by Mark Ayre
“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why he likes them.”
“You think he might be using?”
“I doubt it. If he is, he hides it well. But Shawn and Georgia certainly are. Same as Amy, it seems.”
Something occurred to him, and he sat up. It was a mistake. A bolt of pain shot through him, and he let out a long groan, falling back.
“You need to sleep,” said Megan, and before he could argue. “No. Sleep. We can talk more whenever you get up.”
“What about Mark?”
“You let me deal with Mark.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled and kissed him on the forehead like a mother might kiss a son. In a way, he hated that. She closed the curtain and ensured the light was off, then left, closing the door softly behind her, and leaving James alone.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling and breathing heavily. The pain was not so bad but was constant, and he didn’t think he could fall asleep.
Within three minutes, he did.
He is in a bar in the city where he used to live, across the table from the only friend he has, talking about something meaningless. He can’t remember the conversation, so the words are distorted, broken. This part is not essential.
A man stumbles, falls into their table, and, with a mumbled sorry, staggers off. James assumes he is drunk, but Luke knows better. He’s seen the eyes and clocks it immediately.
“Fucking druggie. Waste of breath.”
James agrees halfheartedly, though he has no strong views on the subject. He will buy another round, he declares. He knows it does not pay to be around Luke when his face darkens like that. The promise of drinks brightens the expression, and James thinks by the time he returns, the nastiness will be forgotten.
“Get chips,” Luke calls, as James rises from the booth. Chips always cheer him up. Even more than booze.
Making his way towards the bar, he turns his head and sees the out of it guy sitting in the booth. He is sure he saw the man before, but now the face is different. This time it is one he recognises.
Laughing. He looks across the booth the man - well, boy, has fallen into and sees a girl, also high, also staring at him. She gives him a big, wolf-like grin, and winks.
“Hey, big man.”
Feeling fear prick him, he turns back to the bar, only now the floor is stretching, dragging the beer taps further and further away. A loud crack signals it’s tearing in half, and it is not just the bar. The whole image is breaking up, and something else is pushing through. More blur, then it begins to come into focus. He sees a white, uneven surface he thinks at first must be the moon.
No, that’s not right. He realises he is looking at the ceiling in Mark’s spare bedroom. The dream is ending, and he is falling, falling, and any second now he will be -
Awake. The noises of the bar faded now the picture was gone, leaving James in silence. He thought about Luke, and how similar they had been. How connected he had felt to his friend. Two men from different backgrounds. One from a wealthy, happy family with a brother and sister. One from poor parents who split up and came together like magnets being tugged apart and released to crawl back into union again and again. No siblings. Just him.
They had both turned from their homes, angry about their treatment. Both felt betrayed and why? He knew what George had done but how about the rest? He played back more conversations, trying to recall what Luke had told him. Remembered snippets. Remembered that Luke had hated his whole family, bar one. Hadn’t he spoke of his sister a couple of times. Hadn’t he loved her?
I was protecting her, Jay. It all fell apart because I was defending her.
But he didn’t regret it. Not by the sound of his voice. He still loved her. Still missed her. James could see that in his eyes. Had seen it at the time and had been jealous. He’d never had any siblings to care for, to look after. What he wouldn’t have given for a little sister.
Get chips.
Something wasn’t right. He felt okay lying down, but he couldn’t stay there. Fighting against the pain and the urge to pass out, he rose from where he was. Forcing himself up as his body creaked and groaned. He was sitting, then he swung his legs around and pulled himself to standing.
It was hard. He felt weak and, at any moment, might have collapsed, but he breathed deep and looked ahead. Staggered forward like a drug addict in a bar had once done, collapsing into the office chair Megan had occupied, remembering.
Mark keeps his work stuff in there. Very private. Even I’m not allowed in.
Heart going, he tugged at the drawer, tried to pull it open, but it was locked. He tugged harder, considered breaking it although not sure he could.
The door opened.
James backed away from the desk fast and almost knocked into Megan. She jumped, the glass in her hand almost went, and water sloshed over the side. She held on, then shoved it out for him to take, following this up with two pills.
“What are you doing?” she said, stepping past him and sitting on the bed he had just risen from.
“Nothing.” He popped the pills and drowned them. She continued to stare. It was clear he was not getting away with that answer. He thought it through, heart pounding. It was coming together.
“Mark’s not here?”
He was remembering the house they had viewed. Mark’s plans for the evening. The way he had reacted when James went for his bag to find the brochure.
“No.” She glanced at the window. It was dark. She was expecting him back, though she wouldn’t say so to James. “What are you doing trying to look in his drawers. I told you, it’s private.”
“Of course, private.”
All of the memories coming back. He took another glance at the cabinet but couldn’t see anything. He turned to Megan, heart past his throat now, into his mouth.
“What was his nickname as a kid?”
Megan stared.
“Whose?”
“Mark’s.”
