Dead Man at the Door

by Anthony Masters

  She left the room with a kind of heavy resignation, leaving Gary to sip his hot chocolate and worry about Ted. What was the connection? The baby crying, the young man, the crashed car, the wetness of the young man’s clothes, the fact that Esmé had seen him too – as, in all probability, had Ted. The baby’s cries, the drawing of the car half-hanging over the water, the graveyard of cars below the sea – the images rushed round Gary’s mind, connecting up like railway freight trucks and then coming uncoupled again. He thought of the part of the dream with a car wreck being towed into the garage. Was that the young man’s car? Maybe that was the connection with Jackson’s Garage. But why should the young man be searching for his baby in the garage? Even if the other bits fitted the pattern, this one didn’t. He went on racking his brains and drank the rest of his hot chocolate. There was something there that must be obvious – yet he couldn’t think of anything, particularly as he was now completely exhausted. Sleep came quickly. Deep, dreamless sleep.

  He was woken by his mother gently shaking at his shoulder and came to slowly, struggling back from the velvet pit of luxurious sleep.

  ‘Gary!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Quite awake?’

  ‘Yes, what’s up?’

  ‘I’ve just had Mrs Roberts on the phone.’

  ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ He half rose up in bed, his heart hammering.

  ‘Ted’s disappeared.’

  ‘Where? Where’s he gone?’ he began to gabble.

  ‘He must have left the house very early – or sometime in the night – and she doesn’t know where on earth he’s gone. She’s wondering if you do.’

  ‘Me? Why should I know?’

  ‘She thought – both she and Mr Roberts thought – he might have confided in you.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t.’

  ‘You’re sure he didn’t even give a hint –’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or his sister?’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘Was he depressed?’ She seized on the word agitatedly. Gary nodded. ‘What was he depressed about?’

  ‘He was having bad dreams – that’s all I know. Maybe something to do with the virus he had,’ he said in attempted reassurance. That was all he was going to tell her – that was all he could tell her at this stage. There seemed to be no point in over-complicating the situation by drawing his parents in. Gary struggled out of bed. ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘The Robertses? They’re searching the headland.’

  ‘Why don’t they call the police?’

  ‘They will if they can’t find him. Gary – do you know anything?’

  But what did he know? Just a few conjectures. And he couldn’t possibly waste valuable time agitating his mother about them. He had to look for Ted. Now. He began to drag on his clothes.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Going out.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To help look for Ted.’

  ‘Wait and have some breakfast first,’ she said urgently.

  ‘To hell with breakfast,’ said Gary, leaping over the baby-gate and running down the stairs.

  Eight

  Gary met Alan Roberts on the headland, just above Black Gull Chine. It was a bright morning, with a darting, rather chilly wind, and the surf thundered up the beach below them.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ His big frame looked diminished somehow and his face was puckered as if he had been crying.

  ‘I heard Ted was missing, so I came to look for him,’ said Gary, feeling hopelessly inadequate.

  ‘That’s good of you,’ said Alan.

  ‘Has he turned up?’ asked Gary impatiently.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘He hasn’t.’

  ‘When did he go?’

  ‘Last night. This morning.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows. He was gone when we got up – and his bed was cold.’

  ‘Have you called the police?’ asked Gary tentatively. Somehow he felt that Alan Roberts was no longer an adult but his own age, that they were equals.

  ‘Yes. But they think he’ll turn up again soon. They’ll only start getting involved if he doesn’t. I’ve searched as far as I can out here so I’d better start in the town.’ His voice shook. ‘His mother’s beside herself.’

  ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘Maybe you could go right up the beach again. You’ll be faster than me, but watch out for the tide. Of course I’ve already been up there but –’

  ‘Why has he been so unhappy recently?’

  Mr Roberts looked anxious, as if Gary had discovered a secret. ‘Bad dreams – lack of sleep – starting adolescence.’ He paused. ‘He’s always been a wonderful kid – strong and dependable and full of fun.’ He sounded as if he was almost idealizing Ted. ‘Then – just over the last few months – this damned virus.’

  Gary suddenly felt impatient. ‘This damned virus’ was the same kind of phrase as his father’s ‘these Islanders’. But somehow much more frustrating. Why did grown-ups need scapegoats so much, he wondered.

  ‘I’ll get going,’ said Gary. ‘Shall I meet you anywhere?’

  ‘Back at the house at noon?’

  ‘OK. I’m sure he’ll turn up.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course he will. I know he will.’ Alan Roberts hurried off, briskly optimistic, but that didn’t fool Gary at all.

  He kept to the headland for as long as he could until the path wound down into Black Gull Chine. He hurried down the steps on to the shingle and then began to walk along beside the raging, boiling surf that threw spray and spume all over him. But Gary didn’t mind; he needed its force and venom. He wanted some physical sensation to jerk his mind into action. It felt so numb and muzzy. Gary began to run, not even trying to dodge the spray. He passed Ted’s fishing rock and then plunged on. So – they both dreamt the same dreams, he was sure of it. But what did they mean? What did the dreams really mean? Or if they weren’t dreams what were they? Visitations?

