'That? Ha! What's that!' Monty barked a bitter laugh that went for just a little bit longer than was comfortable. 'That's an old debt that can never be repaid. A debt as old as man itself. Something that can never be repaid. That's what it is. And old debts require old magic to keep them in check. The oldest there is. The most powerful of all. Sealed in blood.'
'What?!'
'It's the only way to keep them out.'
'WHAT?!'
Monty's explanation didn't help any and Dave felt reality slipping away as he stared from the expanding cone to the shivering child to the glittering blade held out toward him.
Panic fizzled and popped adding an extra layer of confusion to Dave's already overloaded mind.
'It was never ours to begin with and they want it back,' Monty spat and Dave felt his body start to shiver uncontrollably.
What is that glinting?
The whirlpool was hypnotic. Before he'd even fully realised what he was doing, he'd taken a step toward it, drawn forward even though his brain screamed to run and run far.
'You don't want to get too close.' Monty told him. 'They're more powerful than you can possibly comprehend.' Then Monty's voice trailed away again into muttering while Dave obediently halted and stared. His gut roiled and churned even worse than the whirlpool on the wall. 'They'll destroy everything. Everything and I can't stop them. Not this time. No no no no no, I can't stop them. I can't do another. You need to do it. You need to take this knife and cut the boy's throat.'
And for the briefest time, Dave thought, Should I?
A second later it sickened him but he couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind.
What if Monty is telling the truth, his mind flitted over the problem. I mean there's the whopping great whirlpool in the middle of the wall. Something's coming through. What if Monty is telling the truth? Maybe I should–
What the hell are you thinking? It was Naomi's voice that had cut through all the confusion that swirled in his brain. Cut right through in that same tone of voice she always used when he'd not paced himself the night before. When the drinks had gone down a little quicker than they should have and he'd pissed her off.
Dave's hand froze where it had been reaching for the knife and he locked eyes with the boy again while Monty continued to rabbit, 'Too much, too much, too much, I can't do another one...'
You cannot seriously tell me that you... Naomi's voice didn't even have to finish the sentence before Dave decided. It was the boy's saucer like eyes. There was just no way he could ignore them.
It was the first time Dave had ever really punched somebody. The split second from thought to execution was riddled with doubt. Even as he put his entire body behind the swing, it felt horrendously uncoordinated and he could see his fist harmlessly grazing Monty's cheek. Or even worse, missing entirely, throwing him off balance and giving Monty more than enough time to go to work with his blade.
It took him completely by surprise when pain exploded up his arm and he realised he'd connected.
Boy, had he connected. Monty's head snapped up and back, giving Dave a flash of the whites as his eyes rolled back in his skull and the knife slipped from his grip. It clattered to the ground just as Monty toppled back, emitting a noise that sounded like a half sigh- half raspberry and his grip on the boy slipped.
Agony coursed up his forearm. Dave was already shaking his hand as Monty splatted wetly into a nearby stack of bodies that crumpled wetly beneath him. Squishing and squirting. A noxious odour, somehow even more foul than the one that already permeated the air, flooded Dave's nostrils. It made him gag horribly and as the kid finally found its voice and started bawling long and loud, Dave could do nothing to comfort him.
He could only stagger forward, one hand outstretched, the other cupped protectively to his chest, gagging as he tried to hold in a scream.
It was no wonder that the cops reacted the way they did when they kicked in the door a second later. Dave knew he must have looked horrendous. His face all twisted as he reached forward for the kid. He really didn't blame the cops for what they did.
After the first one through recoiled, hand to his mouth, eyes wide with shock, the second headed straight for Dave. He hit him and the wind whooshed out of his lungs as he went down hard, flat on his back on the sticky cobblestones with the cop hissing away in his ear, 'Just stay down, just fucking stay down.' His voice gradually going more and more hysterical as he took in his surroundings. The mounded bodies and the shivering naked kid screaming in the middle of the room.
Dave didn't resist, just lay there trying to get his breath back while the cop flipped him and went about slapping on some cuffs, relief washing through him when he saw that the cone seemed to have receded into the wall again.
It made it much easier when he looked across to where Monty writhed slowly into the muck of the ruined bodies he'd crashed into. Much easier to just write the old man off as a madman and tell himself he'd done the right thing while the cop above him ground his face into the filthy blue stones.
12.
Later, he got an apology from the cops for the rough treatment. Back at the station, after a few frantic hours had passed and things had started to be pieced together, Detective Bernard Green had formally apologised while he'd handed over Dave’s cell phone. Apparently they’d tracked down that he was the one who dialled emergency. That, combined with the kid’s testimony had been enough to put Dave in the clear and finally allow him to get some medical attention for the gash Monty had left in his head.
‘We owe you a great deal of thanks,’ was how Green had phrased it. ‘If it wasn’t for you there would be an extra body piled up down there.’ A comment that had left Dave trembling as he’d replayed his actions down in the strange room. Sitting in the austere surrounds of the interview room holding wadded gauze to his head, he'd found it near impossible to believe he’d ever worked up the courage to deck Monty.
