The Debt

by Mark Lumby

  He sauntered down the corridor with the double doors and entered the second room on the right, the door creaking as it closed, and then a clunk.

  The butler warned, “You really shouldn’t have done that, sir.”

  Jack was still looking down the corridor, where Michael had disappeared. Then he turned to the butler and pointing up the stairs. “He was strangling her.” His voice was a little loud, made even louder by the open space, so in a lower tone, he said, “You saw what he was doing, didn’t you? Or—are you not allowed to see—turn a blind eye. Is that it?”

  The butler marched over to him and they met halfway. He grabbed him by the elbow. “It’s their way,” he said through gritted teeth and straining to be as quiet as he possibly could. “Don’t ever question it!”

  “They were having sex before, weren’t they?”

  The butler stayed quiet, avoided Jack penetrating stare.

  “Is that their way too?”

  “Sir will be with you shortly.”

  Jack sighted the door, pushed past the butler and reached for the handle. After testing it, he turned to the butler. “It’s locked.”

  “It is, but at the same time, it’s not.” The butler followed him, waved his hand like he was instructing Jack to remove his hand, and he took the handle himself. The door eased opened. “Make it quick,” he said with a sigh. “Stand at the door. I’ll be here. If sir see’s you, the offer may be withdrawn.”

  “Just a little air, that’s all.”

  The butler agreed with a sharp nod of his head.

  Jack stepped through the door, the chill of the night striking his face, and mist flowed from his mouth as his warm breath mixed with the cold. Across the yard, the road leading away from the house was black. Not even the moon served to illuminate the path. Around the yard, a tall wall of trees shuffled like there was something moving from within. But the moon did cast light over them, creating grotesque shadows that seemed to look back. “Is there something out there,” he turned back to the butler.

  Keeping a watch, he urged, “Hurry sir; he will be back any minute.”

  But Jack was in no rush. “I saw something before, when I arrived I mean. Something moved in the trees.”

  “What? Oh—well,” he was starting to panic. “The Master has his protectors.”

  “The Master? He’s a man, not a God. What happened to sir?

  “Employees call him Master. And no, he isn’t a God. He’s—” But he trailed off, deciding against telling him.

  Jack waited for him to finish. When he realised it was as much as he was going to get, he said, “Is that what I’ll be? An employee?” He turned back to peer into the dark.

  A door slammed from the room where Dupont had previously conversed with Jack. “Quick sir. Inside! He’s coming!” The butler ushered, waving his hand, then grabbed him by his arm and pulled him in. He was surprisingly agile for his age. He carefully closed the door so that it wouldn’t emit a heavy clunk. Dupont strolled down distracted by the sheet of paper he was reading. He shut it away inside a manila sleeve, his gown open and his nudity free to see. He went to the couch where he had left Jack, expecting him to still be there, but when he looked up they were both near the front door, the butler with his head bowed and Jack looking somewhat bewildered.

  “Mmm, I see. I trust outside was cold enough for you?” Dupont smirked at Jack like he had been offended but had tried to keep it pleasant, although when he turned to the butler his look was grave and threatening as if to say, ‘I’ll deal with you later’. His look was still grave when he turned back to Jack. “Be careful, Jack Monday. The cold can bite.”

  The butler hurried passed Dupont, unwilling to catch his attention any further, and scurried shamefully behind the stairs and through a disclosed doorway. Dupont had waited until he had gone, then raised the manila sleeve, his lips not smiling but tight and thin, and let out a deep breath through his nose. He approached Jack, and Jack felt obliged to meet him halfway too, stopping centre of a large black motif that looked like it had been scorched into the wooden floor. Jack hadn’t noticed the symbol until now.

  Dupont told him, “My family crest. It had such importance once, as I’m sure it will again.” He looked down at it as if it held precious memories and promises. “Still, mustn’t dwell.” He handed him the manila sleeve. “Just a few clarifications. All of what I have already told you really, but just to refresh. Read it if you must,” he wafted his hand in a feminine manner, “but otherwise just sign underneath.”

