With careful steps, Argyle walked across the road, a car narrowly missing him. His hand reached over his shoulder, his mighty fingers grasping the handle of the blade that clung to his spine. He approached the alley, his mind flickering back to a time when his partner entered one similar while he lifted a car and confused a crowd of people.
Now, cold rain clattered against the walls, the shadows thick and dark. Careful step after careful step, Argyle walked further into the dark.
Something scurried nearby. A rat.
An empty packet of crisps fluttered down and beyond him.
He heard a noise behind him and turned.
There he was.
The cloaked figure.
Beyond the crime scene he had just ventured from, between the two buildings, the figure stood, intimidating with its stillness. A few police officers walked past, none of them aware of the ensuing stare down of another world. The figure, shrouded in darkness, stood deathly still, and Argyle took a few steps back towards the entrance of the alleyway.
A footstep behind him.
He spun on his heels, and at the other end of the alleyway a cloaked figured loomed. Drawing his sword instantly, Argyle stepped back, ready to attack. He glanced back across the street to the original figure, but it was gone. He turned back to the alley ahead.
The figure was gone.
Neither of them were anywhere to be seen and Argyle, with a calmness that defied the situation, slowly sheathed his sword, glancing with worry in both directions. After a few moments, and secure in the knowledge they had gone, Argyle stomped from the alleyway, making his way towards a place called the Necropolis.
Every one of Bermuda’s footsteps echoed as he stepped through the large door to the tomb, a faint splash as a hidden drip continued its eternal plunge. The room smelt damp, the blistering storms outside rotting away at the ancient brick, the moisture bursting out in a foul odour. He was surprised how large it was inside; the spacious room was cordoned off in certain places, a few numbered boards marking potential points of interest.
As he entered, a couple of SOCOs nodded respectfully and exited, a sign of respect that was usually absent. Looking around at the dank, grey room, Bermuda drew on his e-cigarette, a cloud of strawberry-infused smoke wafting towards the brick ceiling. The only light was struggling to get through the doorway behind him.
‘Mr Jones?’ A voice creaked from the corner like an eerie rocking chair.
‘The one and only,’ Bermuda responded.
‘Jones is a terribly common name.’ The voice was posh, a surprising English accent hidden away in the dark corners of Scotland’s most famous graveyards. The man slowly trundled from the darkness of the side room, emerging into the struggling light. He was old – easily eighty years old, with skin that hung from his bones in a worryingly unnatural way. Bermuda could see the struggle he had walking. Years of working the grounds had broken the man’s body.
He didn’t look human at all.
The old man sniffed; the lingering aroma of Bermuda’s cigarette clung to the airless room.
‘What on earth is that smell?’
‘Strawberry.’
‘Never mind.’ He extended a bony hand, the skin tightly wrapped around the knuckles twisted and wrinkled. ‘May I call you Bermuda?’
‘You may.’ Bermuda smiled. ‘Can I call you Toby?’
‘Tobias.’ He grinned, shocking Bermuda with immaculate teeth. ‘I am glad you have come. Is your partner not with you?’
‘Argyle? He is doing his own investigating. Figured I could handle you on my own.’
The old man chuckled. ‘I still have some fight in these old bones. They haven’t put me out to pastures just yet.’
‘You are a friend of Montgomery Black?’
‘Ah yes, Mr Black.’
‘What’s that like? You know, knowing him on any level where he is not a complete dick-head?’
Tobias frowned, slowly moving towards the doorway, the rain hurtling itself over the threshold.
‘Montgomery Black was one of the finest agents the BTCO had ever had. He was the one who established a gateway here in the Necropolis many years ago. Before you were even born.’
‘What happened to it?’ Bermuda asked, realising he should be taking notes, patting his jacket for his pad. ‘Why did the gateway close?’
‘Oh, it was a long time ago. An unfortunate death of a young woman.’ Tobias shook his head with regret. ‘They decided to reduce the number of gateways, rendering London the only port for this side of Europe. Those were dark days.’
