‘Raz man!’

  He staggered forward, his foot hitting the step and he began to fall. Erasmus caught him in time.

  ‘Wayne, what are you doing here?’

  Wayne smiled.

  ‘I scored again today, twice, did you hear? Been celebrating.’

  Erasmus kicked the door shut. He had forgotten that there had also been a Monday night game.

  ‘Er, yeah against Manchester United?’

  Wayne giggled.

  ‘Wigan, pie eaters, you know.’

  ‘But why are you here?’

  ‘I need a drink thasall. Everywhere’s shut or shit.’

  Erasmus swore under his breath.

  ‘Come on then, but it’s coffee only.’

  ‘Sure, I can walk, lemmme go. I scored a goal today, did you know?’

  Erasmus nodded in exasperation.

  ‘It’s up the stairs, first floor.’ He decided that he better follow Wayne just in case he fell backwards.

  ‘OK, I’m OK.’

  Wayne began to slowly make his way up the stairs, his left hand palm flat to the wall, keeping his balance.

  They got to the flat without incident. Erasmus steered Wayne to the couch and he flopped onto it with all the grace of the drunk. Erasmus made a pot of coffee and took a cup through to the living room for both of them.

  Wayne was laying flat on the couch, face down and a small amount of drool had formed at the corner of his mouth. Erasmus set the mug of coffee down on the table and went to get a blanket from the airing cupboard. He returned and placed the blanket over Wayne.

  ‘Shhheez left me, you know,’ muttered Wayne.

  ‘Who, Steph?’

  ‘Thass the one. Sez I’m selfish and a cheater. Cheater compulsive eater.’

  Wayne started to laugh, a laugh which quickly turned to tears.

  ‘Is this anything to do with what happened in March?’ asked Erasmus.

  Wayne turned over onto to his back.

  ‘Shhh, maybe, but Shteve sorted all that. It’s sorted. Sorted.’

  Erasmus was going to press him but Wayne had started to cry.

  ‘I love her.’

  Erasmus awkwardly patted Wayne on his shoulder.

  ‘I know, son. I know. You need to sleep now though. Things will seem different in the morning.’

  Wayne sniffled.

  ‘They will be worse.’

  Erasmus said nothing. He found it hard to disagree.

  CHAPTER 25

  Erasmus’s status as Pete’s best friend was sealed when he turned up for Sunday dinner with Wayne Jennings in tow. Pete’s daughters had screamed in joy and surprise, his eldest disappearing upstairs without saying hello in order to apply make-up, update Facebook and Twitter, and remove the two pictures of her boyfriend James that she kept in her bedroom.

  While Pete and Wayne kicked a football in the back garden holding cans of lager, Erasmus stood in the kitchen watching them with Pete’s wife, Debs.

  Debs was busy making the Sunday roast, a whirling, spinning force of nature as she grabbed plates, cut, diced and, at the same time, spoke to Erasmus, who in the guise of helping was holding a can of Stella and watching one of the world’s most valuable footballers being tackled by Pete who was wearing a pair of polished brogues.

  He told Debs that Wayne had been dumped and it appeared that Pete had told Debs all about the reappearance of Karen in his life.

  She slammed the oven door shut and turned to face Erasmus. She shook her head.

  ‘Jesus, the state of you pair! At least he’s young and incredibly rich and successful. You are none of the above. You’ve got no excuse. Pete tells me Karen is back on the scene?’

  Erasmus found himself blushing. Ever since they had met, Debs had always had the ability to make him feel five years old.

  He laughed it off.

  ‘Well, since you won’t have me I guess I’m going to have to be on my own for ever.’

  Debs laughed and flicked her tea towel at him.

  ‘I don’t give advice often, you know that, Erasmus, but you told Pete that when Karen left you that you fell apart.’’

  How could he forget? Karen had left him a broken mess, so low that he had considered taking his own life. She had been the reason he joined the army, without the break up he wouldn’t have met his ex-wife Miranda but, he reminded himself, he also wouldn’t have had Abby. Life’s butterfly wings never ceased to amaze and frighten him.


  He looked at Debs.

  ‘I remember. We were all different people then. I am very different now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Remember you told me that before Pete and you got married you dumped him?’

  She arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Mmm. I left him because the timing wasn’t right.’

