The Old Religion

by Martyn Waites

  ‘And?’ she said, refusing to be scared.

  Not the response he had expected, she could tell. He tried to regain his upper hand. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

  ‘That right? How nice for you.’

  Anger flamed in his eyes. This wasn’t going to plan. He moved nearer to her. She didn’t flinch. ‘You’re a drug dealer, aren’t you?’

  Lila crossed her arms. ‘You tell me, you’ve been watching me.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Really? You seen me sell anything?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Quickly, not thinking.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that?’ She could have laughed at how suddenly absurd the situation had become. Caught dealing, except she hadn’t been.

  Anger boiling over, he reached out for her. ‘You’re coming with me.’ Grabbed her by the hair, pulled.

  Lila twisted, tried to get away. Couldn’t. For all the apparent weakness in his frame he was strong. Anger did that. And she had made him angry. He pulled at her hair. The pain was excruciating. She tried to claw his hands, but he ignored her. She screamed, trying to attract attention, but everyone became suddenly blind and deaf. He dragged her off the main floor to the back of the arcade, pausing to enter a pin code into a lock, waiting for the door to open. He pushed her inside, threw her down on the floor of a tiny, filthy office. Exactly the kind of office she would have expected the arcade to have.

  He pulled up an old office chair, sat down right in front of her, legs apart, so she had no choice but to look up at him. Instead she looked at the floor.

  He kicked her arms away. Vicious, quick, hard. She fell to the floor, her face thudding off the cracked vinyl.

  ‘I’ll have some fucking respect from you . . .’

  Lila, reluctantly, looked at him. But she took her time about it. She stared him straight in the eyes. Didn’t blink. Her own anger overriding any fear she might have had.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, although the shake in his voice, the doubt in his eyes, made her think that it possibly wasn’t.

  ‘What d’you want?’ she asked.

  ‘To talk to you.’

  ‘So talk.’ She gave a false yawn. ‘Haven’t got all day.’

  Again his anger rose. He stood up, stood over her. ‘Listen, you druggie bitch, I am that close –’ he gestured an infinitesimal gap between his thumb and forefinger – ‘to calling the police on you. Tell them what you’ve been doing here.’

  She attempted a shrug. It hurt her shoulders. ‘Call them, then. I’ll talk to them.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Because you’re not going to get out of here. Not unless you do what I say.’

  ‘That a fact?’ She kept the anger in her voice but she was starting to get scared now.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ He reached over to the desk, picked up a long, old-fashioned wooden ruler, the kind that schools stopped using in the 1960s. ‘Because that’s what happens to skanks like you. Skanks that I find in the arcade doing what you were doing. Or worse. Selling their snatches. Oh, yeah, I’ve sorted them all out.’

  She could have giggled at his choice of words if she hadn’t seen the ruler. She spoke, again trying to sound brave, hoping she managed it. ‘You’re not going to do that with me. You’re really not.’

  ‘You think so?’

  She could see the erection in his jeans. It turned her stomach. She started to pull herself up off the floor.

  ‘Stay where you are!’

  She didn’t, kept moving. And didn’t see the blow coming until it was too late.

  It hit her shoulder, knocking her back to the floor again. Christ, that thing hurt. Shockwaves all down her arm.

  ‘My dad was a school teacher,’ he said. ‘He brought this home one day. Said they weren’t allowed to use it on the kids any more. But that didn’t stop him from using it on me. I hated him. I stole it from him. And now I use it on people like you. And I put it to very good use . . .’

  She just rubbed her arm, stared at him.

  He giggled. ‘That’s better. Get to know your place . . .’ He began to undo his jeans. ‘You know what’s coming next, don’t you?’

  She did. And she had had enough. Of being used, of being abused, of being ignored, and of being patronised. She was worth more than this. She had to be. And she wasn’t going to take it any more. Especially not from creeps like him.