  Jack opened the sleeve. He did read it, but only to confirm that there weren’t any additions. Halfway through though, he became distracted by the symbol on the floor, and it felt like if he signed, he was becoming a part of something more. He glanced at the heavy front door, remembering the movement of shadows behind the trees. The Master's protection. He couldn’t find the courage to ask what that protection had been. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He skipped a few paragraphs of the document, scanning it over with the tip of his index finger, then looked up at Dupont, his gown parting to reveal his skin. Dupont was staring at him, and as his eyes pierced into his he felt as though he was being undressed.

  “And if I don’t sign,” Jack asked.

  “Then you don’t sign,” he shrugged. “But my driver will not be available to take you back.”

  Jack turned to the door again.

  The Master’s protection. Were there dogs out there? Wolves? Or something else? Was he just over-thinking it?

  Jack felt like his debt had grown tenfold. There was no way out of this. He felt trapped. If he didn’t sign, then he would have to make his own way home, down that dark road with eyes watching him from both sides.

  Why the hell did I reply to that email, he was thinking. He should have left the link alone, except the fate the Brown brothers had for him. A door closing from up the stair stopped him thinking, and Florence strolled across the landing. She was tying back her dark hair when she caught Jack watching her. She didn’t stop. She kept on walking, but before she disappeared, she smiled down at him.

  Was she going to meet with her mother? To do what?

  “She is quite beautiful, isn’t she? She tastes exceptional,” Francis expressed like it was the most natural thing in the world to confess.

  He was still watching where Florence had seemingly floated across the landing. “But—I don’t have a pen.” Dupont snatched Jack’s other hand and bit sharply into his finger. When Jack pulled it away, he wasn’t so shocked that Dupont had bitten him, but that it didn’t hurt. Even now, with blood cradling into his palm and overflowing onto the tiled floor, there was no stinging sensation. The bite was fast, not enough time to think what was happening, and like a razor cutting into his skin.

  Dupont savoured the blood off his lips with his tongue. “Use your blood,” he prompted. “Here, let me hold the contract for you. A thumbprint will be adequate.”

  Jack was remembering Michael and Florence when he buried a thumb into the blood in his palm. He held it there for a moment, looking down at the scorched symbol. He knew he shouldn’t; it was crazy. Dupont opened up the sleeve and Jack pressed crimson at the bottom of the document. When Dupont snapped shut the manila sleeve, and as Jack stared down at the blood in his hand, he went cold.

  A song drifted from one of the rooms, exploring the corridors until it met Jack’s ears. Perhaps this was the reason he felt a chill. The song was beautiful, no background music, just a voice. It could have been Florence. He hoped that it had been because it would have made her even more perfect than she already was. But the song seemed to make him numb, and he blinked slowly as the walls around him got further away.

  He should have been thinking, ‘what the hell have I done?’ as he stared down at the black symbol on the floor.

  But he wasn’t. He could smell burnt wood like it was still on fire, smouldering from underneath.

  He was thinking of Florence and her seductive smile, fantasising about her disappearing into that room, h
er mother waiting expectantly for her.

  6

  A part of Jack felt ashamed for accepting Dupont’s offer, but it had been too tempting to reject. It provided the financial relief he was desperate for, and if he had managed to save himself from the woods and whatever lived in there, he was sure that he would have put a bullet in his head before the Brown brothers had got to him. He had bought the gun, too, more for his personal protection, although there was always that secret in his mind knowing the real reason behind the purchase.

  As Dupont escorted Jack to the car, eyes watched him from behind the trees leaving Jack feeling relieved, although not entirely safe. He was told that he would leave with just the clothes on his back, nothing else. He wasn’t permitted to visit his apartment; he would take nothing from his old life, as Dupont had referred to it. Sam couldn’t be informed of his departure, although he could still remain in contact with him at a time scheduled only by Dupont. But he was not allowed to visit his home, nor was he to know of his location.

  So many rules and disciplines. But whatever sacrifice, it was better than the alternative.

