Light Up the Dark

by Suki Fleet

  Fuck you. Holding his breath, he counted every thumping beat of his heart. Just do it, he willed. There had been a time when he’d begged for his life. Two years ago the walls of a tiny darkened soundproofed cell had rung with his pleas. But not any more. Now he was just tired. Tired of living like this, tired of the threat that had hung over him for so long. So tired.

  But no shot came. No blast blew his insides out. No wave of pain knocked him unconscious. And when Fox Mask spoke, her voice was as broken as the shards of crystal he kept finding stuck between the floorboards. “Where are the bodies, Nicky? Just tell me what that fucker did with my brother’s body.”

  Bodies? Nicky snapped his eyes open. His breath entered his lungs like a solid thing. Like a punch. He gasped, and gasped and gasped.

  Pyrotechnics

  Cai had almost reached the estate when his phone started ringing with a warbly bleating sort of sound that meant his battery was almost dead. Taking his eyes off the road for a fraction of a second, he glanced at the number on the screen. Soph. There was a lay-by up ahead. He pulled into it behind a fumy double-decker bus, but the handset died the instant his fingers pressed the answer call button. Stupid damn thing. Cai tossed it onto the passenger seat.

  He was barely five minutes away from home now. Soph had probably been calling to let him know the bus was late or something. When he got in, he’d plug his phone in to charge and call her back. No worries.

  Distracted, he pulled back out into the traffic. A fire engine rocketed past in the other lane, and he swerved in shock, clipping his wing mirror on a lamp post. It dangled brokenly. Gritting his teeth, Cai took a deep breath. It was fixable. It was just another thing he preferred not to have to fix, that was all.

  As he turned onto the estate, Cai spotted a black plume of smoke rising towards the clouds. That explained the fire engine. Someone somewhere was having an early bonfire, probably out on the playing fields on the other side of the estate. He wound his window up as the smell of burning grew stronger. It wasn’t a woody fire—the smell he loved. Whatever they were burning wasn’t good. Rubbish maybe, plastic. Something acrid that burned your throat and singed the hairs in your nostrils.

  The smell reminded him of the warehouse fire—by far the worst night of his life. And also the night that changed his life completely. Jacob’s terrified screams as the fireworks burst against the walls around them still haunted his dreams. Traumatised had been the word the court had used when they talked about Jacob. Cai had never told anyone about his own flashbacks, or the way even the thought of fire stirred such extreme, conflicting emotions in him. And no one had ever asked.

  As he drove further into the estate and the smell of smoke became stronger, a ripple of unease shivered through him. Bonfires didn’t smell this bad. Buildings being licked clean with flames smelled like this.

  House fires smelled like this.

  Cai turned the corner and fell into a nightmare.

  At first he thought the pub across the green was on fire, because all the police cars and fire engines were parked up in front of it, on the churned-up grass. But it wasn’t the pub. The blinding furnace was opposite, devastating the row of shops that had become so familiar to him these past few weeks.

  He stopped the car in the middle of the road and stumbled out. The smoke was choking, bitter, and it filled the hot air.

  Needing to crush the hope that by some miracle the fire had skirted around the bookies and everything above it, Cai made himself focus and look. The sight hit him like a sledgehammer. The flat was gone. Smoke and the dark roar of flames blasted from where the living room window had once been. Nothing remained. He barely recognised the bookies below it. His head spun. It was hard to breathe. He needed to get closer, but there was a crowd, a police cordon, ambulances. The whoosh and rumble of the fire as it was doused in water and foam filled his head and he froze, not quite able to comprehend the immensity of what was happening but unable to look away from it.

  Panic finally forced him into action. “Soph!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “Soph!”

  He elbowed his way into the crowd, shouting and getting pushed back. Desperation made him push harder. A hand grabbed his arm, trying to tug him back and he knocked it away. If Soph was in there somewhere, trapped, he was going in after her. He didn’t care about anything else. He didn’t care how fierce the fire was. He didn’t care if it killed him.

  Yelling Soph’s name, Cai bulldozed his way through the police cordon. He barely got two steps before his arms were grabbed from behind and locked behind his back.