  He was taking his short, stubby penis out of his hideous old boxers. She noticed that he had loosened his grip on the ruler, keeping it slack in his left hand. She knelt upwards as if she had given in, was being submissive towards him.

  He giggled. ‘Yeah, you bitch, that’s right . . .’ Made to grab her hair once more with his right hand.

  Her eyes never left the ruler in his other hand. Before she reached his groin she had grabbed it from him. He was so surprised he let go. She pulled her arm back, brought the hard, flat wood down in a straight line. She aimed for his stomach, missed. Hit him on the penis instead.

  He howled.

  She got to her feet. He was lying curled up, pain etched on his features, tears falling. She stared down at him. Felt all that hate, that anger well up within her. She felt the ruler in her hand, the hard, smooth wood. Thought of the damage it could inflict. Imagined how much she would enjoy it.

  She brought it up, made ready to strike as hard as she could.

  ‘No, please . . .’ Lying on the floor, whimpering, crying.

  ‘You’re fucking pathetic.’ She brought it down as hard as she could.

  *

  And now, later, she was on the seafront, looking out at the water. Grey. All grey. The coloured fronts of the bars behind her washed out in the overcast weather. She could see something on the horizon, a boat or a ship, she couldn’t tell. But whatever it was she wished she were on it. Or at least on something that would take her far away from here.

  She thought of her actions in the arcade. Felt herself raising the ruler again, bringing it down once more. Hard. She tried to work out how she felt about what she had done. He hadn’t got up when she left. She wondered whether he was able to. And now that the anger had subsided she felt guilty. She shouldn’t have given in to that feeling, but she’d wanted to hurt him, wanted to make him pay for what he had tried to do to her. The more she thought about him, the more she understood him. The bullied, abused kid taking his revenge out on anyone he could. Pathetic, really. In every sense. But were her actions any better?

  ‘Heard you ran into a bit of trouble.’

  She jumped. Turned. Ashley stood behind her.

  ‘You gave me a fright.’

  He smiled as if that was his intention. ‘Heard you were in the arcade. Got into a scene with Arcade Phil.’

  A shudder of dread ran through her. What had happened to him? Had he reported her to the police? Was he dead?

  Ashley laughed. ‘You left the man in a real fucked-up state. Fucking funny.’

  ‘He . . . what did he say?’

  ‘Said you attacked him. Tried to rob him.’

  ‘But I didn’t, I—’

  ‘Don’ worry. I know exactly what happened. Not the first time he’s tried that. Not the first time he’s ended up hurt, neither. He’ll get better again.’

  ‘Good.’ She breathed out a sigh of relief she didn’t realise she had been holding.

  The smile dropped from Ashley’s face. His eyes became instantly hard. ‘You don’t go back there. That’s my territory. Got it sweet there, you don’t fuck it up for me. Get me?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You got your own territory. Stick to it.’

  He turned, walked away.

  ‘Come on, back home now.’

  She followed him. Gave a quick final glance at the sea. The boat or ship was long gone.

  22

  Kai had known terror before. But that involved waves, a lack of self-belief, getting out of his depth and fearing his lungs would fill with water and choke him.

  That was not like this.<
br />
  He was face down in the back of a van, hands tied behind his back, ankles similarly so. An old sack on his head. They had come for him during the night. Or he assumed it was during the night – the yurt had blackout curtains all around it.

  When Noah left him he had shouted, tried to take out the door, the walls. Find a way of escape. But there was none. His prison had been reinforced since Lila was there. Noah wasn’t in the habit of making the same mistakes twice.

  Eventually, realising he was getting nowhere, he had sunk back against the bed, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had given him such a rush, from his confrontation with the barman onwards, had abated, leaving him washed out, ready for sleep. So with nothing else to do, the only method of escape he had was to curl up on the bed and do so. Roughly and sporadically. And when he woke he reassessed his situation.

