by Simon Clark
Chapter 18
Appearance
‘Please! I need to use your phone. I – I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m in trouble.’
The man stood on the doorstep. Richard was shocked to see the stranger’s face and chest were soaked red with blood.
‘Your phone … please. I don’t want to be here ten seconds longer than I have to be.’
‘There’s been an accident? Sit down. I’ll call an ambulance. Is there —’
‘No. It’s got to be the police. And quickly.’
The man panted with urgency. Richard stepped back to allow him into the hall. He limped inside, carrying a rucksack which he dropped into a chair.
‘Where’s the phone?’
‘The kitchen. But if —’
‘Just let me phone the police. There isn’t much time.’
‘You’re in no state to telephone anyone. If you tell me what’s —’
‘What’s wrong?’ The man shook his head so vigorously, blood flicked from the end of his nose to speckle the wall. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to know. I don’t want to put you into any more danger than —’
‘Danger? What danger?’
‘Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.’ With the back of his hand he wiped his face. ‘In here?’
‘Yes. Do you want —’
Christine appeared ‘What’s wrong?’
‘There’s been an accident,’ Richard told her. ‘This gentleman needs to make a phone call.’
At the kitchen door the man turned to Richard and hissed something that not only puzzled Richard but turned him cold. ‘Once I’ve made the call, I’ll wait at the bottom of the drive for them to collect me —’
‘But you need —’
‘I need you to promise me one thing. Lock all the doors until the police arrive. OK?’
Stunned, Richard watched the man walk into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.
‘Richard,’ Christine whispered, her eyes frightened, ‘who is he?’
‘Search me.’
‘Has there been a car crash?’
‘I don’t know. But I don’t like it. There’s something wrong. He wants us to lock all the doors after he’s gone.’
She shivered and rubbed her arm. ‘He’s not on the run, is he?’
‘No … I don’t know. I don’t think so. He said —’
‘God Almighty!’
Something solid crashed against the front door, knocking it open.
Richard spun round to see what was coming into the house.
‘Joey?’
‘Can’t stop. Should’ve been on the golf course ten minutes ago. I’m just dropping in those development proposals from … Jesus Christ.’
The sight of the bloody man coming out of the kitchen stopped Joey dead in his tracks.
‘The phone …’ the man said in near panic. ‘What’s wrong with your phone?’
‘Nothing,’ Richard said, bewildered. Everything was happening too fast. ‘It was OK when —’
‘It’s dead,’ the man said.
‘I’ll check the lines,’ Christine said quickly. She left the house at a run.
‘What’s happening, Dad?’ asked Amy from the lounge doorway.
‘Nothing, sweetheart. You just watch the cartoon for a minute and we’ll —’
‘You,’ the man said to Joey ‘bring the lady back into the house. She’s not safe out there.’
Joey didn’t move. He stood there open-mouthed.
‘I’ll get her,’ Richard said. But he’d only crossed half-way to the door when Christine appeared, holding up garden shears.
‘Someone’s used these to cut the cable. Where it runs down the outside wall.’
‘Damn,’ the man said. Anxiously he looked out of the window.
Richard shivered. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘I’ll tell you. I didn’t want to. But it’s only fair you know something.’ He’d torn off a bundle of kitchen roll which he used to mop the blood from his face. ‘There are some men who want to give me a hard time.
‘Who—’ Christine began.
‘No … believe me, you don’t want to know.’ He looked from Richard to Christine. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you said no. But I really do need a lift to the nearest police station.’
‘I can run you there,’ Richard said quickly. ‘I’ll bring the car to the front.’
‘No.’ the man held up the blood-soaked kitchen roll. ‘Just a moment. It’s not as easy as that now —’
‘What do you mean?’ Joey spoke for the first time, panic sounding loud and clear in his voice. ‘What do you mean? Not as easy as that?’
‘What I mean is, we all have to go. Including the mother and child … and you.’
‘Me?’ Joey looked stunned.
Richard was astonished how quickly the stranger had regained control of himself, talking in a brisk, businesslike way: ‘These men are bad – very bad, believe me. If they’ve seen me come in here …’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Richard said under his breath, realizing the implications.
‘… if they’ve seen me come in here and leave with one of you, then they’re going to walk in here. And anyone they find they will make tell them where I’ve gone. Do you understand?’
Richard nodded. ‘I’ll get the car keys. Everyone get into the car.’ He felt strangely breathless. ‘You.’ He looked at the man who’d blundered into their peaceful world and torn it apart. ‘You sit in the front.’
The man picked up his rucksack.
Joey blurted out. ‘My car’s on the road. I’ll leave in that.’
The man shook his head. ‘You’ve got to come to the police station with us. They might follow you.’
Joey looked as if he’d faint.
‘Follow me? Follow me?’
‘Look,’ the man said, ‘don’t worry. Within ten minutes of notifying the police they’ll have picked this gang up and got them behind bars. Now … get in the car. Please. They might be here any minute.’ Joey looked as if he was going to protest. The man looked at him. ‘In fact they might already be in the garden.’