  “Police! I said, stop!” The woman breathed heavily in his ear. “No one is going further than this point.”

  “Soph!” he bellowed, breathing hard and struggling against the woman’s hold on his. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he would do what he had to get away. He needed to get to the blast furnace the flat had turned into. There was no time.

  “Sarg! Can I get a hand here?” the policewoman called out.

  Another meatier set of hands gripped his arms, and a hard shove to his lower back forced him to his knees on the sharp gravel. “Calm down, or I will restrain you.”

  If he was restrained, he would have no chance. Cai stopped struggling and the hands holding him relaxed slightly.

  “Big lad, aren’t you? Am I going to need to use this?” The sarg let go of one his arms and dangled a zip tag in front of his face.

  Breathing hard, Cai shook his head. “Soph,” he said brokenly.

  “I’m going to let go now. If you fight us again, I’m going to put you in the van and you’ll go back to the station. Are we clear?”

  “Yeah.” Cai swallowed. “Please, I need to get her.”

  “Talk to Officer Clarke. She’ll take the details,” the sarg said before striding away.

  “Who’s Soph?” The policewoman crouched down in front of him. Office Clarke. Sooty black streaks covered her face and fine wisps of her coppery brown hair looked singed. “I need to know. Do you think someone is in there?” she asked firmly.

  “Cai!” The shout came from behind him.

  Cai’s heart surged and he swung around, searching the crowd, not daring to trust his ears until he saw her. Looking as shell-shocked as Cai felt, Soph burst through the crowd and ran towards him. Loz trailed behind clutching Soph’s hand.

  Scrambling to his feet, Cai swayed, barely steady enough to catch her as she threw her arms around him. He pressed his face into her soft hair and held her tight, lifting her off the floor. Adrenaline made his whole body feel shaky.

  “I was so scared you were in there,” he whispered.

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I tried to call you.” Soph pulled back and coughed. The air around them was grey with smoke. Thick black plumes swirled from the direction of the Chinese restaurant. Next to them the police were moving the cordon further back. “We saw the fire when we got off the bus. I was worried about you too. But Loz kept saying your van would be here if you were here.”

  Relief made Cai want to hug Loz too. He almost didn’t stop himself. But Loz was looking around with a worried expression, arms folded across their narrow chest.

  Ash swirled, the glowing flakes fading as they fell. Cai watched wondering if the remains of the flat were now just smudges on the pavement, sooty marks on the clothing.

  He was startled out of his thoughts when Loz leaned in and said in low voice close to his ear, “You need to get out of here.”

  “What?” Cai turned.

  “This is what you were in the young offenders for.”

  Cai let go of Soph. Officer Clarke was watching them. She smiled. Cai could see relief in her expression. “But… what?”

  “Trust me. You need to go.” With a hand on each of their arms, Loz turned them both and steered them towards the crowd. “Come on.”

  They reached Cai’s van and stopped. The driver’s door was wide open, the keys still swinging from the ignition. Cai ran a shaky hand through his hair. What on earth was he supposed
to do now?

  “Get in the van.” Loz’s expression was part fear, part determination. “Listen. I’m trying to help here. I’m not messing around. You need to get in the van.”

  As if to demonstrate, Loz climbed inside, then squeezed their skinny self over the seats into the back. Cai and Soph stood together in stunned silence. Cai couldn’t stop watching the fire. Thousands of thin flakes of ash rained down, staining the pavements black. He’d lost everything. The realisation crushed him. All the things he’d worked so hard for these past few months—furniture, clothes, the TV and laptop on a loan he still had to pay off. The money. Fuck. All that damn money he’d kept in an envelope instead of the bank. Gone. House insurance had been just another luxury he couldn’t afford.

  Soph stroked the back of his hand as though she knew what he was thinking. He glanced at her. No, not everything. Not by a long shot. Not anything that mattered, or that couldn’t be replaced.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d started over. It would be okay.

  Loz leaned out of the van. “Look, I know you don’t feel like driving. This a big fucking shock, I know, I get it. But you need to get in and move the van to the next street or something.”

