by Horn, Marc
She filled in the silence. ‘How long have you and Dave been friends?’
‘A long time, we met at school.’ Col placed his cutlery on his plate and sat back in his chair. ‘He’s a good lad.’
Stacey nodded. ‘Been through some hard times together?’
Col thought he detected sarcasm in the question and this annoyed him. ‘Yeah we have. Since you ask, Dave was sitting beside me in my father’s car when terrorists planted an Under Vehicle Improvised Explosive Device.’
Stacey choked. ‘Jesus! What happened?’
Col looked elsewhere when he spoke. ‘My father returned to the car and detected it with a mirror, before he touched the door. He told us to sit fucking still. We had to wait half an hour before it was deactivated by disposal experts.’ His eyes became glazed. ‘It was a terrifying experience.’
‘Christ!’ Stacey’s hand covered her mouth. ‘Your father was in the army?’
He nodded. She leaned towards him, eager to learn more about him. ‘You must be very close to him after going through that,’ she said.
He shook his head nonchalantly. ‘No, my father never showed emotion.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘I respected him though.’
‘Has he passed away?’ she whispered, studying him like he was an experiment.
‘No, but as far as I’m concerned he has.’ Col rolled his head back onto his spine. ‘He’s doing time for murder.’
Stacey’s eyes expanded like ripples on a lake. Her hand clamped over her mouth and he imagined a big pair of red fish lips imprinted on her palm. ‘Oh my God! Do you mind talking about it?’ she asked him.
‘Right now, Stacey, yes I do. Just wait until we know each other a bit better.’
‘That’s okay, Col, I understand.’ The poor guy, she thought. She should’ve expected to hear something like this though - it helped explain the need inside him.
‘So are your family as screwed up as mine?’ he asked her.
‘My father’s passed away. We had a wonderful relationship. I have two elder brothers.’ A sombre expression washed over her. She wanted to change the subject. ‘You were very offensive the other night. I wasn’t going to come here.’
Col discreetly bit his lip and inwardly despaired. He was not going to shower her with compliments, feeding her ego. He’d do that if she was attractive. He’d pushed himself as far as he could on the phone. ‘I hope you’re glad you did.’ He smiled.
‘You’re more civilised now. The question I want to ask is, do you believe in what you say when you’re drunk?’ She watched him intensely.
‘Depends what I say,’ he responded coolly.
‘Do you recall talking about infidelity?’
He laughed. ‘Actually I don’t, but it’s a subject I feel strongly about.’
Stacey wasn’t smiling when she spoke. ‘Well, let me refresh your memory. You said that if we had a relationship together, it’s acceptable for us both to sleep around. In fact, you argued quite passionately that this was what we should do.’
‘You really don’t agree with that, do you?’ he said.
Stacey’s face reddened and she shut her lips tight. Aggressively she said, ‘No I don’t. So I’d be right in thinking that it wasn’t just the beer talking?’
He sighed. ‘No it wasn’t, but I shouldn’t have spoken about it so early on.’
Stacey nodded forcefully. ‘Yes, you should have eased me into your sick fantasy gradually, shouldn’t you? Then there’d be a better chance that all your mates could abuse me!’ Her heart thumped in her chest. She struggled to block the dejection building inside her. She’d expected him to try hard to impress her tonight. Surely he must know that speaking like this would hinder his chances of winning her affection? Or was this façade of his more resilient than she’d accounted for? She quickly concluded that this must be the case. She’d been wrong about men before, she knew that; yet she was no fool. She’d learnt her lessons. But with Col she trusted her instincts. He was desperate for her, and she had to be patient.
He was laughing.
She would begin his life lesson now. The only way to get through to him would be through shock treatment. ‘I don’t find your approval of disloyalty funny, Col,’ she said, looking hurt. ‘If you think we can have any sort of relationship after an admission like that, then you’re more unbalanced than I thought.’ She looked at her feet, half expecting and hoping he would backtrack.
