by G H Mockford
As soon as he was alone, Stephen looked around the house. Whether it was because he’d nothing better to do, staying at Cliff’s, or seeing his mother, he wasn’t sure, but the state of the house disgusted him. When had he, David and the others started living in a house where the curtains were constantly shut, left-over pizza boxes littered the lounge, and where they never hoovered or cleaned?
Stephen set about putting it right.
Once the house was clean and all curtains and windows were open and letting in a blast of healthy, fresh air, Stephen started his other tasks of the day.
The bike looked forlorn in the downstairs hallway. There was no time to fix it today. He would have to go to the shop tomorrow and get the parts he needed. It was funny. He was worried he would have too much time to kill and nothing to fill it, but so far he’d more than managed it.
Today was John’s turn to have a slice of his time. Luckily the Queen’s Medical Centre was probably the easiest place to get to in the whole city. It seemed that more buses went to the hospital than anywhere else. Stephen hoped it wasn’t a reflection of this city he was proud to call home, or the people who lived there.
John was up and awaiting his arrival in the wicker furniture along with Arthur and Violet.
‘Time for a cup of tea, duckie?’ Violet asked.
Stephen looked across at Old John, who shook his head but said, ‘If we bloody have to.’
Violet rolled her eyes at Stephen and shuffled off into the house.
The three men stood in silence.
‘Soon be too cold to sit out here,’ Stephen said by way of conversation.
‘We take the cushions in at night, but we tend to sit out here when we can,’ Arthur said. He folded up his newspaper in such a way that showed Stephen that he was disturbing his morning routine. ‘We’ve got those robe blanket thingies you can plug in and keep you warm.’
‘Like an electric blanket,’ Stephen added.
‘Bloody things,’ John chipped in. ‘Breed germs if you ask me.’
‘No one is asking you,’ Violet said, reappearing with a tray, her shaking hands spilling some of the cup’s contents over it.
Looking at his watch, O.J. announced, ‘Is that the bluddy time? No time for tea. We need to be on our way. No doubt we’ll be waiting for bluddy hours.’
‘It’s hospitals you catch germs. NSRA and all that,’ Arthur added.
Stephen stared at John but didn’t seem to care, or didn’t see the message he was trying to telegraph. ‘I’m parched,’ Stephen added to get his point across and picked up the nearest cup and swallowed as much of the near boiling liquid as he could.
The bus journey was horrendous. John complained about everything – people with headphones, people with babies, people with books, even people minding their own business. In the end, Stephen stopped apologising for the old man.
‘You know, it’s a good job I like you,’ Stephen said, reminding himself of a similar thing he’d said to Edward almost a week ago now. Stepping off the bus, he thanked the driver. ‘Now, let’s find the right department.’
The front entrance of the hospital was littered with people who in turn littered the floor with cigarette butts despite the endless number of no smoking signs.
After a few wrong turns in the labyrinthine building, they found the correct outpatients’ department.
‘See, I bloody told you,’ John said as he sat down, pointing at a scrolling LED display informing patients The currant waiting time is…30 minutes. Stephen shook his head at the old man, and the spelling mistake, and went to the receptionist to tell him they had arrived for John’s appointment.
Half an hour passed, slowly, but at least O.J. managed to keep his mouth shut, particularly when an Asian family arrived and appeared to jump the queue.
‘I’m going for some fresh air,’ Stephen said. ‘You shouldn’t be waiting too much longer. Wait here if I’m not back in time, okay?’
‘I’m not a bloody four-year-old, you know.’
‘I’ll stop at the volunteers’ shop and get us some sweets for the way home. Fancy some Werther’s?’
‘Piss off will…’ John stopped and looked up at Stephen’s smiling face. ‘Oh yes, very funny.’
‘I’ll get you some Haribo.’
‘Nothing too chewy. Me teeth…’ John called as Stephen left the waiting area.
The shop was busy. After paying for the sweets, and a takeaway cup of coffee, Stephen wandered outside. It was good to be out in the air. Like most people, Stephen wasn’t fond of hospitals.