  Why Loz was acting like some sort of wild-eyed crisis manager, Cai had no idea, but standing there watching as fire destroyed yet another part of him was probably not sensible.

  With heavy limbs, Cai climbed into the car. Barely aware of where he was going, he drove the van to the edge of the estate and parked up by the muddy playing field.

  As soon as Cai turned the engine off, Loz leaned over Cai’s seat and the words burst out as though they’d been holding their breath the entire time Cai was driving. “The police think it was arson. I heard one of the detectives talking when we first got there. The bookies and your flat were the first places to go up. That’s where the fire started.”

  “What? They think it started in the flat? Our flat?” Cai went through a desperate inventory of how that might have happened—had he left anything on when he’d left that morning? Cooker? Kettle? Had the laptop been plugged into that cracked socket in the bedroom? He stopped himself. Arson. The police didn’t think it was accidental and the only way they’d be sure of something like that at this early stage would be because they either had a witness or evidence that some sort of accelerant had been used. He stared out across the field, then up at the greying sky.

  “Cai, you’ve got a record for arson so they’re going to want to talk to you, and if they don’t have any leads, you’re going to be their prime suspect. And if they take you in to question you, they’re going to be able to hold you because you’re still on probation.”

  After a heartbeat, Cai glanced at Soph. “Were they looking for me? The police? Already?”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet,” Loz said quickly.

  Cai took a deep shuddery breath. If the police did think the fire was arson, Loz was right about everything. He’d be the first person the police wanted to talk to. And it was all so wrong, but there were always going to be assumptions because of his record. He’d known coming out he’d have to deal with that. And he could deal with that because he had an alibi… but that would require the police talking to Nicky. Nicky, who never left the house and didn’t open the door to anyone. Nicky, who wouldn’t call the police even though he’d been followed.

  “Was anyone hurt?” Please don’t let anyone have been hurt, he thought desperately.

  “We didn’t see anyone getting in the ambulances apart from a few people who were given masks for smoke inhalation,” Loz replied with reassuring certainty.

  “What are we going to do? Where will we go?” Soph’s voice was quiet, her face turned away.

  Loz stretched an arm around her shoulders and stroked her hair. “I’d offer for you to stay with me but to be honest it’s pretty dire at my house and I’d rather not go back there. It’s why I was staying with you.”

  Tiny drops of rain smattered on the windscreen. In the distance, far beyond the playing fields, the grey clouds glowed silver around the edges.

  This is it, Cai thought. This is the point where I sink or swim—where we both sink or swim.

  “There’s somewhere we might be able to go for tonight.”

  Oh, he was pinning a lot on hope. Nicky’s reaction might well be fuck off. He wasn’t exactly predictable, and asking him for a favour might sever the tentative threads of friendship that had begun to grow between them. But with the amount of space in that house, Nicky didn’t have to see them—he could pretend they weren’t even there. “After that we’ll figure it out, Soph. Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure we’re okay.”

  Loz strikes again

  “Drop me in the next street and I’ll meet you by the big roundabout in half an hour,” Loz said to Cai as they were driving away from the playing fields.

  Cai gave Loz a puzzled frown in the rear-view mirror, and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something—or maybe catch a fly as Nana Dotty liked to say—but then he closed it again and nodded.

  Loz turned to stare at the smoky sky, still thinking about The Plan. Loz always liked to have a Plan. Not that it always helped or that things ever went according to it, but still, it sounded more decisive than a Guideline For A Satisfactory Conclusion To Be Achieved. Perhaps it would make more sense to call it a Goal. There was definitely a Goal involved. And to reach the Goal, Loz was going to have to do the one thing they really didn’t—

  “You’re quiet, which means you’re thinking.” Soph had twisted in her seat and was staring. She had such pretty eyes, despite the sad that she was trying to overcome, and Loz was still hungry to kiss her. Even after everything bad that had happened—and the world really couldn’t stop shitting on them today it seemed—all Loz wanted to do was nuzzle Soph’s soft almond-scented skin, press their lips together and make the hurt go away.