Instead, Col exhaled heavily, ran his hands through his hair and said calmly, ‘Do I get a chance to explain?’ The speed with which her pale face switched into a deep, crimson red fascinated him, reminding him of an element in a kettle.
‘Col, listen to me!’ she snapped. ‘You are so self-obsessed that you cannot see your own abnormalities. Your way of thinking is not right. I know that I’m not aware of the full story, but it seems to me that you and your dad are two of a kind!’ As soon as she’d said this, she regretted it. The adrenaline had got to her and she prayed she’d get away with it.
Col projected an expression of disgust, but actually felt excited. This mood swing was encouraging. The courage, insensitivity and unpredictability. And the lust for him. He knew she had potential. She’d just take a little time. ‘That’s pretty harsh, Stacey,’ he said. ‘You don’t know it all. You can criticise me all you want, but you should realise that we’ve got a lot more in common than you think.’
She didn’t want to go down that path. ‘I don’t know if I should take that as an insult.’
Col reached across the table and when he placed his hand on hers a surge of warmth shot through her body. She worried that he would hear her heartbeat.
‘Stacey,’ he began softly, ‘who are you trying to kid?’ He smiled warmly. ‘You don’t want to change me, and you can’t fool me into thinking that you’d be happy if you did. We both know that you’re here tonight because I’m unbalanced and that turns you on...because you like risk.’
Too much to process. A sudden mental block prevented her from thinking clearly. He was staring at her - she had to say something. She laughed. ‘You really are unique,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known anyone like you.’ Her muscles tensed in frustration - that was not what she wanted to say. She needed time. She was in danger of losing her strategy.
‘Yeah, and now I’m here, you know what’s been missing in your life.’
‘Yes I realise now, my knight in shining armour has finally arrived.’ She smiled sarcastically at him. ‘I’m just going to the Ladies.’
‘Okay.’
She pushed herself from her seat and walked to the toilet. Once inside she locked herself in a cubicle, closed the lid and sat on top. Her head ached. She focused on trying to relax. She looked up at the door. This was not going to be as easy as she’d thought. Col was supposed to fall to pieces when she confronted him. After all, he was enamoured with her and wanted to give her a favourable impression. But he was so stubborn and his façade was much stronger than she’d expected it to be... But all that really meant was that she had more of a challenge to face. If she failed, it was her fault, not his. She knew there was a wonderful guy in there, buried deep by the scars and wounds inflicted by an uncaring society. She would bring him out. She was a strong and determined woman. She had a duty to him. In return he would be the man of her dreams, forever devoted to her. Back to the present, she urged herself. She had to tackle difficult barriers - he’d convinced himself that she was here because she liked him for whom he purported to be and that she found his flaws appealing. He believed she didn’t want him to change. This was a self-preservation thing she should have anticipated. She cursed herself for thinking she could mould him into a gentleman so easily. Then she laughed to herself. Come on Stacey, nothing’s ever been easy for you. You’ve always had to work for everything. She felt that the reward here could be worth far more than anything before. She stood up, opened the door, and after checking her appearance in the mirror, rejoined Col.
As soon as she sat back down, he spoke. ‘I’v
e been thinking. Maybe I’m not a knight in shining armour. But before you get on your high horse, understand that you socialising with me because I’m different says something about your personality as well.’
She stared at him blankly for a moment. ‘Maybe I hoped you might be a nice bloke when you were sober.’
‘You’ve just said that you knew I was unbalanced, but you still came here. Why don’t you just be straight with me, like I am with you.’
Stacey sipped her drink, feeling uneasy. She couldn’t be straight with him, not yet. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.
He stretched his arms out on top of his chair. ‘So where did you meet Fay?’ he asked.
‘At school. We were at college together too.’
‘Did you get a good education?’
‘I did,’ she smiled. ‘What have you done?’
‘A lot of nothing really. Well, I say that, but everything I’ve done has been for a purpose and that was to find myself.’