Stephen lifted the hot coffee to his lips and blew across the hole that seemed to have been designed with the purpose of increasing the heat of the liquid tenfold as it passed through it. Something caught his eye as he looked over the top of the cup.
Fifty or so metres away a spiral walkway led down to the car park and the Emergency Department. Emerging from the top of it were two hospital security guards.
And struggling between them was a man in a camouflage jacket.
Twenty-Seven
Stephen threw his coffee into the nearest bin and ran straight across the road, receiving an angry blast from a taxi driver.
‘You’ll not take me,’ Edward yelled as he struggled against the two men. One was short and fat. The other was almost as tall a Stephen. He looked like he regularly worked out at the gym.
‘Utrinque paratus!’ Edwards shouted as he made a sudden twist to the right. The fat security guard lost his balance and fell against the wall behind him. His radio must have dug into him because he let go of Edward and the handset was ripped from his uniformed chest.
‘What the hell are you on about, man? Calm down or you’ll force me to call the cops,’ the tall guard warned as he struggled to keep hold of the old man.
Stephen slowed down and approached them so that the guard, and more importantly Edward, would see him coming and not be alarmed.
‘Utrinque paratus. It’s Latin,’ Stephen said. ‘It means ready for anything. It’s the parachute regiment’s motto.’
‘Keep back, sir. This man’s dangerous. ‘Aving some kinda episode.’
‘It’s okay. He knows me. I’m from the shelter,’ Stephen said with a reassuring smile. ‘Let me help.’ Stephen turned his attention to Edward, who had started to relinquish his struggle. ‘Edward, it’s me. Calm down.’
‘They got you too, sir?’
Stephen needed to end this quickly, and while he felt uncomfortable doing it, he decided that playing along with the soldier’s delusion might be the most expedient way. ‘Stand down, Sergeant,’ Stephen snapped, in his best attempt at clipped, military tones. Edward resumed his struggle, so Stephen repeated his instruction to stand down and added, ‘That’s an order.’
Edward threw his body about a few more times and then Stephen was pleased to see he began to give up, each struggle less determined than the one before.
The fat security officer wiped his sleeve across his sweating forehead and gathered up his dangling radio. ‘Control. This is Alpha four, can we log a request for police backup?’
‘Now, hang on,’ Stephen said. ‘I thought we had a deal.’
‘I don’t recall any deal being made,’ the tall guard replied. ‘He’s been hanging around for days, making a nuisance of himself. We’ve got a nice warm bed for him on the ward.’
‘Then you don’t need the police,’ Stephen pointed out and locked eyes with the tall man’s sweaty companion, who shook his head in disgust, but cancelled his request.
‘This man needs ‘elp,’ the tall guard continued.
Stephen looked at his name tag. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Devonte, but we have some of this man’s belongings down at the shelter. If you let me take him–’
‘Do you think I was born yesterday? Have you got any ID? Besides,’ Devonte turned and pointed at the ground, ‘I’m willing to bet his stuff’s all in that old army bag.’
‘I don’t have any ID on me right now. Look, we’ve been trying to get
this man help for ages. Can I just talk to him for a moment?’
Devonte seemed to think about it for a moment and nodded. To Stephen’s surprise, he even let go of Edward, who sat on the floor and cuddled his old kit bag. Stephen crouched next to him and looked back over his shoulder at the security guards. Devonte got the message and backed off a few more steps. The fat one leant over the wall and sounded like he was coughing his guts up.
‘Edward?’ Stephen said in a gentle tone to try and keep Edward calm. When he didn’t reply, Stephen tried using his rank again. ‘Sergeant, I need to know what happened the other night.’
Edward looked up at him. ‘The other night?’
‘Yes, when the medics came to take you away.’
‘It was an ambush, sir. We’d dug in for the night. We had a good position. A clear view. We thought we’d easily be able to see any Argies that might try and sneak in an ambush.’
