Secret Story

by Ramsey Campbell

  “What? What are you doing?”

  “Tell me herself,” Kathy said and took hold of the shoulders to lift the package into a sitting position. “Can you hear me? Can you talk?”

  The lump of a head swayed from side to side, and Dudley seized the opportunity. He could still be as convincing as Mr Killogram. “I told you,” he said. “She doesn’t want to.”

  The lump wavered and then wobbled up and down. “See, she’s agreeing with me,” he said.

  The lump hardly seemed to have the energy to change direction once again, but it did. “Look, you’re just confusing her,” he objected. “Let her rest where she is and I’ll stay with her.”

  “Yes, you stay. Don’t think of going anywhere,” his mother said and leaned closer to the package. “Do you want to talk?” she said in its ear.

  He was hoping that it had expended the last of its strength when the lump bobbed up and down twice. “All right, I’m going to take this off for you,” Kathy said. “I’ll try not to hurt you. I don’t know what you two thought you were doing.”

  She would believe him and not the package, Dudley vowed. She was his mother, and he was Mr Killogram. Perhaps the package mightn’t even be able to disagree with him; his mother was having difficulty in locating the end of the soaked tape and in peeling it loose. He watched, hands on hips, as she unwrapped the reddened throat, and the chin, and the mouth. It didn’t speak, and he thought it was waiting to cry out when the tape was unstuck from its eyes. That was another detail he needed to write down. The nose came into view, and he saw the teeth sink into the bottom lip as the tape plucked off several eyelashes. Either water or tears ran down the cheeks, and then the face was fully exposed and blinking with what Dudley hoped was sightlessness. “Patricia,” Kathy said and seemed scarcely to know how to continue. “I thought it was you,” she said.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  When Patricia felt the water sink away from her she knew she wasn’t going to drown, unless this had been merely a rehearsal. She might have fancied that she was being reborn. She’d taken the deepest breath she could as her head was shoved underwater, but she had been coming to the end of it. As she drew another one, water trickled into her nostrils, and she was suddenly afraid that he was playing with her, that he’d been inspired to drown her with the shower instead. Turning her head failed to clear her nose of water, and she had to struggle onto her side. At least the water level was still falling. The thudding of her pulse subsided, and she heard voices. One belonged to Dudley’s mother.

  She mustn’t leave Patricia alone with him. Patricia was trying frantically to think how to communicate this when hands closed around her shoulders and lifted her. They were too gentle for Dudley’s. Her mind felt softened, difficult to wield, but she managed to realise that Kathy was unlikely to abandon her, since she must be seeing Patricia’s condition. Then she wondered if that was assuming too much, because Kathy asked “Can you hear me? Can you talk?”

  Once Patricia was certain that the questions must be meant for her, she had to recall which way to move her head in a negative response. She was regaining the technique when Dudley said “I told you, she doesn’t want to.”

  How was she going to deny that? She didn’t know how long it took her to grasp that she had to nod, and then she thought her confusion had trapped her, because he said she was agreeing with him. He even accused his mother of bewildering her, and indeed Patricia could have blamed them both for aggravating the effects of her plight. Then she heard him offering to stay with her, and she was about to use her entire body to express her aversion when Kathy spoke close to her ear. “Do you want to talk?”

  Patricia could have imagined by now that she was being forced to play a game that involved having to decide which movement of her head was most appropriate. She put all the strength of her taped sticky neck into nodding three times, and seemed to have made her point, since she heard Kathy undertaking to unwrap her head. As she braced herself for the ordeal Kathy said “I don’t know what you two thought you were doing.”

  Patricia found this so far in excess of unreasonable that she could hardly wait to speak. For the moment she had to concentrate on bearing the pain as the tape began to yank at her hair. She felt the air on her gluey throat, and her tacky chin, and her mouth and cheeks. She bit her lips and strained to hold her eyelids shut while the tape tugged at them, but it peeled them away from her eyes and didn’t let them drop until it had removed several lashes. She saw Kathy’s concerned face above her, and Dudley in a towelling robe behind his mother. Patricia didn’t know if it was her confusion that made him look not just defiant but sure of himself. She was furious not to be able to keep back the tears that escaped as Kathy uncovered her forehead and the rest of her hair. “Patricia,” Kathy said. “I thought it was you.”