Disbelief that stayed with him all through the following week after he was transferred from the police station to a nearby motel to “assist with the investigation”. Every time he awoke screaming into his pillow, it was waiting. Each time he closed his eyes and was transported back to the horrible bluestone room, it was there.
The cops set him up an appointment with a shrink because of the nightmares. Talking about it seemed to do diddly squat though and meds weren't presented as an option. The shrink said he didn’t need them, though Dave reckoned that they just didn’t want him flying when it came time for Monty’s arraignment. Same reason they did their damnedest to keep him away from the paper’s and TV – though enough of it filtered in for Dave to know that the case had hit in a big way. Glimpses of front page splashes and the occasional breaking news bulletin were enough for him to glean the gist of things. It was the biggest recorded instance of systematic slaughter in Australia’s history and the papers were having a field day.
All the while Dave tried his best to write off the strange whirling cone as a figment of his imagination. He tried to block out Monty’s words too but they were harder to keep down. They just kept floating through his head at different times of the day. Old debt requires old magic… They’re coming through… I can’t do another… it was never ours to begin with…
Always leaving that little hint of lingering doubt no matter how quickly he rushed to quash them.
Did I do the right thing?
Of course I did, don’t be fucking ridiculous, he was just a nutcase.
He only learned of his celebrity when he'd had to contact his boss.
‘Wow, you’re like a hero. It’s all over the paper,’ Amanda Jenkins, his usually staid superior had raved down the phone before pretty much forcing him into a month of paid leave. To help him cope with the stress of what had happened, apparently.
Dave didn’t complain.
Although after that call his checks of his mobile became more frequent – he’d kind of held out hope that she might see his name in the paper and make contact – but Naomi
never messaged. In his more deluded fantasies he pictured explanations of how wrong she’d been. That she was on her way up to be with him during his time of need. But the only voicemails he received were from reporters and he quickly learned that replying to them was a bad idea.
Then just over a week later, after the abrupt decision that his testimony wasn’t necessary, Dave had been sent on his way. His only explanation his minder had told him was, ‘Probably means there’s plenty of physical evidence, then,’
And that had been that. A little bemused at the waste of time and money but once again uncomplaining Dave had headed home. He’d not been looking forward to facing those eyes again, even if it would have been across the safe confines of a court room. The one snap he’d glimpsed of Monty had been the standard loony fare from the newspapers. And though there’d been some satisfaction at the bruised and swollen right side of Monty’s face, the image had still chilled Dave to the core.
Not a single peep of protest exited his lips even after he was informed that the Tiida had been impounded as evidence – Monty had used it to shift both Dave and the child to his forest shack just down the road from the Gallo’s hotel. He just accepted the keys to the rental for the trip back to Melbourne.
Despite the mobile silence, a small part of him had still hoped that Naomi would be waiting at the apartment when he arrived but once more he was disappointed. The only thing that awaited him was a mailbox overflowing with junk mail and a couple of inquisitive neighbours who previously hadn’t seen fit to say boo to him since they'd moved in.
The ninety seven messages on the home voice mail told him that the attention wasn’t just isolated to his neighbours. Dave didn’t bother checking them – though a small voice niggled, maybe it's Naomi. He merely wiped them all and then immediately did the only thing he could think of. He didn’t bother calling the number the police shrink had given him for “a colleague you can talk to down there”. The couple of interviews he’d had already were painful enough and he had no desire to repeat them.
He just made one excruciating, double-take ridden trip out to stock up and then he holed up inside the apartment, hoping that it’d all blow over soon…
* * *
'... well this one's been languishing for years now. A few climate issues but nothing really major that'd stand in the way of a discerning man such as–'
'No,' John cut Dean off before Jess' uncle even got started on the details. Just the same as he'd done for the last thirty properties he'd been shown.
'No?' Dean sighed and closed the album with exaggerated care as though worried that anything else would just lead to him slamming it shut in his client's face. Jess stifled a giggle. He was enjoying his uncle's rising irritation more than he should. He knew it but he couldn't help it.
He wondered exactly what life lesson he was supposed to be learning from this comedy of errors.
'I don't think I'll even bother asking why,' his uncle muttered under his breath. It was difficult to blame him. Despite the pair laying their sleazy charm on thick, the previous reasons for rejection John had supplied had ranged from completely unsatisfying to the downright obtuse. Most so minor that Jess had begun to wonder whether maybe the client wasn't fucking with the two slum lords.
It's very red. Looks dry, too. Bit too bright for my tastes. That one's too damp. Well that's plain dingy... Jess ran through all the excuses he'd heard since retrieving the folders from the cupboard. It was like every one he'd heard over the course of the week working with his uncle condensed into one sitting.
It seemed strange considering that only half an hour ago John had seemed willing to pretty much jump at anything,
But what did he know?
All he knew was that the meeting was rapidly getting tedious. And considering the roller coaster that the first half had been that was saying something.