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Beans, why?”
Get Chips.
Luke had loved chips. They had been the only thing to calm him. He’d loved chips as much as he had hated drugs. A lot of drug dealers probably felt contempt for people who took their product, but that’s not what this was.
“Luke never dealt anyone drugs,” James said.
“It was Mark.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For a long time, there was silence, then Megan brushed down her jeans, and rose.
“Get out.”
“Sorry,” James said, already regretting speaking so freely. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but that doesn’t make it untrue. He’s the one dealing Amy and the twins. Trina and Kieran too. Oh my God, that’s it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Megan was hurting, he could see it, and it hurt him to see her that way, but he couldn’t stop. Not now he had seen the complete picture.
“I was sure Amy had to be deep in with her dealer, and I was right, but I got the wrong brother. Made the wrong assumption when Christina told me Mark and Luke’s childhood nicknames. I’m an idiot.”
“Stop it.”
“But it was so obvious. So clear. Luke hated drugs, and Mark’s admitted he used to take them, so that was there. Then they argued over Trina and Kieran. Mark said he was telling Luke to stop dealing to them but what if it was the other way around? That could be right.”
“You’re guessing. Mark was trying to help them.”
“And he lied to you. He said he was seeing family, but he saw the twins. Why is he friends with them? You said yourself that doesn’t make sense -“
“But he is friends with them. He’s told me so.”
“But he could be their dealer.”
“He isn’t. Stop it.”
“Then there’s Amy. That’s the clincher. I should have been suspicious because she texts Beans, and he said he’d meet her right away but why wou
ld Luke risk it? Then I see you, and you tell me Mark had to leave on work business, but it wasn’t work. It was a Saturday -“
“ - Estate agents work on weekends -“
“ - The day after his nephew goes missing. Then I confront Amy, tell her I know about her and Luke, and what does she do? She’s nervous, and she calls her dealer. I knew she would, to warn him. Only she didn’t call Luke, did she? Because Luke wasn’t her dealer. Luke was never her dealer. She called Mark. Like she texted him on Saturday and Friday. She wasn’t there when Luke took Charlie, but that wasn’t set up. It was opportunistic. She went to meet Mark and Luke -“
“Shut up.”
There were tear in her eyes. He had fallen so far into his hypothesis he had forgotten she was there. Now he saw her and stepped forward, arm outstretched. She jerked away, almost tripping onto the bed as she did.
“Get out,” she repeated, voice dull, angry.
He had to leave but couldn’t. Couldn’t bear that look on her face and or her to think him some jealous liar.”
“If you look in that drawer I know you’ll find -”
“Get out, get out, get out.”
Now it was a scream, and she was coming for him. There was nothing he could do. She didn’t want to hear it. She wasn’t going to listen. Heart pounding, pain roaring, he turned as she screamed, and moved through the door, stumbling down the stairs as she followed and almost tripping out the door as he reached the outside world.
“Meg, I don’t want this to -”
“Go,” she said, and there were tears in her eyes. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
The door slammed, and he was alone in the dark.
He staggered along, the pain weights around his ankles, slowing his progress. If the animals who attacked him were near, they could finish him. He hadn’t the strength to fight back or the energy to worry. Only a light hope lingered that they were gone, and would not be returning.
The darkness was almost complete. He moved beneath the street lamps as Sunday crept towards Monday. What was it they always said in detective shows? The first 48 hours were crucial in any missing person’s case. For Charlie, that time was up. Whether the stat was accurate or not, the chances of finding the lost boy seemed to decrease with every passing second.
Reversing the journey he had taken with Megan Friday night, he made his way towards the Barneses. This time stranded with thoughts of Mark and two people he had never met - Katy and Alex. Victims of another Barnes. Once again the wrong one.
Luke was the village boogeyman. The monster under their collective beds, creeping out to abuse vulnerable girls and corrupt innocents with drugs that led to misery and death. More like a boogeyman than James had realised. Others created his deeds. Transposed on him to free Mark and George from guilt and blame. Like Frankenstein’s monster, they had driven him from the village, destroying him as he went. No wonder he was angry. No wonder he wanted revenge.
James stepped onto the street where it had all begun. Walking the path from which he had fallen on Friday, he saw what he had seen then. Two women at war. Shouting at each other on the lawn. The battle was worse this time. The knives were out. He stepped over the curb and almost slipped again. Froze as Christina’s palm met Emma’s face and a crack like thunder tore through the quiet night.
Emma span and went to ground. Fearing a follow-up, James rushed across the street towards the fighters, ignoring his damaged body’s cries of protest as he went.
There was no need. As he reached the opposite curb, Christina turned and stormed from her home, from her daughter, and from James, who jogged the remaining distance and extended a hand to Emma.
“You okay?”
“Better than you,” she said, taking his hand. “Been in a car accident?”
He tried a smile and fished for something witty to say but got no bites. As though he was the fish, Emma let him off the hook.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder. “What was that about?”