  Patricia could make nothing of that. “Could you untie my hands, please,” she said.

  “I was just going to. Did you have to be so realistic?”

  Patricia gathered this was addressed at least partly to her, and didn’t trust herself to speak. She crouched forward while Kathy unbound her, and then she eased her arms in front of her despite the aches that were clamouring in all their joints and set about rubbing her wrists. “Have you anything to change into?” Kathy said.

  For a moment the question sounded reasonable, which was why Patricia found it hard to grasp. She knuckled one cheek dry and then the other. More than anything else she wanted to run out of the house as soon as her ankles were free, but she was barely steady enough to reach for them. “No,” she said.

  “Oh, Patricia.”

  That sounded almost intolerably close to a rebuke. Patricia wondered how much Dudley’s mother was trying to pretend. She felt as though she was having to act in a scenario Kathy was inventing. “You’d better have my bathrobe while we dry your things,” Kathy said. “Dudley, take your mattress away before it gets any wetter. I can’t imagine what you’ve been doing with it in here.”

  Presumably that meant she could. Patricia watched Dudley pick up the mattress and finish staring at her as he dragged it out of the room. Once she succeeded in clawing the tape off her ankles, she had to support herself with a hand on the sink as she hoisted one aching leg over the side of the bath and followed it with its equally painful twin. “Do you need any help?” Kathy said.

  “Not just now, thank you.”

  “I’ll be outside, then, and you can hand me your things.”

  This might mean Kathy would be taking them downstairs, leaving Patricia alone with Dudley on the upper floor. “I’ll bring them,” Patricia said.

  As soon as Kathy was out of the room Patricia staggered after her to bolt the door, almost falling more than once. She couldn’t think what to do first: remove her soaked clothes or drink all the water her parched mouth was yearning for? In the end she grabbed a tumbler from the shelf above the sink and gulped water until she felt sick, and continued to drink more warily in between peeling off her clothes. She might have liked a shower in case that washed away the sensations that were clinging to her, mentally as much as physically, but she didn’t want anything further to do with the bath. She managed to be content with scrubbing her face and wrists and most painfully her ankles before drying herself with the only towel in the bathroom. Its lurking scent of aftershave made her fling it away while she was still wet. She fumbled the solitary bathrobe off the hook on the door and pushed the sleeves back so as to tie the cord at her waist. The robe must be knee-length on Kathy; it trailed over Patricia’s shins. It made her feel childish and vulnerable, not least because she no longer knew who might be waiting outside. She’d heard low voices while she was busy, and a series of slow awkward thumps on the stairs. “Kathy?” she did her best to shout.

  “I’m here.”

  She was no closer than downstairs. “Could you help me after all?” Patricia called.

  Suppose Kathy told her son to help? Patricia heard footsteps hurrying to her, and a knock at the door. She didn’t unbolt i
t until Kathy said “Here I am.”

  The armchair and the wardrobe doors had vanished from the landing, and the house seemed ominously quiet. “Where’s Dudley?” Patricia was anxious to learn.

  “He’s just leaving. He’s decided he should sort things out face-to-face where he used to work.”

  Patricia was certain he intended to do nothing of the kind. If she was too weakened by her ordeal to escape just yet, she was going to ensure he didn’t either. She hung onto Kathy’s arm and leaned over the banister. He was fully dressed and heading for the front door. “I wouldn’t go anywhere if I were you, Dudley,” she said as evenly as she could.

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “I think you might want to hear what I’m going to say to your mother.”

  He stared at her so blankly it was almost convincing. “Such as what?”