  As the car pulled away, drove down the road in which he had arrived by, clusters of eyes watching him from behind the trees and in the safety of the car, Jack was having sobering doubts. There were still not enough answers to make such a drastic choice, although the money involved had blinded him into making that decision. That and the thought of Florence and her brother and their mother. It was all perverse, and he couldn’t help but be stirred by it. The song was swimming around in his head. It had infected him, made him weak. But as he fell drowsy thinking of that song like it had been a suggestion to sleep, he had that feeling he had made a terrible mistake. He closed his eyes, wet from tears of regret, but smiling for the money he would in time receive.

  When he awoke, the day was breaking, and through the low light of dawn, there was a dim glow in the distance, across a lake. It wasn’t a particularly large lake and was quite possible to swim the length. Although, it seemed cold, a fine mist hovering above the water. His geography knowledge wasn’t good so he had no idea where he was or where such a place could exist. It looked peaceful and he was reminded of a painting, but couldn’t remember from where.

  When they arrived at a narrow bridge, a building on the other side looked warm and inviting.

  The car slowed.

  Is that it? My home?

  He bounced in his seat as the tyres creaked over the wooden panels of the bridge. At times, he was worried they would fall through, but as they cleared the bridge, Jack rested his forehead on the window and he couldn’t help but break a smile as they parked outside of his new home. The door wasn’t locked so he removed himself from the warmth of the vehicle. As he closed the door, the driver keenly accelerated across the bridge. He had nothing with him, Dupont had been clear on that: just the clothes on his back. As he watched the car speed off over the bridge without a care of its rickety state, Jack looked at the lake, the fog that covered the surface water like a comfort blanket, the sun rising through the trees. There were so many trees all around him. But he knew that he wasn’t being watched anymore. He could feel it.

  No more eyes.

  He stared down at his hands. The wound which Dupont had inflicted was no longer visible, not even a scar depicting the history of last night. He strolled closer to the lake, to its shoreline. From the ground, he could feel the water seep into his trainers. Cold as it was, though, and beginning to sting his toes, he didn’t mind. In fact, it made him giggle like when he was a child and he’d stolen the homemade cookies from the baking tray even though his mom had instructed him not to.

  What had happened last night? It all seemed like a dream, and yet here he was, standing alone on a cobbled shore, forest air cleaning his lungs, a fresh chill striking the back of his throat, and an itchy sensation that forced a cough.

  The car was out of sight, and a cloud of grit settled on the road across the lake. It seemed further away from the other side. The swim seemed more challenging. Jack turned to look at the house, but not because he was curious; in the doorway, a young lady waited for him. She had olive skin, shoulder-length hair as dark as chocolate, and wide hazel eyes. He guessed she was younger, but not by much. She pushed herself away from the door frame and stepped away from the door. She didn’t smile; she didn’t need to. Her face was gleaming happiness and contentment.

  He thought of nothing else after he saw Anja. The Brown brothers were a distant worry. The obscenities of the Dupont family’s sexual nature were irrelevant. He thought of Florence only a few times, but after a few weeks living in paradise, she too disappeared from memory, like medicine curing a disease.

  Francis Dupont had made no further contact with Jack after the night the offer was made. An offer where Dupont had given everything, and seemingly, wanted very little in return. Sure, there were the conditions which Jack had to live with: the dietary requirements, the fitness regime, all of which were bizarre, but to his advantage, anyway. It had become obvious that Dupont had wanted to keep him in good health. The reason for this was still unclear. But, he figured, celebrities paid good money hiring a trainer to do this. Jack was having this service for free. In fact, it seemed he was being paid to do this, and the deeper Jack thought about it, this was good; his new life should be embraced for what it was. For what Francis Dupont had given him.

  A gift.

  And even though it was generous, to say the least, there was a dark thought hidden deep inside Jack’s brain that he couldn’t shake. No matter how hard it was buried. A thought of doubt, of dread, of things to come.