Bermuda scratched words onto his pad, trying his best to remove the image of Montgomery Black wandering around 1950s Glasgow like Magnum PI, moustache and all. He chuckled out loud, drawing a confused look from his elder.
‘I was offered the chance to move on or go to London. But this is my home. I offered to stay stationed here in Glasgow, at the office in town. Then, as age crept up on me and stole my wife, I came here. The dead are silent, but they never leave you. Here, I am never on my own.’
A jolt of sympathy ran through Bermuda for the old man, who had found peace and acceptance where everyone else found the afterlife. As he scribbled notes down, he cast an eye at him, again perturbed by the way his skin hung from him.
Age had not been kind.
‘Why did you ask for me?’ Bermuda asked, breaking the silence.
‘Because Agent Jenson is currently in the Bahamas.’
‘Lucky bastard!’ Bermuda muttered, angered by the notion that other agents received annual leave. ‘But why did you request me?’
‘Ah, I see.’ Tobias lowered himself onto a small stone border that framed the wall. It felt like an eternity as he lowered himself. ‘We needed someone here quick and someone who would see the job through. Now despite what Black thinks of you on a personal level, he does speak highly of your work. He says that you and Argyle are quite the team.’
‘Well, we’re no Magnum & Higgins.’
The blank stare told Bermuda that the joke was very private. He nodded, indicating for Tobias to continue.
‘There is something wrong here. Something dark that has been let out over this city.’ Tobias stared out over the Necropolis, the beauty of the grounds encased in a wet curtain. ‘This creature is not of our world, Bermuda, but I am not sure it is completely of theirs.’
‘What, like a Hovis situation?’ Bermuda asked,
Tobias’s confused glare encouraged clarification.
‘You know, a best-of-both kind of deal.’
‘Or the worst?’ Tobias questioned, his sombre words drifting out of the door to the tomb.
Bermuda frowned, the feeling that something wasn’t quite right was settling uncomfortably on him like an ill-fitting shirt. An unnerving silence sat between them.
‘Why does he take the hearts?’ Bermuda broke the tension with a forceful tone.
‘The hearts? I don’t know. Trophies?’
Bermuda shook his head, drawing his mouth into a thin line. ‘I don’t think so. Usually a killer would take a different trophy per person. This is more of a collection as if they have been requested. These women are not linked in any way, and both of them have been found in their bedrooms. What does that tell you?’
‘I’m sorry, my mind is not as fast as it used to be,’ Tobias offered in his posh, old charm.
Bermuda continued. ‘It tells you that they trusted the killer. Now both women are heterosexual, so to be found partially clothed but with no signs of sexual trauma would indicate that they wanted our killer in the room with them. My theory, he is seducing these women so he can get them to a place where they let their guard down and no one sees What’s about to happen.’ Bermuda looked at Tobias, who could only manage a strangely perfect smile. ‘It makes me think he looks human.’
‘It’s not uncommon for an Other to look human,’ Tobias replied. ‘I hear Argyle looks human.’
Bermuda shrugged. ‘Humanish. But he is too big, too powerful, and way too kin
d to be a human.’
‘I think it would be beneficial for me to meet with him as well.’
‘He’s kind of the brawn of the duo.’ Bermuda took a moment, tossing something over in his mind. ‘And probably the brain too.’
‘Either way, I would like to meet him. Soon.’
Bermuda nodded, scribbling ‘Argyle?’ into his book before flicking it shut.
‘So our suspect is a handsome, charming man? Won’t be too hard to find in this hellhole.’
Tobias chuckled, slowly easing himself back to his feet and waving away Bermuda’s offer of assistance. ‘Find him. Before more women die.’