  ‘Well, maybe the timing wasn’t right back then for me and Karen but now it is?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘None so blind as those that can’t see. You may have been through a lot but as far as Karen is concerned it seems to me that you haven’t changed a bit. ‘

  She stepped forward and hugged him.

  ‘Don’t let her rip your heart out again. You know I hate to see grown men cry like babies.’

  ‘I won’t, don’t worry.’

  Pete burst into the room. He had the excited look of a nine-year-old on Christmas Day.

  ‘Put my wife down immediately! I can’t afford any more kids especially if they were as ugly as you.’

  Debs let Erasmus go.

  ‘How is football with Wayne Jennings?’

  Pete looked like he could burst with the excitement of it all.

  ‘Amazing! The kids are outside filming as we speak. I made them do a YouTube video of me nutmegging him.’

  ‘What’s nutmegging?’ asked Erasmus.

  ‘Jesus, I can’t believe you were born a man. Come on upstairs, I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘You boys better not be looking at dirty videos!’ said Debs.

  Erasmus followed Pete upstairs to his small study in the attic. One entire wall was decorated with a Mod roundel and the rest of the walls were floor to ceiling shelves of old vinyl and CDs.

  ‘Remind me again, who’s the teenager in this house?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Classics these. It’s my legacy to the kids.’

  ‘I’m sure they will be very proud,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘It beats that American grungy crap and indie bollocks you listen to.’

  Erasmus ignored him; it was another old argument.

  Pete sat at the old battered desk in the corner. On it rested a MacBook Pro and various bits of computer equipment that Erasmus didn’t recognise. He took the chair next to Pete’s.

  ‘I’ve got Rebecca’s emails. You owe me big, I tell you. Have you ever had to read a teenage girls emails? Sheeshh kebab, I was reaching for the razor blades myself.’

  ‘Poor taste.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. I’ve had to trawl through thousands of missives about Phantom Lust, girls who have fallen in and out of favour and, God help me, it doesn’t feel right either. If I thought adults could have seen my love letters and poetry when I was that age I would’ve been mortified.’

  ‘Poetry?’ said Erasmus, giving Pete a sideways glance

  ‘Er, I meant song lyrics.’

  Erasmus let it go but stored it for another day.

  ‘Look, Karen thinks Rebecca is in danger and if you thought the same about any of your girls, you would do the same thing. It’s the lesser of two evils.’

  ‘Maybe. Just as long as you’re not just doing this to get into Karen’s pants again?’

  Erasmus ignored this comment.

  ‘So what are the highlights?’

  Pete clicked on a folder titled ‘B’ and then on an email titled ‘Ethan’.

  ‘Show me.’

  The first email was dated six months ago. It was from Rebecca to OliviaK@hotmail.co.uk.

  O, did you see Rach today, what was that she had on? I saw the same Tammy on the Oaks, she is copying but why bother when u look like that? I can’t come Friday – meeting BFE on IM – got to go P911 xxx

  ‘You are going to have to translate for me?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘You can tell you don’t have kids. Well, after the standard bitchfest, she is meeting her boyfriend – initial E on Friday on Instant Messager. P911 is parent alert. I presume she heard Karen coming up the stairs. I am assuming ‘E’ is Ethan.’

  Pete clicked on another email.

  ‘It’s to Olivia again. Two months later.’

  Me and E cut again last night. He knows me but it’s difficult, we have to be secret. Don’t tell anyone, O. I need to see you tomorrow.

  ‘Karen said she thinks Rebecca started cutting about four months ago. This E must be part of the reason. Are there are any more emails? What about emails from E?’

  Pete shook his head.

  ‘Nothing. It’s like E or Ethan doesn’t exist outside of Rebecca: no emails, no further mention, nada. If it wasn’t for Karen seeing that message I’d say that Rebecca had invented him.’

  ‘What about Instant Messager? That’s where they are meeting. Can’t you access that?’

  ‘The computer doesn’t record it. The messages will be stored on a server in a superbunker somewhere in the Mojave desert but to get hold of them you need a court order and I can get you rocking horse shit more easily.’

  ‘So how do we find out who Ethan is?’

  ‘There may be a way but there is no guarantee. We have the keystroke programme so we can see what she is looking at in real time but unless you want round the clock surveillance on her computer then we would have to hope that I am online looking at the same time. If I am, then once she is Instant Messaging then I can probably get the IP address of the user she is communicating with and if we are lucky it will be a static address.’