'Well that's pretty much exhausted everything, then.' His uncle rubbed at his temples. 'All fringe properties done, if you don't like them then your only option is to veer closer to the Depart–'
'No. Definitely not,' John cut him off, shaking his head as reinforcement. 'This place needs to be as far away as possible.'
His uncle threw his hands up in exasperation.
'Well there's not a lot of other options then. What, you want me to just pluck a property out of my arse?'
'Yes,' John replied and snickered to himself.
Jess saw his uncle go a shade of red that made him think the man was about to burst something important. A brief interlude of spluttering followed before his partner, who for the last few folders had merely watched proceedings above steepled fingers, carefully leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
Whatever it was, it had an effect. His uncle immediately ceased his spluttering and his eyes widened for a second. After a long glance and nod he shared with his partner, he then studied John as though weighing something up.
A moment later he seemed to decide.
'Actually there might be one more option we haven't discussed. It'll fit your needs perfectly and it's quite a nice little property but... well... there have been some... slight tenant issues shall we say? Nothing too major but it's been in the 'too hard' basket for many years now. Still...'
His uncle whistled at Jess once more.
'Left cupboard. Right at the bottom of the stack.'
* * *
ESCAPE
13.
It’ll all blow over soon… Dave shook his head at how wrong he’d been while he stretched to ease out the kinks from too long cramped amid the office furniture. He’d barely even had time to enjoy his hero status before the first of the news reports had surfaced. He remembered that one very well: the breaking report on the missing farmer that had interrupted the blanket coverage of the other unfolding horrors in Hent just as he’d been raising his first beer to his lips.
A beer that he’d quickly placed back on the table next to the lined up bottles of vodka as bile had raced to his throat. There it had remained untouched, slowly going warm through the many reports that followed. First the growing number of missing persons reported in the area surrounding Hent. Then the strange, tattered corpses that had started to appear.
The police had already been swamped in the wake of Monty's arrest and seemed completely powerless to stem the flood. The media had almost gone into meltdown. It was like they didn't know what to report on first. So much fodder, so little time. They'd scrambled to reach Hent, each day bringing more garish and hyperbolic headlines and near hysterical news crosses. Never even knowing that they were just heading for the slaughter.
It spread out lightning fast. A few first forays and then the main event.
And Dave had watched it all on his television, his stockpiled booze left untouched as it dawned on him what those couple of pints with Timbo might have caused. Unable to even fully process what was happening until the soldiers came knocking at his door.
And even then I thought it was because they were coming for me, Dave thought, reaching for the bottle of water and the small trickle left inside. That they'd somehow found out. Monty had confessed or something...
All kinds of images had assailed him as he'd headed for the front door to answer the knocking. Mainly ones of the frothing mob, burning brands and pitchfork variety. Though that didn't end up happening, Dave spun the top from the bottle and gulped down the last bit of his water ration. It did absolutely nothing to clear the claggy taste from his mouth. If anything it just made him even thirstier. Instead there was the bellowing man in his immaculately pressed uniform who checked my name off his clipboard and the blur of the evacuation...
Dave had moved through that in a daze, shunted from uniform to uniform until he was on a bus bumping his way into the CBD. That's when the fear really kicked in. The one that never left him: that someone would suddenly do a double take and a finger would jut his way and words would be spat in his direction.
'THAT'S HIM! THE ONE RESPONSIBLE!'
The one responsible... D
ave dropped the empty bottle and his pad to the floor as he shook his head in disgust. Like I could have known, he thought. Yeah but you do now, don't you? And you also know what needs to be done to fix it, a little voice spoke up, mimicking Monty.
I can't do another, I just can't. Nononononono you should do it. Monty's gibbering echoed around in Dave's head and he grimaced, trying to force it all away again. But it just wasn't working as well as it had previously. The images still played through his head while he squeezed himself out of his cocoon of office equipment and stretched again, feeling his spine pop from being in the same position for so long.
How long have I been sitting there? Dave wondered to cover the little voice as it continued to chatter away: you know there's no excuse not to do it, don't you? You know that... PROBABLY TIME FOR FOOD RATIONS, he raised his mental voice blotting out the other one and set off toward the door even though he wasn't feeling particularly hungry. It was difficult to build up an appetite while the memories of his brief stay in Hent made his stomach roil. Naomi still gone, most likely slaughtered now. The Gallo's dead. Bruno's brains spread out across the top of the bar. The mounds of decaying bodies in the bluestone room. The sheer quantity of small bodies stacked up all around...
Not to mention the fucking weird cone of blackness stretching out from the wall, reaching forward, something glinting away, deep in its churning shadows...
They are coming. Dave shivered as he remembered Monty's words and paused at the threshold of Ciamantti’s Corporate Affairs. He fought down the urge for another cigarette – mainly because he thought he might vomit if he indulged – and instead briefly cupped his face in his hands, rubbing away to try and clear his thoughts. Strangely he found himself wishing for Monty to return, if only just to help him with the decision. To put him in another situation where he had no option but to choose again.
Should Have Killed The Kid Page 10