He patted Bermuda on the back with a shocking amount of strength before slowly hobbling back into the depths of the tomb. Bermuda watched him, again surprised how age had really taken its toll. The crippled limp, the saggy skin. It was an unfortunate portrayal of the fool that time makes of us all. Bermuda went to step into the rain but stopped at the threshold, peering back as Tobias almost stepped into the dark.
‘Why bring the hearts here?’ Bermuda motioned to the tomb.
Tobias turned, flashing his pearly white grin one last time. ‘Because this is a chamber of death on the land of the dead. A heart is the human essence of life.’
‘So what, he’s offering it?’
‘Perhaps.’ Tobias stepped into the darkness.
‘Why?’ Bermuda called out. ‘What is he bargaining for?’
Silence for a few moments before the creaky voice cackled out one more time. ‘You’re the detective. You tell me.’
On that unhelpful note, Bermuda stepped back out into the crime scene. A few mourners stood by the cordon, watching with the usual fascination that the public have when they think CSI is happening live in front of them. A young policeman was ushering them on, his uniform soaked through. Bermuda trudged across the grass, slamming two Tic Tacs into his mouth as a furious McAllister approached him, her hair plastered to her head and her minimalistic makeup slightly smudged. He could smell the alcohol on her, mixed with cigarette smoke and Chanel perfume.
‘What did he say?’ she demanded, marching alongside him as he walked to her car.
‘Not much. But it’s clear that this won’t stop until we find him.’
‘So you DO think it’s a man that has done this.’ She smirked, triumphant.
Bermuda turned to her, the wind hurling rain into his eyes. ‘No.’ He offered her a smile. ‘I think it’s something that we should be worried about.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you know when you’re a kid and you thought places like this were the scariest in the world? Yeah, that kind of scary, but with people dying.’
He patted her on the arm and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his new coat, the lining soft against his wet hands.
McAllister frowned, the lines across her forehead rising to the challenge. ‘Where the hell are you going?’ she called after him as she stood by the door of her car.
‘I gotta get to work,’ he yelled, marching onwards.
She tutted and dropped into the front seat of the car, the engine roaring to life as she pulled away. Bermuda trudged through the muddy ground, respectfully dipping between the graves instead of over them. The trees that lined the paths were derelict, their leaves long since committed to the earth. Their branches poked up towards the sky like jagged, naked fingers. As Bermuda stepped off the final step and out through the gate, he was met by Argyle who, for the first time since Bermuda could remember, didn’t look the picture of calm.
‘You okay, Big Guy?’ Bermuda asked, puffing his e-cig and smiling at his partner.
‘Yes.’ The response was stone-cold. Argyle’s eyes darted around the large Necropolis, almost sure that hooded figures were amongst the shadows. ‘I just feel that not everything is at it seems.’
‘Oh believe me, buddy…’ Bermuda started walking back towards the city centre. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
As the two crossed the road and headed back towards town, the hooded figures watched from the Necropolis, calm and motionless. They watched as the two agents of the BTCO slowly disappeared from their eye line. Soon they were gone.
Silently, the watchers fell back into the shadows.
They were here.
Where they needed them to be.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was becoming relentless.
They had told him that if he brought them the hearts, she would be returned. The only person or thing he had cared about in his life, a life he was certain had only existed on this earth. There were faded memories – dark skies and cold, stone floors. Bloodied corpses lying in rotten fields. Something scuttling across a broken, grey-bricked wall.
They came in flashes, horrible images flickering like a snapshot, as if cut into one tile on a roll of film.
All he could see beyond them was her.
Her smooth, dark skin. He remembered running his fingers down her arm, the tips gliding as if he was testing a varnished table top. The smell, fresh and sweet, and her smile a small line filled with white pearls.
The personification of perfection.
Kevin Parker tried to recall where he was. He had been to a young lady’s house, her name a sadly forgettable detail but her heart a crucial souvenir. He had removed it with his bare hand, the warmth of her bodily fluids washing over his fingers as they plunged through her muscles.
The shards of ribs ripped at his flesh, which soon stitched itself back together.
