by Ian Woodhead
The madman nodded, “I ought to stick that brolly up your fucking arse.”
His arm shot forward, the man’s palm smacked into Dean’s chest, and he flew back against the stairs.
“Take a pew,” said the man.
The nausea was mild compared to the bruising that his back and arms must have sustained when he hit the sharp edges of the steps.
“There are people dying just a mile from here, yet those dead people refuse to lie down.”
He jerked his head up. The movement reminded Dean of a lizard about to catch an insect. The man barked out braying laughter, Dean shrank back against the steps; he wished he had a gun.
“Oh dear, that’s priceless, it really is. The authorities think they have the infection contained.”
He thrust his hand into Dean’s face. He saw the bite mark and the ragged, bloody hole, and everything clicked. This poor bastard had been bitten, probably by a dog judging by the mess. The wound was obviously infected, and he was delirious. The man needed medical attention. Heaven knows what weird virus must be swimming through his blood stream.
The man leaned closer, “You’re right there, Dean, I have been bitten, but you’re wrong about it being a dog. I have been infected though, but what I can’t work out is why am I not dead and shuffling around and craving fresh human meat?”
What the fuck was going on? He didn’t even open his mouth, yet the madman knew exactly what he was thinking. He should have twigged it earlier; how could he have known his name or about that umbrella?
The imminent chaos that threatened to overwhelm Dean’s ordered and tidy life leapt like a starving hound onto the tiny crack of insanity that had appeared on the surface of his mind.
He closed his eyes and focused on his list. Mind readers did not exist; it was a fiction, a fantasy, ridiculous concepts like that didn’t belong in Dean’s world. He went through each activity one by one and re-listed them in accordance to possible enjoyment levels.
Dean reached ‘checking down the back of the sofa for money’ when he realised that he could hear no sound, so he plucked up the courage to open his eyes.
“There you are,” said Talbot. “I’d thought that I’d lost you there for a moment.”
“Please, go away,” whimpered Dean. “I’ve done nothing to harm you, and there isn’t anything valuable in the house.”
Dean felt tears welling up; he cringed back even further when the man reached across and caressed his cheek.
“Nothing valuable you say? You undersell yourself, Dean. Haven’t you worked it out yet? It’s you that I want. I’m going to end your miserable and boring life.”
Number seven on his list bubbled up to the surface, he had always fantasized about wearing a pair of Marie’s stockings, and he wanted to found out how they’d feel on his bare legs. He pushed every other thought out of his mind and concentrated on those ten denier black hold-ups that she kept in her top drawer for special occasions.
When Talbot leaned in a little closer, he kicked him as hard as he could between the legs; the man groaned aloud before falling back against the front door. Dean scrambled up the stairs and ran into his son’s bedroom.
His eyes automatically zeroed in on Sebastian’s bedside cabinet, and he stifled a scream when Dean saw the object he craved had gone. Sebastian had promised him that he wouldn’t take his phone to grandmas. Dean wasn’t worried that he’d lose it. The boy always looked after his possessions. His sister had been pestering to borrow it ever since she had lost hers.
That mobile phone shaped black outline now seemed to mock him. He rushed out of the bedroom and looked down the stairs … the man had gone. Could he have really fled the house? He jumped when he heard a kitchen cupboard slamming shut.
The man was still here, oh Christ! What was he going to do now? Dean knew that he should have leapt over his prone form after he’d kicked him in the bollocks and ran out of the door; why on earth did he have to run up the bloody stairs?
Dean rushed back upstairs and back into the boy’s bedroom, thinking that maybe he could escape through the window. He noticed that Sebastian hadn’t confined his drawing skills to the phone; he’d drawn an outline around every movable object in the bedroom with a thick black felt tip pen.
He soon discovered that the window option was no bloody good. Even if he could squeeze through the tiny window, he’d break both his legs when he dropped to the concrete below.
“The black pen.” He muttered.
Sebastian must have stolen the pen from his sister’s bedroom.