‘Right.’ She nodded slowly. ‘I remember you talking about this. Something about not being content.’
Col shook his head. ‘No, no, I’m content now, but ignorant.’
‘How will you rectify that?’
He laughed. ‘I was hoping you could help me.’
* * * * *
Zen slept.
His alarm was set for six a.m.
His sleep was deep and peaceful.
A perfect sleep...
At six a.m. the hitman kicked the bedroom door open, the same time that Chris Rea’s The Road to Hell kicked in on Zen’s hi-fi. He opened his eyes, flicked back the duvet and double-tapped the trigger. The hitman’s eyes spoke of self-betrayal as he slid down the wall, thought Zen. Misplaced confidence.
6
The figure meditating in Richmond Park was dressed head to toe in white. The sun hurt John-Paul’s eyes as he watched him. He headed for the centre of the otherwise-deserted field...
‘Mind if I join you?’ he said, sitting down.
‘No.’
‘How are you?’
‘Silence for ten minutes.’
John-Paul stared at Zen, whose eyes were loosely closed, with legs crossed, hands in his lap and back perfectly straight. The sun shone fiercely in September, yet Zen did not appear to be sweating. His breathing was deep and rhythmic. While John-Paul waited, Zen kept his posture correct - not a single movement other than the rise and fall of his chest…
‘John-Paul,’ Zen acknowledged and then slowly opened his eyes.
‘Feel better?’ John-Paul asked, his blue eyes squinting and his blond curls already damp.
‘It is the most beautiful thing to be detached from the world. To experience inner peace.’ Zen’s eyes bore into John-Paul’s. ‘Truly wonderful.’
‘Perhaps you should do it permanently then.’
Zen laughed. ‘You misunderstand - the practice of resting your mind.’
‘That’s because you have too many bad thoughts.’
‘Maybe, but at least I’m addressing the problem. No uniform today?’
‘It’s my day off,’ John-Paul replied.
‘You deserve it. A fortnight spent planning a murder takes it out of you. More so when it fails. Did your employer authorise it?’
John-Paul smiled. ‘You sleep okay with a gun in your hand?’ he asked.
‘Fine.’
Tears of sweat had formed around John-Paul’s eyes. ‘You ever able to relax, Zen?’
‘All the time.’
‘So if you had no enemies, your life would be the same?’
‘No, I wouldn’t feel fulfilled,’ countered Zen. ‘My purpose attracts enemies. It’s a drawback.’
‘One you’re happy with?’
Zen maintained eye contact. ‘It helps me.’
John-Paul shook his head in pity and looked at the grass, noticing how green it was. ‘You’re one sick motherfucker,’ he said.
‘How’s Jenny?’ Zen asked.
John-Paul rolled a blade of grass in his fingers. ‘She’s fine. I’ll tell her you asked.’
‘Please do.’
‘You got any friends, Zen?’
‘Nope.’
‘That bother you?’
‘I’d make them if it did.’
‘Never lonely?’
‘Nope.’
‘Because you enjoy your own company?’ John-Paul ventured.
‘I enjoy trust.’
‘That’s a good quality.’
Zen arched back his neck and inhaled deeply. ‘And a rare one.’
John-Paul narrowed his eyes. ‘What happens when you’re wrong, Zen? I mean a misguided opinion, judgement...course of action?’
‘Someone suffers,’ Zen hissed.
‘Regardless of their innocence?’
‘We all lose it.’
John-Paul sighed, ripped out a clump of grass and let it fall through his open fingers. ‘Not caring if you’re wrong is not your main problem, Zen. You don’t know if you’re wrong. You’ve developed total self-security.’
Zen smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Disgust crept into John-Paul’s tone: ‘No one to confide in, no one to criticise you, compliment you, or inspire you. You’re entire life is contained inside your own head. That’s very sad.’