  “Shall we all sit down and be comfortable?” Kathy intervened. “I’m certain Patricia would like to. And I think she’s right, you ought to be here. You’ve plenty of time to go to the office later.”

  He stood at the foot of the stairs while Kathy helped Patricia descend, and then he stalked into the front room and sat in the armchair he’d used to trap her in the bath. She held onto the lowest post of the banisters until Kathy returned from hanging out her wet clothes, at which point she found the strength to walk to the other chair. “Well, what do I need to know?” Kathy said, perching on the edge of the couch. “Dudley was saying how you did all that for him because you’ll be able to write about it as well. I still think it was going too far, but I expect people do worse things for a story these days. Look what they get up to on those reality television shows.”

  Patricia let her finish, more out of disbelief than from any lack of a response. “You honestly think I chose to do that,” she said.

  Kathy frowned, but the expression seemed intended to look wry. “What’s the alternative?”

  “That he knocked me out and tied me up and did a lot more than you saw.”

  “That would be it, I imagine,” Kathy said and actually smiled.

  Patricia was steeling herself to destroy Kathy’s trustfulness when Dudley said “Are you threatening to write that, Patricia? What are you asking us to do so you won’t?”

  “You’re making her sound like a blackmailer. I’m sure you aren’t like that, are you, Patricia?”

  Patricia’s mouth was dry, and she had to swallow. “You can see how I am. No, I didn’t choose to be this way.”

  “I did say it had gone too far. I wonder if it may have confused you a bit? All sorts of things can affect your mind. I know that from my own experience.”

  Patricia swallowed again and gave up working on Kathy. “It’s your turn, Dudley. I know what you can do.”

  “What’s that?” he said and looked ready to grin.

  “Tell your mother what you were afraid of.”

  “When?” At once he grinned as if to deny that he’d asked. “Nothing,” he said.

  “Yes, you were. You were afraid of being published.”

  “That was just him being modest,” Kathy said. “I’m afraid his father may be to blame if he wasn’t as sure of himself as he deserves.”

  “It wasn’t modesty. That wouldn’t have stopped him wanting you to read his stories, would it? Not you of all people when you’ve been so supportive. He was afraid for anyone to read them, even you. Maybe especially you.”

  “That’s crap,” Dudley said and wiped his grin with the back of his hand. “You think you know so much about me and you ended up how you did.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to get at, Patricia. Why on earth would he have been afraid?”

  Patricia had a sense of stepping over an edge and doing her best to take Kathy with her. “In case you or someone realised where his stories come from.”

  “And where are you saying they do?”

  “Real cases. Real murders that have all happened round here.”

  Kathy opened her mouth and then closed it while she turned to her son. “I did wonder that. Is it true?”

  “Who are you going to believe, me or a hack?”

  “I don’t think you need to be nasty about her, do you? She’s been quite a friend to you, after all. If you got your ideas from life, writers often do. We know you did when you were at school. And you’re making up new ones now, aren’t you?”

  So they weren’t at the edge yet, though Patricia felt dizzy enough. “It isn’t just where he got the material, it’s how he knew so much.”

  Kathy lowered her head to peer from under her wry brows. “And how is that supposed to be?”

  “You tell her, Dudley.” In this sunny suburban lounge, in what any observer would have taken as a conversation between a visitor or even a member of the family and a doting mother and her son, Patricia was suddenly uncertain how to proceed. “You’ve kept it from her long enough,” she said.

  Kathy gave him a smile so inviting that Patricia grew apprehensive for her and impatient with her, but he met it with the stare he’d trained on Patricia earlier. “Research,” he said. “You knew that.”

  Kathy gazed at him before admitting “I don’t think I like how you said that.”

  “How do you want me to? I only can the way I tell the truth.”

  “I know that’s what you’re trying.” She transferred her attention to Patricia, whose mouth felt withered by tension as she waited for Kathy to speak. “You’ve made this up between you, haven’t you? It’s meant to be like his character, the writer who’s a killer. Were you seeing how convincing it was for the film?”