“Like father like son.”
The chances were pretty high that Jasmine would have dropped her phone in there too and just couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Dean moaned when he heard heavy footsteps along the hallway. He rushed into Jasmine’s bedroom and slammed the door shut.
His daughter had asked Marie a few weeks ago for a lock on the door to stop Sebastian from barging in. At the time he’d been against the idea. Dean was so glad that he’d given in. He slammed the bolt home and slid to the floor, leaning against the door.
Dean wasn’t an idiot, he knew it wouldn’t stop that man from getting in here, but it might buy him enough time to find her phone and call for help. His hopes of a quick result died like a spluttering candle when he realised just how much of a momentous task he had ahead of him.
Her bedroom really did resemble a landfill tip this evening. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room.
The man was now coming up the stairs, Dean heard him humming to himself. Oh Christ, what was he going to do? If he moved, the man would be able to barge through this door.
Oh, this would be impossible, there was too much mess for his mind to process. It was information overload.
The man knocked on the door twice in quick succession. “Hello, in there. I feel for you, Dean I really do. I’m sorry to put you through all this upset. I know that you won’t believe this, but I’m here to help you … now open this door.”
“Leave me alone,” Dean whispered.
“That’s not going to happen. Look, I’m sorry for saying that I was going to kill you, I didn’t mean to say it like that, and it was just a slip of the tongue.” He laughed. “You and I are so alike.”
Dean’s fevered eyes darted from one discarded item to the next. He spotted the special edition Barbie that Jasmine had pestered him to buy for her. She had stuffed it into a shoe, and the left arm was missing. All of her drawers were pulled open and the contents thrown around the room, scattered like autumn leaves.
His heart beat quickened when he spotted a small rectangular bulge in the back pocket of one of her jeans.
“We’re on the brink of war, Dean. The dead have begun to rise, your kind don’t have a fucking chance. I’m offering you salvation, an opportunity to join the winning side. It’s either that or you join their ranks.”
The man was a raving lunatic with delusions of grandeur. Dean was ready to move, he could have that phone in his hands in a matter of seconds.
“Put those naughty thoughts back inside your head, Dean. If you do go for your daughter’s phone, I’ll break through this door and snap your neck. I don’t want to do that, but don’t think I won’t. Now let’s stop all this nonsense, and open the door.”
This man was reading him like a book. Dean felt like he’d stripped him naked.
“Are we close to making a decision yet? You have no concept about just how hard it is for me to stay so pleasant. This emotion really is alien to my nature. You see, my normal approach to situations like this is less of the calm negotiations and more of the violent threats.”
If Jasmine had left her phone on, the battery would be flat anyway. He saw himself throwing her dead phone against the wall just before the man smashed through the door.
“Allow me to demonstrate, Dean. Marie has taken Sebastian and Jasmine to see their grandma in Halifax. Would you like me to tell you where she lives? Would you like me to explain what I’ll do to your pretty blonde dau
ghter after I’ve violated your wife?” Dean slowly got to his feet and unbolted the door. He took one last look at those jeans and turned the handle.
“You’re a brave man,” said Talbot as the door swung open, “And loyal to your family; many men would have called my bluff.”
The grinning man held out a glass full of what looked like strawberry milkshake. “I’m really excited, I hope this works, and it’ll be an honour to have you by my side.”
Dean reluctantly took the glass.
“Drink it. Don’t go soft on me now, Dean, not after I’ve worked so hard to build up our relationship.”
Talbot jangled a set of car keys in front of his face. “Thirty eight Pellon Avenue.” Dean prayed for forgiveness and lifted the glass to his mouth.
“Good lad. I hope you don’t mind but I emptied that cup full of cold tea out and gave it a good wash. There’s also some red fluff half way up the stairs. I picked as much as I could up, but we’ll have to give it a good vacuum before we leave.”
The man had used what was remained of that carton of skimmed milk in the fridge to disguise the other ingredient. It wasn’t a very effective disguise; Dean knew blood when he tasted it.
