by Darren Shan
But where could I go? Grabbing the first plane out was no good. That would be the last recourse of a desperate man, and desperation would ruin me just as surely as Ford Tasso and his men.
I had to focus on the mystery of my past. That was the key. The Cardinal had spoken of a quest—he could only have been referring to that. I had to find my way home and search for the truth.
I thought back to my first day in the city, when I’d trundled in on the train. I’d begun somewhere else. If I could find that starting point, I’d be closer to solving the puzzle. The only way forward was back.
I concentrated. Thought of the woman, streets I could visualize vaguely, other faces, lots of kids again. I tried distinguishing street names, buildings, parks, anything which might help pin a name to the anonymous city or town.
It was hopeless. My memory was too muddled. With time I might be able to remember. But I only had—a quick check—fourteen minutes. Not enough.
I could remember my time here so well. Why couldn’t I go back a few days more, or a couple of hours to when I boarded the train? The first thing I could remember was seeing the city, passing through the outskirts, drawing into the station, leaving the train and seeing the peculiar rain shower. Then the cab ride and my meeting with Uncle Theo. Everything before that was…
Wait. I was missing something. I got off the train and left the station, but there was a pause in there, somewhere, which I was overlooking. I hadn’t come straight out. I’d stopped to… hand over my ticket. But there was no guard at the gate, so I put it aside to show my children one day. I’d kept the fucking ticket! The stations of destination and departure would be on it. If I still had it, it would tell me where I came from.
But what had I done with it? I thought back. I’d pocketed the stub and forgotten about it. Found it later, when I went to do my first load of laundry. I rescued it in the nick of time and stuck it… where? My wallet? No. I used my wallet daily and knew I’d pull out the ticket and lose it sooner or later. I wanted to keep it safe, so I put it… in the money belt I bought a week after I arrived! And I kept the money belt at Uncle Theo’s. I hadn’t brought it with me the night of his murder and had never gone back to retrieve it. Hadn’t even thought of it in the months since. It contained nothing of import, just some notes, a couple of photos, loose change. And the ticket.
I didn’t know what had happened to the house in the wake of the shooting. If new tenants had moved in—and they probably had—I was done for. It was a long shot, but I didn’t have much choice. It was Theo’s or bust.
How was I going to get there? I checked my watch. Eleven minutes left. Theo’s house was miles away. Walking was out of the question. A cab? Sure, but how was I to know the radio wouldn’t blurt out a description of me halfway there? I needed Nathanael Mead again.
I hurried to the nearest pay phone (not daring to use my cell) and called. He was at home. He listened carefully while I gave him the barest description of my predicament. He was reluctant this time. This was too hot for him. He’d be glad to help but a risk was one thing, suicide another. In the end, I resorted to bribery and the lure of cash swung him my way. “Where will I pick you up?” he asked.
I was about to tell him when I stopped. The Cardinal might have seen me with Mead before. Maybe he’d guess that I’d go to him again. Hell, the cabbie’s phone might even be tapped. Unlikely, but I didn’t want to take the chance. “Nathanael, will you go to a pay phone and call the following number?”
I fidgeted and rubbed my hands while I waited. I was sore from the night’s fight and it hurt when I moved, but I didn’t want to stay still—I might stiffen and never move again.
By the time Nathanael called, I’d thought the situation through and had a clearer plan in mind. It was too risky for him to come. I asked if he knew anyone he could trust, someone he could send in his place. “I do,” he said, “but I wouldn’t like them getting involved in this shit.”
“I’ll pay them the same as I’m paying you.”
“Damn.” He considered it a moment longer. I wanted to rush him but kept quiet and let him reach a decision in his own time. “OK, I’ll do it. If the person agrees, where do you want to meet?” I gave him the address of a nearby street. “You’ll have the money with you?” I assured him I would, then hung up and went to get the cash.