  Fear had now given way to anger. Directed at Noah. Kai had done nothing wrong. He had been attacked and had given a good account of himself. That was that. What was he supposed to do? Not tell Noah? That would make things even worse. No. He had done the right thing. And look where it had got him.

  His next target was himself. He had allowed this to happen, allowed himself to get into this situation. He should never have gone along with it, never have even agreed to it. And never let Lila be part of it either. Yes, looking at it dispassionately he hadn’t been given a choice and probably would have been forced to do it anyway, but still. He should have said no. He kept thinking. And thinking. What could he have done instead, how could he have changed things? Every avenue led to the same conclusion, the same direction: here.

  So he sighed, tried to tamp down his rising terror, accept his situation. Control it. He thought of Lila, wondered where she was, hoped she had managed to escape. Hoped she was happy.

  He missed her. Yeah, that was it. He missed her. He knew she probably wouldn’t be missing him, not after everything that had happened, but he had felt things for her he had never felt for anyone else. Was it love? Could be.

  He was still thinking about Lila when they rushed him.

  He knew who it was, could identify every one of them. He had shared exploits, drinks, drugs, meals, a life with them. They were his friends. Or had been. Because above all they were loyal to Noah and if he told them to kill Kai, they would do so. Not because of any great love for Noah but because they knew how the camp was structured. They knew that it could just as easily be one of them in Kai’s place. And they would do whatever it took to ensure that didn’t happen.

  So they forced him to the ground, beat him, kicked him, pulled his arms behind his back, tied them, then his ankles, and hooded him. Then they dragged him out.

  He felt himself being thrown in the back of a vehicle. Could have been any one of the vans, could even have been his. And then he was driven off.

  That was when the terror really kicked in.

  When he realised where they were taking him.

  23

  They all looked at Lila differently now.

  They’d heard what she had done to Arcade Phil and were wary of her. Kept their distance. Treated her with something like respect. The previous nights she hadn’t been so lucky. They thought she was there for the taking. Something for the pack to squabble over, the alpha being the one who managed to fuck her. And she had fought them off. Not physically, not yet, but with body language, stares, words or the lack of them. She wasn’t just unresponsive to them, she had tried to appear downright hostile. And it had worked. But it was only a temporary measure. There would be a reckoning. Of that she was certain.

  Now that had been put on hold. Indefinitely. They were in no further hurry to try anything with her. For now she scared them. All she had to do was sell some drugs, make some money. But when they realised she couldn’t do that . . .

  She didn’t want to think about it. She needed a get-out plan.

  It was becoming a typical evening in the caravan. Ashley and Aaron were playing games on the PS4, Josey watching. Leon was still out. She sat on the sofa, said nothing.

  ‘Get me a can of Coke,’ said Ashley, never taking his eyes off the screen.

  Lila looked around to see who he was talking to.

  Silently, Josey got up, made his way to the kitchen area. Picked up a can of Coke from the countertop, brought it over, held it outstretched.

  ‘Open it.’

  Josey did so. Ashley took it, downed a mouthful, grimaced.

  ‘It’s warm, you fat stupid fuck. Get me a cold one.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, sorry, sorry . . .’

  Josey, half cringing, half running, made his way back to the kitchen area, took one out of the fridge. Brought it over, opened it. Handed it to Ashley who, without turning round, threw the warm Coke can back at Josey. Not expecting it, Josey fumbled it and ended up wearing most of the contents before it eventually landed on the floor.

  ‘Look what you done now, you stupid cunt,’ said Aaron, again not looking at him. ‘Clean it up. Filthy fucking pig.’

  ‘Yeah,’ chimed in Ashley, ‘filthy fucking pig.’ Then laughed.

  Josey looked like he was about to burst into tears. He stared at the can on the floor, brown liquid fizzing onto the carpet. He slowly bent down, picked it up. Looked around as if confused what to do next.

  ‘Let me help you,’ said Lila, going towards him.

  ‘Sit down,’ Aaron told her. ‘He’s got to learn and it’s his place, his responsibility.’