“You’re doing very well Dean, there’s only a bit left, it’s nearly over.”
The man abruptly rushed forward, his arm snapped out, and Dean felt the back of his head pulled down. Talbot took the glass out of Dean’s hand.
“I’m really sorry, but there’s a few lumpy bits at the bottom, and I’m afraid that you’d spit them out.”
He tilted the glass up and Dean watched a few milk-coated blood clots flowing down the side of the glass, the lumps slid down his throat as if they had a life of their own. Talbot released him, and he dropped to the floor.
“That wasn’t too bad, was it? Now all we do is wait. Perhaps you would …”
The man’s speech cut off in mid sentence. Dean lifted his head and watched Talbot’s mouth. It was like watching the television with the sound muted. Had he just gone deaf? His curiosity was pushed away when his whole body began to cramp up; he tried to pull his knees up into his stomach. Oh, Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? The stuff in that milk wasn’t normal blood, he could feel it soaking though his body and spreading out like a cancer. The cramp had begun to ease a little; a deep numbing coldness replaced the pain, seeping out from his stomach.
Dean looked up at the grinning idiot. He wanted to beg him not to hurt his family, but the words failed to come out. He jerked as if he’d been shocked. The man had just answered him, but he hadn’t opened his mouth.
Don’t you fret, my brother, I have no interest in your family and in a few more moments, neither will you.
What the hell? I can hear your thoughts, Talbot.
The man helped him to get back on his feet, he felt so weak.
As I can hear yours. Is the coldness worrying you?
Yes, it is a little.
The sensation will soon pass. Your strength will also return; in fact, you will be stronger, everything about you will be enhanced. You’re in the midst of a wonderful change. You might feel a little discomfort as your human body begins to shut down and die, but it will be the last ache that you’ll ever feel.
Dean turned around and walked back into his daughter’s messy bedroom; it felt odd that the state of the room no longer bothered him. Talbot was correct about caring for his family too. The word ‘daughter’ had now lost its significance. Dean pictured Jasmine in his mind and found that he felt nothing for the girl.
He felt Talbot’s hands rest on his shoulders. “I’m your family now.”
He gently pushed Dean closer to the window. “Look at them all down there, scurrying about like lost ants. They have no clue that their dominance on this planet is about to end.”
Dean put his hand on his chest, a little shocked to discover that his heart had just stopped beating.
Am I dead?
Talbot nodded, “Does that bother you?”
Dean shrugged, “I’m curious, if I’m dead then why am I suddenly so hungry?”
Talbot leaned even closer until his lips brushed against Dean’s ear, “What do you see when you look down on there?” he whispered.
Dean smiled and licked his lips. I see food.
Then let’s go and eat.
Chapter Ten
The distressed look plastered all over Thomas’s face told Marlene just what the news would be. She watched him for a couple of seconds, weaving through the empty tables and chairs, before Marlene turned away. She opened the cash register and filled the drawers with change. Not that they’d need so much, loose change was one thing that the old folk always carried. By the end of the night, they’d need a bloody wheelbarrow to take the money to the safe.
“Marlene, I can’t find him, and I’ve looked everywhere. Do you think I should go and tell Mr. Crowley?”
She shut the drawer and picked up a towel, “Only if you want him to scream at you. I’ll tell him when he comes back in.” She threw him the towel. “Go wipe all the tables again.”
“I’ve already done that Marlene.”
“Well, go do it again, look busy lad. If the boss comes back in and sees you stood about, he’ll explode … now go get gone.”
Bernard had just left the club when he heard the sound of the coach pulling in. He would no doubt play the role of the gracious host, full of winning smiles and gentle compliments. It was his belief that if he had the old folks smiling and laughing before they entered the club, they’d be more willing to spend money.
Bernard only cared about making lots of money— that and sex. The only reason that their boss would care about Douglas going missing was that he wouldn’t have to pay him a wage.