There were no banks open at that time, but I was close to an all-night casino. The Cardinal ran most of the casinos in the city and it wasn’t unusual for his higher-level personnel to draw funds from them if a lot of cash was required in the middle of the night.
Three minutes of grace were left, according to my watch, when I hurried through the lobby to the cashiers’ desk. I slid up to the counter, handed over my card and prayed The Cardinal hadn’t canceled it yet or put out word that I was persona non grata. He hadn’t. I withdrew enough to pay off Nathanael and his friend, buy some new clothes and get me to wherever it was I needed to go.
The car was a few minutes late. When it pulled up to the curb, I opened the rear door and leaped in. The driver took off before I could close the door. “Hi, I’m—,” I began, then stopped. A woman was sitting behind the wheel. She saw my confusion and smiled.
“We can drive,” she said softly. “Despite what many men think.”
“I’m sorry. Of course you can. I just wasn’t expecting…”
“No problem. You got the money?” I counted off notes and passed them over. She pocketed the stash and grunted. “Margaret Stravinki’s the name.”
“Capac Raimi.”
“I kind of guessed that,” she laughed. “Where to?”
I gave her directions, sat back and tried to lay low. My face was aching, as were my ribs, and after a few minutes of uncomfortable bending I had to straighten up. I leaned forward and examined my face in the front mirror. I was a mess. My nose was destroyed, my eyes red, my cheeks purple with bruises. Long scratches raked the flesh in several places. One side of my neck was bloody from my savaged ear. My lips were torn and puffy. I hadn’t lost any teeth, but that was about the only positive aspect. I rolled my jaw gently from side to side, flexed my arms and legs. I’d be tender for weeks but I’d live. Unless one of the ribs had punctured something and I was bleeding internally.
I checked my watch. The pursuit should be hitting full flight about now. The posses would gather, heed their instructions and the hunt would be on. I had to hope they’d overlook Theo’s house in all the excitement.
We got there without complication. The lights were off but virtually all the houses were dark this time of night. There could be a circus troupe in residence for all I could tell. “You’ll wait for me?” I asked Margaret. She’d parked several houses away and killed the engine.
“Well, I was gonna do a bit of fishing, but since you asked so nice…”
“Thanks. If there’s any sign of trouble, split.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I will.”
The backyard was deserted and the door was locked. There was a loose stone nearby which Theo had always left a key under. I couldn’t see in the dark, so I had to get down on my knees and scrabble around. When I found the stone I nudged it aside and explored with my fingers. I hit metal after a couple of seconds and retrieved it quickly. The key was caked in mud. I wiped it on my shirt, picked off the worst dirt with my nails and tried the lock. It opened without a problem and I was soon standing in the familiar kitchen, remembering happier, simpler days.
I crept through the house. I knew my way around, even after all these months, and could navigate with my eyes shut. But if people were living here, they would have made changes—new tables, stands, statues. I had to be careful.
I went up the stairs slowly, wincing at every creak. The door to Theo’s old room was half open. I tiptoed over and peeped in. There was somebody on the bed, under the covers! I tensed and tried melting back into the shadows. Then, as my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I smiled. It was only the sheets, crumpled on the bed. Nobody was here.
I worked on the zipper. It was stiff and I had to struggle. I didn’t want to jerk too hard and break it. As I was trying to tease it open, a noise outside attracted my attention. A car had pulled up.
I returned to Theo’s room, which had a better view of the front. The car was parked across the street. Two men emerged while the driver stayed seated. It was dark and I couldn’t see very well but I was almost certain one of them was Vincent Carell, Tasso’s pet goon.
They crossed the road, unbuttoning their jackets, reaching for guns. I searched the room for a weapon. I’d left my knife with Ama because I couldn’t have snuck it through the doors of Party Central. I had meant to get it back later but it had slipped my mind.
Pieces of a broken vase littered the floor. I found the longest shard and gripped tightly, grimacing as it sliced a thin ridge in my palm. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it would have to do.