‘You pity what you also fear,’ Zen responded. ‘That’s very weak.’ He inched closer. ‘Last time we met, you tried to arrest me. You going to humiliate yourself again?’
John-Paul eased his shoulders back and squared up to Zen. ‘I don’t fear you,’ he said. ‘I have Jen’s interests at heart.’
In an instant, Zen spun around. John-Paul instinctively lifted his arms towards his face, but Zen grabbed hold of his wrists at chest height and squeezed them together. John-Paul tried to pull away, but his adversary’s grip was too strong. Zen’s knuckles turned white and John-Paul felt his own hands go numb. Zen’s face was set like stone as he steadily curled the fingers of his right hand around John-Paul’s right wrist so that he held both wrists in one hand. Then he rested his free hand on his own thigh. Still John-Paul could not break away. Zen spoke with venom: ‘You fear me. Your stomach churns at the thought of visiting me. You force yourself to do so out of self-disgust at your own cowardice. You feel helpless and each night pray to God that I’ll leave you alone, not Jenny, because you fear confrontation with me more than her death.’
John-Paul spoke weakly: ‘Everyone’s wary of madmen.’
‘You’re afraid of threat. You know nothing about justice.’ Zen spat in his face. ‘Spineless...’
John-Paul struggled, again to no avail.
Zen flicked out his free wrist and cupped John-Paul’s neck in his hand. ‘Sit still or I’ll break your fucking windpipe,’ Zen ordered, but his victim bent away. He clamped the neck like a vice, securing John-Paul’s feet on the ground with his own. John-Paul began to choke, his eyes frozen in fear. Zen spoke calmly: ‘Imagine you’re an onlooker - we’re close, but neither of us is struggling. Everything appears normal. In fact you are slowly dying. It’s easy.’
John-Paul wanted to beg for his life, but could only croak. His head grew heavy and his body limp, in defeat. Overwhelmed by a ferocious power, it was pointless to resist. He knew he had seconds to live, if he did not breathe now he’d die.
‘You’re terrified of me,’ Zen proclaimed. ‘Blink if I’m right, you fucking waste of spunk.’
Barely able to open his eyes, John-Paul blinked as best he could.
Minutes later, he looked up. Zen was nowhere to be seen, but the echoes of his laughter reverberated in John-Paul’s head.
* * * * *
Wrapped in her king-size duvet, Jen replayed the past.
Ben’s tones reverberated as he sang in the shower.
The sun kissed the balcony as the curtains swayed gently in the breeze. The house was beautifully decorated. Birds were scattered against a backdrop of evergreens. She heard Ben turn the shower off and step onto the mat, still singing Forever in Blue Jeans.
‘Jenny, come here,’ he called.
‘No,’ she said. ‘You come here, I’m comfortable.’
‘Yeah? Well I’m drying myself, you come in here!’
She pushed herself up and joined him. He put his arms around her and pulled her toward him.
‘Kiss me,’ he said.
‘No,’ she said coyly, trying to break away.
‘Hey,’ he whispered softly, ‘you do what I tell you!’ He laughed playfully as he tensed his muscles and kept a hold on her. She knew there was no point in resisting.
‘I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!’ she protested.
‘Don’t worry about that.’ He pressed his body against hers. ‘You’re shaking.’
She locked onto his deep blue eyes. ‘I don’t know why.’
His smile was so sincere. With his lips closed, he kissed her softly seven times. Then he opened his mouth and massaged her tongue with his. Seconds later he broke contact, looked into her eyes, stroked her hair, then moved to the sink and began to brush his teeth...
‘What’s wrong, Ben?’ she asked timidly.
‘What d’you mean?’
She started to cry. ‘Don’t do this to me! Why would you hurt me like this? I waited so long for you!’
He ignored her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘All this pain. So much pain…Why, Ben, why?’
He stopped brushing, dropped the toothbrush in the sink, and drove his fist into the mirror. She saw his grotesquely fragmented face in the glass and ran.