“Everyone’s stressed, and little bitch that I am, I told mother I care more about Luke than I do the rest of the family put together. Told her Charlie was better off with my brother than her.”
“Brave,” he noted, and they lapsed into silence until James pointed to the door. “Mind if I come in? I want to talk.”
She let him in, watching as he took the step with a wince and a hand swinging to his back as though a poisonous spider had jumped on it.
“Looks painful,” Emma said. “Up.”
He did as he was told, taking on his second staircase since the attack. A little easier this time, but not much.
At the landing, he looked back to find himself alone. Sensing his legs’ desire to give out he clutched the bannister as though arm wrestling it, waiting for Emma’s directions.
“My room’s first left,” she called from downstairs, and he stepped into it as her feet ascended.
“On the bed,” she said, stepping into the room and catching him going for the desk chair. “Take off your top. Lie on your front.”
“Bossy,” he muttered, but did as she said. Lifting his arms to remove his top was agony, but he persevered until it was over his head, at which point he became trapped. There was a second of panic then her hands were on him, lifting and chucking it away. This done, Emma nudged his butt, sending him sprawling face first into the bed.
“Shit,” she said, tugging his shoes off and examining his back. “That’s going to look foul when it’s ripe. Don’t be a baby.”
“About the bruises?”
“No. About this.”
Iced peas touched his back without delicacy, and he almost screamed. Clenching his fists he stayed still as possible, trying not to cry from a cold which nearly eclipsed the pain.
“Brave boy.”
He ignored her tone and remained quiet, fists clutching the pillow like a safety blanket. He was getting used to it when she moved the bag, causing another wave of horrifying cold to rush through him.
“Lot of back to cover,” Emma said. “Should have brought more bags.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. James stayed steady. Kept his fists clenched as Emma moved the bag around his back. As he became accustomed to the cold, it began to help the pain. He could feel the swelling reduce, giving him a little more freedom to move, though he didn’t try to.
“Who did this?” she asked after a while.
He thought about it. Played back the voice he had heard. Distorted by its owner (more to sound menacing than hide his identity, James thought) he had still recognised it at the time. Now he was sure.
“That kid Kieran was one, and I suppose another had to be Trina. Don’t know about the other two, unless -“
He let it tail off. Unsure whether to proceed. Emma poked his back, and he cried with pain.
“Unless what?”
“Don’t suppose you know if Trina has a rose tattoo on her ankle?”
“I don’t.” A pause, James was ready to let it go then: “But I know someone who does.”
“Who?”
“Nasty piece of work called Georgia. Know her?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
He remembered that heel coming down on his shoulder and flinched. Trina and Kieran, Georgia and Shawn. Remembered something Sharon had said.
They still live around here, hanging around with troublemakers George will be familiar with.
“Those four roll together, huh?”
“If that’s what the kids are calling it, sure.”
“I doubt that’s what the kids are calling it.”
He twisted his head a little, saw she was smiling kindly, looking at his back. Her hands moved, pulling up the ice and bringing it down, running it around his back, working on that swelling.
“Why do you think they did it?”
“I don’t know.”
Not strictly true, and she knew it. He had suspected George when he knew only that Trina and Kieran w
ere involved. They hung out at his charity, and he had dealt with them - Mac had said so. How quickly had he got to the hospital? In what state was he in? It would have been fast work to make a call and get them going, but not impossible. What had he promised them, if he had sent them? Money? Or did they do it for fun?
And if it wasn’t George… There were five people he believed Mark was dealing and he suspected four of them were his attackers.
Mark had been the one to take his phone and find out his secret. James had wondered why but now he thought he knew. He had asked one too many questions. Had come too close to the truth. Finding the photo had been a win but if Mark knew he had come back, what lengths would he have gone to get rid of him again?
It was too much to think about. He pressed his face into the pillow and spent a few seconds trying not to before Emma spoke again.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go to the police.”
No hesitation, because he was sure. He was scared. Frightened of these maniacs and what they might do next, but he wouldn’t be one of those people who became too afraid to act. The police was the right call. He would tell them everything he knew. That was the only play left.
“Tomorrow,” Emma said. “I’ll take you.”
“Thank you.”
He placed his head back into the pillow, bit down as the ice seemed to hit a new spot and the shock took him all over again. He held in the scream and calmed down as the minutes passed. The soft voice above floated to him again.
“So. Tell me what you know.”
He didn’t hesitate. Everything that had happened made him want to trust Emma. He had found her cold, unapproachable, but now he saw why. She loved her brother. It hurt that he was gone. He didn’t know how much she knew but told her anyway about George and Mark. He didn’t mention Alex, but if Emma didn’t know, she would connect the dots.
“What does that mean for Charlie?”
If she was emotional about the information, she didn’t show it. Then again, he had thought her good at hiding emotions since they’d met.