“Thomas! Does Dominic know where he is?”
“He doesn’t have a clue either, but he suggested that he might have gone for a bit of a lie down. Dominic said he’d been feeling a little off.”
Marlene still remembered that guilty look in that man’s eyes when Bernard and Douglas had removed the body. Her initial anger at the man for sucking up to the boss so bloody quickly had subsided by then. She wondered how long it would be before he approached her, feeling the desperate need to explain himself. She’d known Dominic for a long time, and Marlene knew that he must have had good reason to go along with Bernard’s plan. She just wished that she could have been stronger. It should be her who approached Dominic to explain why she had allowed Bernard to bully her into going along with it. Still, that was all water under the bridge now, what’s done is done. That’s how Bernard would see it. He wouldn’t care about the moral implications. Come morning, he’d take that body to someone he knew. Money would pass hands. Favours would be owed, and that body would just disappear.
Marlene tried to put the episode behind her and focus on the here and now, like the fact that they were down to three members of staff. Angela still hadn’t turned up. Goodness knows where she was. Marlene had rung her mobile three times so far. Marlene was going to be rushed off her bloody feet in a minute. She kept glancing over at the door, hoping to see that girl rushing in and apologizing for being late. Thomas wasn’t till-trained yet, and Bernard wouldn’t bloody help her.
Shit, the doors did bang open but it wasn’t Angela. She forced a smile on her face and watched with resignation as Bernard led the old folks like the pied piper towards Marlene and the bar. At least the orders would take her mind away from their grim discovery earlier.
As the first customer nodded to her, she suddenly wondered why Bernard’s car had been parked in the next street; he only did that when he was going to use the hidden bedroom. Something else had happened here tonight. Marlene was sure of it.
“Hello there, my little darling, give us a pint of Tetley’s, please.”
She put on her best smile and set to work pouring the first of her many pints for tonight. Marlene watched them file along the bar. She couldn’t believe it when Bernard joined her. He winked at Marlene and got the next customer.
Wonders would never cease. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him working behind here.
“I take it there’s no sign of Angela?”
Marlene gave the man his pint and took the next order. “There’s no sign of the girl, and Douglas has disappeared now.”
“He did seem a little subdued when he helped me put that carpet into the back of my car. I expect he’ll be in the toilet or something.”
What the bloody hell was he up to? In the space of ten minutes he’d changed from the foul tempered ogre into Mr. Jolly. He served one more customer then abruptly left the bar when the coach driver walked into the lounge; Bernard was all smiles as he approached the man. She sighed and wondered just what shady and underhand deal he’d done now.
Marlene guessed that she wouldn’t see her surprise helper again tonight; she handed over a gin and tonic to a loud woman wearing a loud dress who hadn’t stopped sighing and tutting. Marlene deliberately overcharged the bitch.
This crowd didn’t seem to be shifting. Her hopes went up when she saw the doors opening; she just prayed that it would be Angela. Marlene couldn’t see who had come through the doors due to the crowd of grey haired people demanding her attention. Someone did come behind the bar to help out, but it wasn’t Angela, nor was it Bernard. “Thomas, what are you doing?”
He flashed a sunny smile, “I’m helping you out.”
“But we haven’t trained you up on the till yet.”
Thomas shrugged, “Have you any idea just how many bar jobs I’ve had? I could do this in my sleep.” He nodded to an impatient looking man wearing an orange baseball cap. “Yes sir, what can I get you?”
Marlene shook her head, grinning. Maybe the night would turn out okay after all.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, your act has turned up. I sent him over to the changing rooms.”
She nodded, “Thanks, Thomas.”
That was such a bloody relief. Marlene felt some of the weight piled on her shoulders lift. Apparently, the act was a well-known country and western singer from London. She ought to be safe with country and western. Old people loved stuff like that. He’d explained to her on the phone that his voice had been compared to the great man in black himself. Marlene didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; she just hoped that he wasn’t going to start doing a Darth Vader impression in the middle of his act.