  7

  The Brown brothers left Zing Zing nightclub using their jackets as umbrellas. It had been raining all night and was showing no sign of relenting. They were chaperoned by two heavyweights, almost shoving them into the rear of a shiny black car. As they scrambled onto the seat, and the door was gently closed, isolating the sound of rain beating the pavement, they waited for several minutes. When the car didn’t move, Ray Brown lightly knocked on the screen dividing the driver from passenger. It was tinted so the driver couldn’t be seen, but the man in front stared out of the windscreen, unresponsive to the brothers.

  When the driver remained silent, Tom Brown thumped on the divide with the side of his fist. “Eh, fuck face! If you want use of your dick again,” Tom warned, “I would advise you stop fooling around.” When there was no answer again, Tom flicked the door handle.

  Locked.

  He thumped the glass a second time, turned to Ray and said, “This some fucking joke? This guy doesn’t move soon, he ain’t gonna see tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure he has a valid excuse. Besides, it is tomorrow, Tom,” he checked his watch, grinning, and showed him his wrist. “Look, it’s 3 am.”

  “Don’t get wise, cock sucker!” he spat back.

  “Just calm down. You seem highly agitated, Tom. You sniffed something you shouldn’t?” knowing that he had.

  “Yeah, same shit as you.” Then he threw back his head, screwed his eyes and blew out his cheeks. He’d had too much and the world was beginning to move around him.

  “Yeah, but you never seemed to have the white stuff off your nose,” he laughed. “You’re meant to take it steady—you know that.”

  “So what if I had a little too much! You judging me? You my mom now?”

  “Someone needs to look out for you. May as well be me. You’ve been sniffing the product, Tom. That’s bad business—you should know better than that.”

  “Testing the product—and that stuff’s fucking good shit. But I tell ya,” he thumped the divide even harder, “if this cock sucker doesn’t put his foot down, then I’m gonna—” And as he said this, the car screeched a sharp left and onto a wet road. “Bout’ fuckin’ time.” But it wasn’t long until both Ray and Tom Brown realised the driver was taking them the wrong way. Five minutes later, the car had turned into an unlit alleyway with trash containers parked down the left side, hidden under iron step
s. The car stopped at an eight-foot mesh gate, wrapped twice in the centre with a thick chain and padlocked. When the driver exited the car, the brothers peered through the window, but the rain was making everything blurry, and the dark clouds restricted the adequate lighting the moon was capable of providing. The driver laboriously rattled the gate open, and then rushing back from the rain, climbed back into his seat. He was in no hurry, that’s for sure, as though he had wanted the brother to get angry. Eventually, he took the car through. “What the—” Tom was concerned and reached out to Ray for an answer. “What is this?” He looked increasingly ominous.

  Ray was nervous, too. There were many people who wanted them dead; too many to contemplate. And he figured being prisoned in their car, they were easy prey to whoever wanted their execution. He had a certain respect for the man behind this, though, because as he calculated the possibilities of escape, he concluded that the numbers were in this man’s favour. Ray didn’t like feeling nervous. It wasn’t like him. He always stayed composed, whatever the situation. If Ray Brown had reason to be afraid, something wasn’t right.

  The car stopped again, shook a little as the driver got back out. Ray looked out the rear window, wiping away the mist it was covered by. But he couldn’t see much through the streaks of rain, anyway. The gate was being closed behind them, and Ray jabbed Tom in the rib. “Is this you? Is this a joke? Are you freakin’ messing with me?” His tone became louder and more irate, less like the Ray his younger brother was accustomed to. He hit the door, and rattled the handle again; the window wouldn’t open either. He kicked the door with the flat of his shoe as if he thought it was possible to break the locks or shatter the hinges on a Bentley.

  Tom, meanwhile, was unusually calm and just stared out his side window, looking at the dark gloomy sky like he had resigned himself to whatever fate. He looked at Ray as he began to settle down. “Not me—this is not fucking me! Shit! My head’s not clear!” The car stopped and the driver slammed his door. And now it was Tom who was panicking.