‘Who’s “we”, sergeant?’
‘The young lieutenant and the lance jack, sir.’
‘What happened?’
‘The Argies appeared out of nowhere. Like ghosts they were. Great black ghosts with skulls for faces.’
That got Stephen’s attention. He remembered the man that had attacked him. Jeans, boots, a black biker jacket and a skull bandana that covered most of his face. ‘Go on.’
‘The lieutenant told the one stripe to run, and boy she did.’
‘One stripe? She?’
‘The lance jack. The lance corporal,’ Edward explained. ‘Yes, she. It struck me as odd, sir – woman on the front lines an’ all.’
‘Did she make it?
‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know. She disappeared around an outcropping of rock and then they were upon us. We were expecting conscripts, but they were professionals. The lieutenant didn’t stand a chance. I tried to save him, sir, I did.’ Edward started to cry – huge racking sobs that made his whole body heave. Then his hands began clawing at his face, trying to wipe away the tears that must have brought him so much shame.
‘You did all you could, I’m sure,’ Stephen said as he heard Devonte approach from behind.
‘Why did you have to go and upset him again? What’s he blathering on about?’
Stephen ignored the guard and asked Edward another question. ‘But the girl, she got away?’
‘I don’t know, sir. There was a scream. Maybe it was for the lieutenant as he went down or maybe they grabbed her.’
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ Devonte said. ‘Who exactly are you?’
Stephen ignored him. ‘Good luck, Edward,’ Stephen whispered and then stood up.
‘Who are you?’ Devonte pressed.
‘I’ll leave Edward in your capable hands,’ Stephen said, feeling bad for abandoning the soldier. ‘I’ll go back to the shelter and file a report.’ With that, Stephen turned and started to walk away.
‘Oi, come back,’ the guard shouted.
Stephen quickened his pace. He knew they wouldn’t follow him. They needed to take care of Edward.
The old soldier might have been suffering from PTSD or some form of mental illness, but his Falklands war story was easy to unravel. The lieutenant was probably the handsome stranger that had joined them, but what had happened to Georgia?
Twenty-Eight
Time Unknown
Georgia leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. The chain wasn’t quite long enough to allow her to do what she wanted, so she crouched down and peered into the cold, empty hole where warmth and light should have been.
‘Felicity?’ she called a little louder than the four or five times before.
‘Hi. Sorry. I was bursting for the toilet. I couldn’t hold on any longer.’
Georgia laughed. ‘It’s not the most inviting en-suite I’ve ever used.’
‘When you’ve been here as long as I have, you get used to it.’
Georgia was silent for a moment, wondering whether she should ask the questions she’d been thinking about ever since she’d woken up. A part of her was afraid of the answers, but she needed to know the truth. ‘Have you ever left your room?’
‘I used to be in your room, but I got upgraded.’
‘Upgraded?’ Georgia was confused. It was a strange expression to use. Was it just her imagination or did Felicity even sound grateful?
‘Yeah, there’s a bed in here. And I have no chains.’
‘No chains?’ Georgia could hardly believe her ears.
‘It’s a reward. I’ve been a good girl.’
Georgia suddenly felt very uncomfortable. In fact, she was certain she could actually feel her skin crawl. What the fuck was Felicity on about? Had being here so long driven her as mad as her captor? The thought led her to her next question. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘I can’t remember. I was in there for quite a while before I became his Special One. You’re the sixth one to be in there since I moved out.’
Georgia took a deep breath, hung her head, and swallowed. She was so pleased to have discovered Felicity, but now she was beginning to wish she was all alone. She wasn’t a one off. Whoever had her and Felicity was obviously deranged. And calculating. And good at what they did. Georgia shivered. ‘What happened to them?’
‘One killed herself,’ Felicity said matter-of-factly. ‘I think she smashed her plate and used one of the shards to slit her wrists.’
Georgia closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears and her imagination. As much as she found the answers distressing, even terrifying, she needed to hear them.