I heard the front door opening. They had keys. I made to leave the room, then stopped. They’d see or hear me if I did. Besides, there was nowhere to hide out there. I dived under the bed covers and pulled them over me. Fluffed them up a bit and lay as still as I could. Some camouflage!
Voices drifted up from downstairs. They obviously didn’t feel any need to tread softly. I recognized Vincent’s voice immediately, complaining as usual. “Like I’ve got nothing fucking better to be doing. I mean, he’s really gonna come back here, isn’t he? He’s halfway to Alaska or the fucking Alps by now.”
“Sure he is. But The Cardinal said come check, and when The Cardinal says come check, we come check.” I didn’t know this guy.
“You’re so right.” Vincent’s voice dripped with sarcastic venom. “Go check the back door. Look for a beer in the kitchen while you’re at it, make us a cup of tea or something if you can’t find one.” The back door! I’d left it ajar in case I needed to make a quick getaway.
“Vincent.” The voice of the second guy came a few seconds later, softer, urgent. “It’s open. Someone’s been here.”
“Fuck.” A long pause. “OK. We’ll search the house. You take the bottom, I’ll take the top. Be careful. The fucker could still be here. You see anything, shoot. Don’t fuck around with this guy.”
“You think we should call this in?”
“You don’t think we can handle a fuck like this by ourselves?”
“We should let them know.”
“Know what? That the door’s open? Hell, it could be a bum or a kid. We’ll search the place first. If we find him, we’ll kill him and call then.”
He came up the stairs slowly, flicking on the light as he did. The moron. I’d never known why Tasso kept Vincent around. He was dumb, plain and simple. If I got out of here alive, it would be thanks to his stupidity.
Vincent checked the bathroom first, then my bedroom, the spare room, then the closet. Finally he reached rainbow’s end. Turned on the light and looked around. I held my breath and acted like a corpse. “Shit,” he muttered, coming forward. He must be on to me! I tried to spring away but found myself paralyzed. I couldn’t move. He was going to walk up and kill me and there wasn’t a thing I…
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Fuck,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I could be out getting laid. Fucking Ford. One of these days…”
I didn’t deserve this much luck. I’d screwed up by coming here and by rights should pay dearly for my mistake. But fate can be kind occasionally.
I gripped the jagged shard, ignoring the pain, and sat up swiftly. I could see Vincent through the thin fabric of the sheets, so I didn’t waste time throwing them off. He must have gotten a shock, seeing those harmless bedclothes spring to life.
I clamped one hand over Vincent’s mouth, jerked his head back, jabbed the other forward and drove the point of the makeshift dagger into his throat. It snapped in half. I dug the second shard in and whipped my hand from left to right several times. Vincent’s body writhed but it was too late. His warm blood gushed like swarming locusts from some biblical breach in the heavens, soaking his chest, the bed, the covers, me. Within seconds he was through struggling for all eternity.
I’d killed him.
My first kill. I’d thought about it for such a long time. I’d wondered, nights when I couldn’t sleep, how I’d react when I finally crossed this bridge. Now I knew.
I pushed the covers off and raised a hand. Touched my mouth and felt a smile. I liked it. Killing suited me. This was what I was born for. In that moment I knew, whatever else I might have been—whoever—I was a killer first and foremost. The Cardinal would have been proud.
I rolled off the bed, took Vincent’s gun from his limp hand and made for the door, picking up another piece of vase along the way. I didn’t want to use the gun unless I had to—too noisy.
I left the room, the sticky smell of death wafting after me. I meant to wait at the top of the stairs and knife Vincent’s buddy as he came up. Then I could take my time deciding what to do with the one outside.
That plan went out the window because the man was coming up the stairs as I crossed the landing. Thanks to the light, he got a clear view of me. He began firing immediately, shouting something incoherent. But he panicked and his shots missed by a wide margin.