Joey was first to the car.
Chapter 19
Closer
‘Don’t drive too fast.’ The stranger sat sideway in the front passenger seat so that he could look back the way they came. ‘We don’t want to attract attention to ourselves. But nor do I want you to stop for anything.’
The drive into town was surreal. When the stranger first appeared at the house Richard had felt as if he’d been pitched onto a runaway train; events moved at a dizzying speed.
Now everything seemed to move in slow motion. The Monday-morning traffic was light. The sun shone. A tractor harvested hay in a field. A huge orange sign at the filling station he visited twice a week announced a competition to win free petrol for a year.
In a detached way he found himself wondering what the competition would be. A raffle? A lottery? Collect ten vouchers then enter your vehicle registration number?
He licked his dry lips. After thirty bizarre minutes his mind was hunting for signs of what was normal and safe.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. In the back seat sat Joey and Christine with Amy in the middle. No one was talking but the tension was clear enough. Joey nervously nipped his heavy bottom lip between finger and thumb. Christine ran one hand up and down her forearm as if trying to erase a dirty mark. Only Amy watched the passing houses as if they were merely driving to the supermarket.
By Richard’s side the man seemed quite calm now. He’d managed to clean off most of the blood, leaving just a few reddish-brown stains on his cheek and jaw.
Perhaps he’d been beaten up by the gang. But Richard saw that apart from blood stains on his shirt his clothes looked reasonably tidy. His expensive-looking shoes were clean. His thick brown hair looked as if it had been recently brushed.
The man continued to look back. His eyes told Richard that here was a man of energy and intelligence. No doubt women found him ha
ndsome and charismatic. A businessman, perhaps? Who’d fallen foul of some underworld gang? But he seemed too much in control of the situation. As if this kind of thing had happened to him more than once. Maybe he was an undercover cop? Perhaps he’d infiltrated a gang of crooks only to —
‘Careful. Red light,’ the man warned.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Richard asked.
‘Stop for it, of course.’
‘But you said —’
‘I don’t think there’s a need to risk life and limb any more.’
‘You mean we’re not being followed?’
‘I can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Best not count our chickens though.’
‘These people,’ Richard asked, ‘they’re not likely to bother any of my family?’
‘How much further to the police station?’ The man’s keen eyes searched the road ahead.
‘Two minutes. You’ve not answered by question, Mr —’
‘Michael.’
‘Will we be safe from those people who are following you?’
‘Get me to the police station, Mr Young.’ The man gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Then everything will be fine.’
When Rosemary Snow screamed it didn’t bring nurses running. A fortnight of coma had wasted her vocal chords.
The scream, though full of pain and horror at what she saw in the mirror, sounded more like a dry hiss.
The mirror showed her what she had become.
Her hair had become matted; a clump of dead fibres. Bruises mottled her face. Her left eye was nearly closed and a dozen stitches like black spiders followed a miniature mountain range of scabs down her left cheek.
She looked at the thing that had been Rosemary Snow. Now it had the face of a monster.
Her stomach muscles heaved. But there was nothing in her stomach to vomit.
For a full five minutes she stood there her legs shaking so hard that she thought any second she’d simply fold.
But she pictured the stranger’s face. And the shaking stopped.
He’s done this to you, she told herself. And now he’s going to do the same to someone else.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand straight and look the monster in the mirror right in the eye.
‘Rosemary Snow,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t go to pieces now. You’ve got lives to save. And one to destroy.’
She began to look for her clothes.
At the same time Rosemary Snow had begun to search through the hospital locker Richard Young drove Christine, Amy, Joey and the stranger, Michael, into Pontefract.
He turned off the Knottingley road and cut up by All Saints Church which had been blitzed to a shell in the Civil War and on uphill by the castle ruins in the direction of the police station.
Everything appeared so banally normal. Even down to the smell of fresh liquorice from the sweet factories that permanently filled the air over Pontefract.
Richard wanted rid of this stranger as quickly as possible. He was still astonished and bewildered by the speed his life had been turned upside down. Richard had decided to insist on a police escort home. After all, there was the question of who had cut the telephone cable? The idea of the ease with which someone could just stroll into your garden on a summer’s morning turned him cold. What if Amy had been playing out? What would this gang of thugs have done to silence her?
As Richard pulled off into the car park across the road from the police station, he felt increasingly uneasy. He saw this situation wouldn’t end with the man walking into the police station. Had the gang seen the man go into the Youngs’ house? Good God, they might even think they were all in this together. He began to sweat.
And right now the thing he wanted most was to be pushing open the doors of Pontefract police station. Then he would see the round welcoming face of the desk sergeant, while in the offices behind him would be a building full of solid, no-nonsense Yorkshire coppers.
It was so early that the car park was virtually empty. They drove by the concrete bollards and pay-and-display ticket dispensers waiting for the day’s shoppers. They passed a lone yellow Fiat sitting in the middle of the car park.
‘Mum! Look!’ It was the first time Amy had spoken since leaving the house. ‘Look! There’s Bart Simpson!’