  On the bus on the way home, Soph had stroked Loz’s hand and thigh and Loz had been so turned on, and at the same time so full of doubt that Soph even knew the effect her touch was having, that getting back to the flat and maybe for the first time sharing a little more than clothed skin with Soph had suddenly seemed desperately important.

  “… now you’re thinking even more… but not about such serious things, maybe?”

  Loz grinned toothily, feeling a little like the wolf in the Red Riding Hood play the drama class at school had performed. Loz had liked being the wolf. Soph had been the woodcutter and they’d had to tussle on stage for a cardboard axe. Loz had let Soph win—would always let Soph win—even though the wolf was supposed to eat the woodcutter for dinner.

  “Thought overload.” Loz sighed. This always happened when there were big things to worry about. Right then, Loz’s chest was tight with worrying about everything.

  “Where are you going? Want me to come with you?” Soph asked.

  Loz was addicted, utterly addicted, to Soph’s sweet smile.

  “Nope. It’s okay. I just want to speak to someone. That’s all. You and Cai need to look after one another.”

  Cai met Loz’s gaze but didn’t say anything, his expression oddly grateful. Growing up, Loz had wished hard for a brother. Coming from the family that Loz had, it was hard to articulate why a brother would have been preferable to a sister. Loz’s cousin Jordan hadn’t been interested in being close—none of their family had been close; they hated one another—until Jordan had been murdered. And now it was a sickly sort of closeness. They’d rather be stabbing one another in the back, but this fierce anger about what had happened had united them.

  Cai caught Loz’s eye in the mirror again. “When I said I’ve got somewhere we might be able to stay tonight, I meant for you too,” he said.

  His words caught Loz unaware and Loz beamed, helplessly, glowing with happiness.

  The affection Loz felt for Cai had snuck up so quietly, seeming out of nowhere. Bizarrely it was early the other morning, hearing Cai making coffee and pottering around quietly in the kitchen,
getting out some things out of the cupboards that they might want for breakfast, that had done it. The massive stealth attack of good feelings had hit Loz like a body blow. Literally, it had been akin to being crushed by a star. When Soph had woken up, leaned over the edge of the bed and found Loz lying on their bed on the floor, grinning up at the ceiling, she’d laughed. Then Soph had crawled into Loz’s floor bed and they’d hugged for ages and Loz had had to scream a dozen happy things into a pillow before their heart burst.

  The past week staying in the flat had been the first time Loz had ever felt things were right in every way—had ever felt like they were truly in a place they wanted to call home. Now Loz was prepared to do anything for both of these people. The thought of bad things happening to Cai, and therefore Soph, made Loz’s stomach hurt like a tangled ball of barbed wire was growing inside it. After years of wishing to find someone to care about, someone to understand, two people now rocked Loz’s world and Loz was not about to let them go without a fight.

  Detective Michaels was pacing back and forth across the muddy green outside the pub as he talked on his phone. Behind him the row of devastated shops still burned, but the ferocity had finally gone out of the fire.

  Michaels had been fresh out of police school when Loz had first met him, the night the police had told Loz’s family a bloodied item of clothing had been found and Jordan was no longer a missing person—that they were searching for his body.

  It had been Michaels’ first case. As soon as he’d stepped into Aunt Patsy’s crowded terraced house, all warm brown eyes and concerned smiles, Loz had trusted him. It had helped that back then his hair had been an unruly shaggy mess, and he’d looked so young. Now his hair was shaved close to his head and speckled with grey. The effect sharpened his features, aged him another ten years and gave him an edge than made Loz a little warier.

  He stilled as he spotted Loz walking across the green towards him.

  Somewhere over the past two years he’d lost his smile too.

  The last time they’d met, Aunt Patsy had shouted him out of the house for pulling resources off Jordan’s case. Jordan’s murderer had never been caught, his body never found. One last panicked garble of a phone message at half two in the morning—an hour after he was supposed to finish work at the club in town—and no one had seen Jordan again. The police had initially linked the case to three others at the time, but nothing had come of it.