  Erasmus looked at Pete.

  ‘It’s me?’

  ‘Oh yeah sure. Well, if it’s a static address it means we can trace it. Internet Service Providers assign fixed addresses if the router is a company’s, a library’s, that type of thing. If it’s a dynamic address then it becomes a really long shot but, like I say, we have to be online at the same time she is.’

  Erasmus had a hunch on how they could narrow down the odds.

  ‘OK, leave that to me. Listen, on our fee paying case; I need you to check out what these are for?’ Erasmus took out the pills that he had taken from the medicine cabinet and handed them to Pete. ‘They’re Prochymal. I’ve Googled them, of course, but it doesn’t make sense to me why Khan and Cowley would be giving them to Wayne. They seem to be for kids who’ve had bone marrow transplants and I’m pretty sure we can rule that out for Wayne. I need you to take a fresh look, maybe have a word with that cousin of yours, he’s a doctor, yeah?’

  ‘He’s a vet. But leave it with me. It will be like the old days.’

  Pete was referring to the fact that long ago his cousin had been an MDMA hobbyist, as he liked to call himself, manufacturing ecstasy tablets for his friends. His knowledge of pharmaceuticals was second to none.

  ‘Shall we go and join Wayne in the garden. I’ll teach you what a nutmeg is.’

  ‘You’re on,’ said Erasmus with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Which was none.

  CHAPTER 26

  Rebecca entered an almost trance like state of worship when she was able to communicate with Ethan. Such occasions were rare and she valued them more than she valued her own life. In the ethereal blue light of the computer screen she began to type.

  It’s hard sometimes. I feel like a cow but the more she pleads with me the more I lash out. I feel guilty but I can’t help it. She is the opposite of what we are. Her and Dad split up and I don’t blame her for that but I do blame her for being with him in the first place.

  He isn’t a bad man. He is just beige and that sounds bitchy again and I don’t mean it that way. He loves me in his own way and I love him, but he is … uninteresting. He is good looking and easy to be around, people mistake his affability as a surface for deep waters that don’t exist. I haven’t seen him for nearly a year now, he’s in Saudi working for some oil corporation friend of George W. Bush type shit.

  I am angry at her because she made the mistake of not realising this soon enough and although I wouldn’t be here if she had, she has ruined three lives by her stupidity. I would never make that mistake. Looks are transito
ry (although you are beautiful!) it is the person you are that is most beautiful and that’s how you make me feel: the most beautiful person in the world! The days before you are a distant memory, a grey before the light, and I could never go back to those days.

  She had someone over the other night. A man. Now she feels guilty. I can see it in her eyes. She thinks I might be angry that she had a man over. It’s not anger, it’s pity. It’s too late for her now but she doesn’t realise it yet and when she does she will be old (she is 40 in 2 years!).

  The man broke my door down. He isn’t stupid. I could see him looking at my computer. He looked in a way Mum couldn’t. He looked without emotion. I had just put away my box but I dropped it and I think they thought I might have hurt myself.

  He broke the door down. Total drama. They didn’t see the box though. I think if she finds it she will try to have me sectioned or something. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get love because she has never been in love. I feel sorry for her but it’s not my fault.

  It’s late now. I know she is sleeping because the crying has stopped. I did as you said and I’m cutting near my groin now, it’s cleaner and even more special. I think of you when I cut.

  I’ve been thinking about what we talked about. I wasn’t sure but I think I am getting close but only if I can look into your eyes while we do it. I want to but I am not afraid to tell you anything and I won’t lie. I am frightened, Ethan.

  Rebecca

  CHAPTER 27

  Wayne was three nil up and coasting.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a little narcissistic playing as yourself?’ asked Erasmus.

  Wayne looked back at him blankly. They were playing a soccer game, the name of which Erasmus instantly forgot, on Wayne’s Xbox, which he had brought round to Erasmus’s house along with two bin liners full of clothes.

  Steph had been clear: she wanted him out of the house. Despite the fact that Wayne owned it, he had moved out, and Erasmus had agreed he could stay with him for a few days until he found a place. Not that that was the real reason. A man of Wayne’s resources could have been in the plushest hotel suite in town that night but Erasmus recognised loneliness and heartbreak when he saw it.