  Soon Gary became tired of getting soaked by the spray and decided to walk near the cliffs instead. He stumbled on for the next half-hour but there was no sign of Ted whatsoever. He was just about to give up when he thought he saw a figure shimmering in the spray ahead of him.

  ‘Ted,’ he yelled out in flurried relief. ‘Ted!’

  The figure continued to shimmer and Gary couldn’t work out whether he was walking away from him or walking towards him.

  ‘Ted!’

  Was the figure getting closer or just standing still?

  ‘Ted!’

  Then Gary heard something horribly familiar. A tune. A tune being whistled which seemed to vibrate in the chalk cliffs, to echo somewhere far out to sea.

  Gary turned and ran back along the tideline, the spray soaking him again and again. But he didn’t think about that; all he wanted to do was to blot out the sound, leave the melancholy whistling far behind him. Gradually he succeeded and the refrain faded into the surf. He slowed up, his heart pounding, the sweat running into his eyes. Then, very slowly, Gary turned round, terrified of what he would see. There was nothing. The figure – if it had been a figure – had completely disappeared.

  Gary sat down on the steps of Black Gull Chine and put his head in his hands. What was happening to him? The waves were now making such a ferocious noise that he was developing a blinding headache. He was terrified that the whistling would start again but he didn’t want to climb the wooden steps. There was something that held him, pinned his trembling legs to the spot. Was it exhaustion from all that running? Fear? A combination of the two? Something else? He looked up and knew at once. He was being watched. Gary could see the slim figure in leather jacket and jeans up on the cliffs.

  He was there. No longer wraith-like. But watching. Gary stared back, and as he did so the sun came out for the first time that morning. A single ray lit the young man and h
e glittered menacingly. Then the sunbeam disappeared – and with it the figure. Gary rubbed his eyes and stood up. He gazed round the cliff-top and then let out a whimper of fear. Now the figure was the other side of the chine, standing on the headland, looking down. But this time he didn’t seem so menacing; there was almost a kind of yearning in his stance. It was all so weird. Maybe I’m giving him feelings, thought Gary. He was no longer so terrified. Then, quite suddenly, he was angry – and the anger overtook all other emotions. Why should he be hounded like this? Why couldn’t the young man come down to him. Now.

  ‘Oi!’ yelled Gary.

  The figure didn’t move.

  ‘Come down!’

  Still no movement.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’

  The figure disappeared. Gary stood there, uncertain what to do next. Would he materialize somewhere else? Then, within seconds, far too soon, he heard light footsteps scampering down the chine steps. There was something else – something indistinct. Then he knew what it was, and the chill stole back over his body. Someone was whistling.

  Gary rose to his feet and ran, but this time not so far, for very soon he stopped and ducked down behind part of the cliff that had crumbled away. It was his own fault; he had called the spectre down to him. Now what was he going to do? Face him out? Impossible. Go on hiding – maybe. But for how long?

  He was coming; the terrible whistling was louder and his steps rang out on the wooden boards. From his hiding place, Gary could see round the sheltering rock. Another few steps – and Ted bounded into view.

  Nine

  Gary felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach; the shock was as physical as that. Ted. What on earth was he doing here, looking so calm and collected? In righteous wrath and indignation, Gary rose angrily from his hiding place.

  ‘Ted!’

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He didn’t look particularly surprised.

  ‘You barmy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Your parents are worried sick. And what about Esmé?’

  ‘What about her?’ He sounded truculent.

  ‘What do you imagine she’s thinking?’ Gary was spluttering with rage. ‘And I’ve been up and down this wretched beach –’ He broke off, not wanting to explain what he had seen.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ted contritely. ‘But I’m not ready to go back yet.’

  ‘You’ve got to,’ insisted Gary.

  ‘You can say you’ve seen me – and I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be quite satisfied with that,’ said Gary sarcastically.

  ‘I want a bit longer to myself,’ Ted pleaded. ‘Don’t you see?’

  ‘How can I? What about –’

  ‘You should,’ Ted said. ‘I want to find out what it all means.’

  ‘The dreams?’

  ‘They’re not dreams.’

  ‘They’re like dreams then,’ replied Gary.

  ‘That’s what I used to think – but not now.’

  ‘Couldn’t we talk about it?’ Gary almost shouted above the roaring surf. Ted was at last admitting to the torment they both shared; he didn’t want to let him slip away now.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I’m not ready.’

  ‘When will you be ready?’ Gary had never felt so desperately frustrated.

  ‘If I don’t think it out,’ said Ted, ‘I’ll drown.’

  ‘Drown?’ said Gary sharply. ‘Drown in the dreams?’ So Ted’s dreams must be different. ‘Ted. Let’s get away from here. Let’s talk.’ He was very anxious now.

  ‘Listen, I’ll contact you.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Your place. Jackson’s Garage. After dark.’

  ‘There?’ Gary was flabbergasted.

  ‘That’s the source of it all, isn’t it?’ said Ted calmly.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s dangerous, too dangerous, to meet there.’