Life had left her quickly and painlessly.
He had delivered the heart.
She had not been returned.
‘Where are you, Kevin?’
He chanted over and over to himself, staring at the dark walls of the room he sat in. It took a few moments before the clarity arrived, the lines of the floorboards slowly forming in the darkness. He was where he sat during the day. An abandoned factory that sat dormant on the outskirts of the town.
He recalled it was called Glasgow.
There was no rhyme or reason to his being there, nothing that he could link to in the chasm of his mind. There were just empty pockets of knowledge as if he should know more than he did.
He only knew of her.
How they had taken her from him.
They would not release her until they had what they wanted. He could feel the dried blood of Katie Steingold under the nails he was sure were his own. The final beat of her heart against the dry palm of his hand. It was worth it. As long as it brought him closer to her, then he would rip every heart from every chest.
He sat in silence for an eternity.
It reminded him of another time, chained to the floor and unable to move. Unable to grieve.
That voice, tinged with a hatred that mocked him from the darkness, accusing him of her death.
That it was his fault.
That same voice which reached out to him recently, demanding he bring the hearts to the stone house and then leave.
One a night.
Every heart until hers could be returned.
This was his life now. He existed purely to end existence. It was a cruel plight, but one which would enable him to see her again.
To be with her.
Be himself.
As the shadows of the room slowly disintegrated as the sun burst through the jagged holes that littered the ceiling, Kevin pulled his legs in close to his body, protecting himself. Rain dripped through, and he soon smelt the damp wood beneath him.
They would find her body.
They would find her heart.
But they would never know why.
He struggled into the darkest corner of the desolate room, curled into a small ball, and tried to rest his eyes.
All he could see was her.
Her, and the cavernous voids he had left in the chests of the innocent women.
He slept.
Bermuda and Argyle slithered through the busy streets of Glasgow, the locals all wrapped up in thick woollen hats. The rain
was subsiding, replaced by a bitterly cold wind that ran rampant between the gothic buildings. The shops were busy, the usual hustle and bustle of a town centre. Argyle watched with a calm awe at the consumerist nature, with lines of people following each other into River Island while people marched out of Boots with bags hanging from their gloved hands.
Humanity was bizarre, he told himself.
Bermuda stopped walking, gazing down at his phone with a raised eyebrow. He whipped his head in different directions, clearly lost.
‘Are you lost?’ Argyle stated the obvious.
‘I’m afraid I am, Big Guy.’ Bermuda turned to the left, approaching a derelict building, the doors boarded up, papered with faded fliers and keep out signs. He frowned. ‘This is meant to be it.’
Argyle stepped forward. The wooden panels were soggy, drenched by the elements. To the side of the building was a metal post box, overstuffed with pizza fliers from poor delivery drivers who never got the message. ‘This is the BTCO office.’
‘It was.’ Bermuda gestured to the rotten boards. ‘Seems they closed more than just the gate.’
Argyle looked at his disappointed partner before extending one of his powerful arms. He spread his hand and placed it on the face of the mailbox, a small red light flashing underneath Farmhouse Pizzas smiling mascot. Bermuda watched, his jaw dropping as once the light finished, a thin black line filtered down from the top of the board in front of him, carving a small cut through the wood. It filtered down and then split, following a predetermined line that began to slice a doorway into the panel. Slowly it came to a finish and Argyle, without a word, pushed it open, beckoning his partner through in one of his usual acts of chivalry.
‘I really need to stop letting myself be surprised,’ Bermuda muttered as he stepped through. Once Argyle followed, the board healed up, removing the entrance and shunning the world from one that existed in secret.
The Otherside.
Bermuda ascended down a flight of stone steps; old, broken concrete lined the walls of the tunnel. Behind him, Argyle stooped low, his seven-foot frame encased by the darkness. Suddenly, a blue light burst momentarily, followed by the sweet smell of Bermuda’s e-cig.
The Absent Man Page 10