I stood my ground, let his bullets whistle by, took a bearing and fired. A duck in a bath would have stood a better chance than the unfortunate guy on the stairs. My first bullet ripped a fifth hole in his heart. The second tore his eyes out, smashed his skull and sent him flying backward.
I rushed down the stairs, jumped the body at the base, knowing I had only seconds to act. I raced out the front door, into the street. The driver was out of the car when I burst into sight, crouched behind it. He fired as soon as he saw me. I dived for the thin bushes in front and came up shooting. My first bullet tore into the car inches from his head. The second must have grazed his left ear. The third would have been the killer.
But there wasn’t a third. I pulled the trigger and hit an empty chamber. That asshole Carell had come without a fully loaded weapon! The driver smiled and walked out in front of the car, taking his time, knowing I was trapped. I glanced around, weighing my options. I could duck back inside the house, but it was open ground and he’d have ample time to put a couple of shots into my back. Or I could wait until he was closer and rush him. Neither option looked promising.
I was making up my mind when another gun disrupted the quiet of the night. It fired three times. The body of the driver jerked briefly, then dropped. I got to my feet, unable to believe my luck. It must be Margaret, come to my rescue. I looked at the cab. She was still inside, crouched down, only the tip of her head in sight, the windows rolled up. It couldn’t have been her. Then who…
A scooter kicked into life and pulled up in front of me. An unhelmeted Paucar Wami grinned and saluted. “We must stop meeting likethis.”
I stared at the scooter, the driver, then the dead man. “You saved me,” I said.
“I was asked to.”
“By who?”
“Your blind friends.”
“The ones in the robes?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “They didn’t say. Just gave me the address and said you might need me.”
“Why did you come?” I asked. “Why go out of your way to helpme?”
He smiled. “Like I said, you interest me. Luck, Capac Raimi.”
With that he disappeared into the night.
I made my way back to the car, numb, head spinning. Margaret had already started the engine. I climbed in and stared at the useless gun in my hands.
&nb
sp; “Who was that?” she asked.
“Drive,” I told her. “Take me outside the city. Drop me at a train station. Any will do. You pick.”
“But who was—”
“You don’t really want to know, do you?”
She looked at my face in the mirror. Glanced at the body in the road. Pulled away. “Don’t reckon I do,” she muttered, and said no more as we sped through the dark.
I unzipped the money belt at last and examined the ticket. Sonas was the name. I held the stub between two reverent fingers. Sonas. It didn’t mean anything. I’d expected bells to sound, memories to flash through my mind at the speed of light, everything to come back in the snap of a wasp’s wing. But Sonas could have been the name of an Eskimo’s ranch for all it meant to me.
As dawn broke above us, Margaret dropped me off about twenty miles outside the city. “You ever need a lift again,” she said, “get out your thumb and hitch!”
“Here,” I said, and gave her an extra roll of hundreds. “That’s for sticking by me. You could have fled and nobody would have blamed you.”
“Thanks,” she said, and looked me over. “You’ve got blood down your front.” I realized I looked like something out of an abattoir. “I’ve got a coat in the back. I use it when the weather’s bad. You can take it if you like. It’ll cover you until you find something better.”
“You’re sure?”
“Mister, for what you paid tonight, you could have my dress and panties.”
The station was preparing itself for the morning rush when I entered. A tired man in his sixties swept the floor lifelessly. His uniform was crumpled and worn, like his face. He looked up as I passed, sniffed, returned to his work. A waitress was raising the grille of a café.
“We ain’t open yet,” she snarled as I approached. “Come back inten.”
The newsagent was the only cheerful soul. He smiled, rambled on about the weather, studied my battered face with concern. I bought some chocolate, a couple of papers, a magazine and a map. I asked him about train times. When he was through talking, I thanked him, tipped and left. Cleaned my face in the washroom, bought a cup of coffee in the café, then purchased a ticket and caught a ride.