  ‘You’re probably right. But whatever’s going to happen, it’s going to happen in that garage. We’ll be able to share – join together.’

  Ted’s voice was quick and feverish, and Gary noticed there was something odd about his eyes. They had a withdrawn expression, as if he was looking inwards, registering little of the outside world. It was no longer important to him.

  ‘Let’s talk now,’ insisted Gary.

  ‘I said, no.’

  ‘Yes.’ Gary was getting angry now, as angry as he had been with the young man.

  ‘Don’t come near me.’

  ‘You can’t just go off again. I won’t let you. You’re hurting so many people.’

  ‘How can you stop me?’

  Gary thought he caught a momentary glimpse of amused contempt in Ted’s eyes and lost his temper completely. ‘By force if necessary,’ he shouted furiously. He bore down on Ted aggressively. ‘I want to talk. You have to put your family out of their misery.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What did you say?’ Gary looked at him in amazement, horrified at his callousness.

  ‘I’m sure they know something. They deserve to suffer.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Something about me they won’t say.’ His face contorted with rage.

  ‘They care about you. Like I do.’

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘I feel I do,’ said Gary with conviction.

  ‘I’ll meet you after dark –’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s all you’ll get.’

  ‘You can’t persecute them like this.’

  ‘They could tell me things I need to know. But they won’t. So I’ll have to think it out for myself.’ He turned away.

  ‘Where’re you going?’

  ‘Up the beach.’

  Gary thought rapidly. He had to detain him. For some reason – probably just raw fear – he’d held back. But now he had to speak.

  ‘I’ve seen him.’

  ‘Who?’ Ted turned abruptly.

  ‘The young man in the leather jacket. Up the beach. He’s watching. Not just from there – he was on the cliffs as well. I called to him and you came down, whistling his tune.’

  ‘See you.’ Ted shrugged as he turned away but Gary could see how afraid he was.

  ‘Stay here. You don’t want to run into him,’ said Gary desperately. ‘He could harm you.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Ted’s voice shook.

  ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Ted began to walk up the beach but Gary grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘You started all this – you came up to me at school –’

  ‘I was a fool. I didn’t understand. The dreams – whatever – they’d only just started and I was afraid. Now go away and leave me alone.’

  ‘I can’t leave you. Don’t you see?’

  ‘You must.’ For the first time Ted’s voice was gentle.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll get hurt.’ Ted turned back towards him, but Gary saw that his eyes were still somehow unfocused.

  ‘Like last time?’ Gary sneered.

  ‘We both got hurt. But I wasn’t trying,’ Ted replied abruptly.

  ‘Don’t be so patronizing!’ Gary hurled himself at him, but as he did so Ted put up his fists very casually. The blow rocked Gary, and Ted disappeared, swallowed up by a rushing darkness.

  Gary could only have been unconscious for a minute or so, because as he came to he could hear light footsteps running up the chine steps. He staggered to his feet. He was sure Ted had intended to walk up the beach. Why then was he now hearing his footsteps going up the chine? Was he trying to fool him? Should he pursue him? What was the point? His cheek hurt where Ted had hit him, so he sat down again and watched the waves pound the beach.

  Gary knew that he should really be on his way to the Roberts’ to tell them that Ted was alive, but he now felt totally indecisive, and the more he thought the more his mind just seemed to be a whirl of dark confu
sion. Eventually, he rose stiffly to his feet and was about to climb the chine steps when he heard a shout from further down the beach. It was Esmé.

  She ran up to him, looking weary.

  ‘Where did you spring from?’ asked Gary. ‘I didn’t see you.’

  ‘There’s another way down – a mile further on. You’ve got a bruise coming on your cheek.’

  ‘Ted –’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ She didn’t look particularly surprised.

  ‘Just now. He’s OK. But –’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘He’s trying to work something out.’

  ‘The dream,’ she said.

  ‘Or whatever it is.’ He paused. ‘What kind of person is Ted really?’

  Esmé was silent for a long time, staring into the tumbling foam. ‘Sometimes he’s like two people,’ she said eventually.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘One person is Ted – the brother I know. He is good fun, bit bossy, likes being on his own sometimes. He plays football and cricket and swims. And he’s good and kind. Then there’s the other one.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘He’s hard – and empty. Sort of distant. You can see it in his eyes – when he’s the other Ted. Like he’s switched off. Do you know what I mean?’ She looked steadily at Gary and he nodded.

  ‘I know what you mean all right.’

  ‘You’ve seen it, too.’

  ‘Yes.’ Gary thought for a minute. ‘Are you frightened of him?’

  ‘A little,’ she said sadly. ‘Particularly since it all started happening.’

  ‘He wants to see me later,’ said Gary hesitantly.

  ‘Where?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Jackson’s Garage.’

  ‘I see.’ There was a long silence.

  ‘I’m afraid – of this young bloke,’ said Gary, at last. ‘The one who keeps cropping up in the dreams – and here. The one who frightened you.’

  ‘I don’t think he meant to. I was frightened by him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Someone connected to Ted. I hope he doesn’t mean to do him any harm.’