Richard noticed Michael shoot a relaxed glance in the direction of the yellow Fiat. There, suction cups held a Bart Simpson doll to a rear side window. The doll’s eyes bulged out of the yellow face and a pink tongue jutted impudently out of its mouth.
Ahead were a line of a dozen or so civilian cars mixed with police cars. Richard pulled up into the row of parking bays behind them.
‘Come on,’ Michael said in a soft voice. ‘Let’s get this over with, then you people can get back to your lives.’
Without another word they all got out of the car. Richard glanced anxiously at Amy, concerned that she might be frightened. She seemed happy enough and was more interested in the Bart Simpson doll in the car. Christine looked calm and businesslike. She just wanted to get this over and done with as efficiently as possible.
Joey, Richard noticed, looked his usual spoilt self because his plans had gone to cock. He was running his fingers through his straggly hair; the bottom lip pushed out in a way that Richard had come to detest over the years.
As Richard locked the car he found himself wondering whether he should buy a ticket. Even trying to guess how long they would be. He shook his head. There’s a gang of thugs pursuing your passenger and you stand there wondering whether to buy a ticket?
The main thing is: Get rid of this stranger. Then get the police back to your house. Make sure it’s safe. Then put this whole damn episode behind you.
With Christine leading the small group by the line of parked cars Michael, looking relaxed, occasionally turned to look back across the car park. Richard followed his line of sight. But all he could see was his red Volvo, a hundred-yard gap full of nothing but concrete bollards and the occasional ticket dispenser, then the yellow Fiat. Beyond that was only an expanse of deserted car park, then the town cemetery.
As he caught up with the group Michael said, ‘Thanks for the lift, Richard. Once I’ve told the cops everything you’ll be able to take your family home.’
That’s when he stopped. Richard? The stranger had used his name twice now. Only now the penny had dropped. The man had not been told his name. And, as far as he could remember, no one else had used his name in his presence. This was getting weird. Nothing was adding up as it should. And although the man looked as if he’d been given a damn good thrashing why did his hair look so perfectly brushed? Why was he so relaxed when —
The sound was the first indication that it had begun.
Richard stopped. The same kind of creak a hinge that’s in need of oiling makes. Only it was too loud. Much too loud.
‘Oh, God.’ Michael’s eyes went wide. He looked as if he’d just seen his own coffin. ‘Oh, God. We’re too late.’
Chapter 20
The Day Hell Came to Town
That’s when it happened.
And that’s when Richard Young knew his vision of the world, and the notion of reality he’d been taught from childhood to manhood was wrong. Completely, totally, incontrovertibly wrong, wrong, wrong.
The creaking sound had stopped him and the stranger as they made their way to the police station just thirty yards away.
The expression on the stranger’s face was one of shock and disbelief.
Richard looked across the car park, shielding his eyes against the brilliant sun. It seemed normal. Birds sang. The smell of liquorice turned the air sweet. But Richard sensed some kind of change stealing over that Pontefract car park.
It was almost like before a thunderstorm when you sense a charge of energy building; the quality of the air seemed different.
Richard glanced at Joey, Christine and Amy. They’d stopped. They sensed it, too.
He tilted his head to one side, listening hard.
Noth
ing. No sounds.
The birds had stopped singing.
His arms prickled as the hairs on his skin stood upright. Birds flew overhead, wings frantically beating the sky. It wasn’t a single-species flock. It was just all the birds flying away from some unseen danger.
The creak came again. A stuttering metallic sound. Louder than before.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Richard.
The stranger’s face drained. ‘We’re too late,’ he hissed. ‘We’ve got to go back to the car. Now!’
‘No.’ Richard took a step back from him. ‘We’re going into the police station.’
The man shook his head. ‘You do, and you’ve killed your family.’
‘Are you threatening us?’
Before the man spoke the creaking sound turned into a groan. Loud enough to make Amy clamp her hands over her ears, it echoed from the police station and rolled away across the town.
Now Richard saw …
He saw something. Only he didn’t damn well know what it was …
‘It’s the car,’ blurted Joey. ‘The yellow car.’
Richard knew what he’d seen. Transfixed, they watched the car. It was moving. From side to side as if invisible hands rocked it.
‘Jesus …’
Richard turned on the stranger. ‘What’s happening? Who’s doing that?’
Even at this distance they could see the Bart Simpson doll stuck to the inside of the window by suction cups. The doll’s head whipped from side to side, the tongue flashing pink. For all the world it looked as if it was clamouring to be let out of the car. As it rocked like a boat on a stormy sea.
Then —
BANG!
‘My God!’ Joey held his forehead. ‘Did you see that!’
Richard stared at the car. Glass shot from it like spray from a fountain.
Even as they watched the yellow Fiat made a series of loud popping sounds as it settled lower and lower into the tarmac as if some tremendous weight bore down. A tyre exploded with a sharp crack. The ground ran wet around it as the car’s body fluids – water from the radiator, brake fluid, fuel – squeezed from ruptured pipes, reservoirs and sump.