Opening her eyes again, Georgia peered across at her empty plate that was hidden in the darkness. It was ceramic. She could do the same. Only, she wasn’t that desperate. Yet. What worried her more was that he was still using breakable plates. Her captor obviously didn’t care if his victims killed themselves.
Georgia took some deep breaths and asked her next question. ‘And the others?’
‘Two over-dosed on the sandwiches. One of them drowned in his own vomit.’
‘Okay, okay. Stop,’ Georgia said. Felicity was so unemotional about these terrible, tragic events. It left Georgia feeling cold. Had the companionship she was so glad of turned out to be just another nightmare? ‘Hang on, you said “his own vomit”.’
‘Oh yes, he takes boys and girls.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Georgia said, but either Felicity didn’t hear or the sarcastic tone was lost on her.
‘We should get together,’ Felicity said after a brief silence.
‘Get together?’
‘Yeah, like in The Count of Monte Cristo.’
‘Who’s he?’
Felicity laughed from the other room. ‘He’s a character in a book. It’s fabulous,’ Felicity called back, the joy clear and bright in her voice. ‘This man, Edmond Dantes, gets thrown in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He meets this crazy old priest who teaches him to read and write and all sorts of other stuff. Anyway, they dig a tunnel together so they can escape.’
‘You want to dig a tunnel?’ Georgia said. Now she knew Felicity was crazy.
‘Not a tunnel as such. Let me finish the story. The priest dies, but before he goes he tells Dantes about this massive haul of treasure on this island called Monte Cristo. Anyway, Dantes escapes – I won’t tell you how, it’ll spoil it.’
‘Thanks, that’s considerate,’ Georgia replied. ‘You’ve given me something to live for.’
Again, Felicity must have missed the sarcasm because she carried on talking. ‘Anyway, he finds the treasure and uses it to get revenge on his betrayers.’
‘Sounds gripping.’ Georgia rolled her head from side to side against the wall behind her and wished the woman would just shut up.
‘It is. So, I think we should make our own tunnel so that we can see each other.’
If Felicity had suggested the idea half-an-hour ago, Georgia would have leapt at the chance, but now she wasn’t quite sure. Felicity clearly had a screw loose. Thinking it would be impossible, G
eorgia asked, ‘How?’
‘The fireplace has a stone block at the back. I think it’s the same piece for both of us. If we could work it loose…’
‘How would we do that?’
‘Smash our plates and use them to scrape away at the cement that holds it in place.’
Before Georgia could even consider what her reply would be, the floorboard outside creaked.
He’d arrived for his nightly visit.
Twenty-Nine
The door opened, but Georgia didn’t move. Not out of fear, but out of courage, or, more accurately, dumb insolence.
The beam of light from his head torch cut through the darkness. Dust motes flashed and floated through the air and landed on the empty chair.
His footsteps seemed as loud as thunder as he walked into the room. Each was deliberate and measured. For a brief moment, Georgia got a glimpse of the side of his face. He was clean-shaven and his skin was clear. Somehow she’d pictured him to be scared and disfigured like a villain should be. When he turned and looked at her, Georgia was forced to throw up her hand to block the light.
‘Is the chair not comfortable enough for you?’ he asked. The request sounded normal as if she was a guest at a dinner party, but she was no guest, and he was no normal person.
‘The chair is lovely, thank you,’ Georgia said after a long pause.
Should she interact with him? Would it encourage him, or make him like her? No chains and a bed seemed like worthwhile pros for being his “Special One”. Georgia smacked the back of her head against the wall.
What was she thinking?!
‘You are a polite one, aren’t you? Perhaps you shall become my new favourite.’
Had he read her mind? Georgia wasn’t sure how to respond, not without giving away the fact she’d been talking to Felicity. Whether it was a moment of bravery or insanity Georgia wasn’t sure, but before she could stop herself she said, ‘I’d rather you let me go.’
The headlight twitched slightly. ‘I’d like to, I really would, but it would make things too complicated. You’d be bound to tell someone where I was.’