  The interior of Patricia’s head seemed to sway like water, and she thought she might be sick. “How do you think I could make anything up with him when I couldn’t talk?”

  As Kathy held out her loose fists as if grasping for an answer, Patricia said “What do you think would have happened to me if you hadn’t saved me?”

  “Only what did, I’m certain. I realise that’s bad enough, but you’d agreed to be part of it, you know.”

  Patricia was almost sure that Kathy was striving to convince herself. “Don’t the others matter because you don’t know them?” she blurted.

  “Of course they—” Kathy said and attempted to look as if she’d been fooled. “Who?”

  At once Patricia saw how to confront her, and it lanced her confusion. She was about to respond when Dudley said “You two carry on talking if you want. I’ve got to sort out this misunderstanding at work.”

  Before she could speak he was on his feet, and she was almost overwhelmed by her lack of strength. “You don’t want to leave your mother wondering,” she said. “I know what you can do first so she won’t be worried.”

  She was suddenly afraid that Kathy might send him on his way, but his retort was too quick. “What?” he said.

  Patricia nearly tripped across her eagerness and said too much too soon. “Show her your stories. Show both of us.”

  “You’ve seen them,” Dudley said with a good deal of pique to his mother. “And you let her read them too.”

  “Not printed out,” Patricia told him. “On the screen.”

  “Why on there?” Kathy didn’t seem certain of wanting to learn.

  “Because he could have changed them, couldn’t he? The printouts might be just what he could risk letting people read.”

  Of course that wasn’t the point at all, and she was nervous that Kathy might object to its unlikeliness. Indeed, Kathy was beginning to appear skeptical when Dudley said “That’s rubbish. That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m sure it is, but shall we have a look anyway? I wouldn’t mind seeing her proved wrong, if you’ll forgive me, Patricia.”

  As Patricia shrugged an aching shoulder Dudley said “I don’t want her coming in my room.”

  “It might be best if she did though, do you think? That way she’ll see for herself and there can’t be any argument. You wouldn’t want her writing that sort of thing about you. I should think once she’s
had to admit her mistake we won’t be seeing her again.”

  For the moment Patricia had to stand being disparaged, though it or her enervation made her feel unexpectedly weepy. She watched Dudley tramp into the hall only to hesitate, and wondered if he was thinking of fleeing. Before she could find words to head him off, Kathy said “You go up, Dudley. We’ll follow.”

  Suppose he deleted the evidence and pretended the computer had crashed? Patricia dug her nails into the arm of the couch to send herself across the room. She had to grab the doorframe and then the banister for support. At least the banister helped her stumble upstairs, though the treads seemed to quiver underfoot like jelly. Perhaps some of that was the vibration of Kathy’s footfalls behind her. “Are you all right?” Kathy asked not too sympathetically as Patricia clutched at the doorframe of Dudley’s room.

  “I will be.” She would, because she’d arrived in time to glimpse Dudley typing his password if she needed it: p, a, letter, letter, a, letter, e. She almost said aloud the word that came to mind as Kathy took her by the elbow. “Thanks,” she murmured instead.

  “Let Patricia have your seat, Dudley. She’s been through quite a lot for you, whoever’s idea it was.”

  Patricia accepted the chair he grudgingly vacated, and stayed well clear of any contact with him as he avoided touching her. “What do you think I’ve got to show you?” he said with half a grin.

  “The first one. ‘Night Trains Don’t Take You Home’.”

  “That old thing? I’ve got a bit sick of it, it’s been so much trouble. Or it hasn’t, but people tried to make it into some.” He opened the document with a flourish of his fingers. “There,” he said. “Compare it with the printout and good luck.”

  “Actually, we don’t need to read it. There’s just one thing we have to see.”

  He was silent, perhaps warily, and it was his mother who said “What have we?”

  “The date.”

  Apparently his mother didn’t sense his tension. “Which is that?” she said.

  “The date the story was finished.”