  Josey, head bowed, carried the can over to the kitchen, located the bin, put it in. He then found a cloth and got to work mopping up the spilled drink.

  Lila watched. Josey’s place. He owned the caravan? What had he to do with the rest of them, beyond using? Why were they here? With him in particular? Plenty of questions, no answers as yet. Not wanting another fight, she said nothing. Remained still.

  The next flashpoint wasn’t long in coming.

  ‘Hey, fat fuck, get me some food.’ Ashley again.

  Josey immediately jumped up as if he was about to be hit. He looked round, confused.

  ‘Food. Now.’ A real threat in Ashley’s voice.

  Josey ran to the back of the caravan, picked up a mobile phone. Pressed a button. When it was answered, he spoke as if repeating a well-worn litany. ‘Extra-large All the Meats, stuffed crust; extra-large The Works.’

  Ashley looked at Lila. ‘What d’you want?’

  Lila looked between the others. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. ‘Erm . . .’

  ‘Hurry up.’

  ‘Tuna. Something with tuna.’

  Ashley nodded at Josey who was waiting for his cue to speak. ‘And tuna. Yeah.’ He listened to the voice on the phone. ‘Yeah. Yeah.’ Then gave a plaintive look towards Ashley and Aaron. ‘Money?’

  ‘The usual,’ said Aaron without looking up.

  Josey felt in his pockets. ‘I haven’t . . .’

  ‘Yes, you fucking have. Don’t try that one again. Remember last time.’ His voice flat, disinterested, but the threat implicit.

  Josey, defeated, mumbled something into the phone, ended the call.

  ‘You know you’ve got money,’ said Aaron. ‘And you know what you have to use it on.’

  Josey nodded. Resumed his seat in silence.

  ‘Hey.’

  An empty Coke can hit Josey in the head. He flinched, rubbed the spot where it had struck. Looked like he was about to cry.

  ‘Don’t sit down, you fat fuck, you’ve got work to do. Get me another one of these.’

  Josey immediately stood up, crossed to the fridge, opened it, looked in. He straightened up, fear and confusion on his face. ‘There’s . . . there’s none left . . .’

  Aaron stood up. Even at the far end of the caravan Josey shrank back, scared.

  ‘Whose fucking fault is that, then?’

  Josey began to shake his head as Aaron advanced towards him, mumbling something incoherent.

  ‘Eh? Whose fault?’

  Aaron drew le
vel with Josey, stared at him. Josey just curled up on the floor. ‘Don’t . . . don’t . . .’ Hands covering his head, wailing, like an abused puppy who knew what was coming next and was dreading it.

  Aaron stood there, unmoving, staring.

  Eventually he smiled. It wasn’t pleasant.

  ‘Don’t let it happen again.’

  Walked back to the front of the caravan, laughing. Ashley joined in. Lila just stared at them. Aaron saw her reaction, turned to face her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He nodded. ‘Good.’

  The boys resumed their game.

  Later, when the pizza had been consumed – Lila having little appetite by then but eating just to keep her strength up – Josey started to fidget.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Got crabs, or something?’

  Ashley smirked at Aaron’s joke.

  ‘I want . . .’ said Josey. ‘Want some medicine . . .’ He pronounced it medsin.

  ‘Do you now?’ said Aaron.

  Josey nodded. ‘Please . . .’

  The boys looked at each other, smiled as a private joke or sense of anticipation passed between them. They sat back on the sofa, looked at Josey.

  ‘What you goin’ to do for it?’ asked Aaron.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ashley, ‘what?’

  ‘I . . .’ Josey looked between the two of them. Lila saw the fear and humiliation in his eyes.

  Slowly he began to throw his body around, as if to some music only he could hear. The two boys started to laugh, made encouraging whoops.

  ‘Sing!’

  ‘Yeah, sing!’

  In a voice that sounded more suited to crying, he began to sing. Or gave an approximation of singing: it was some time before Lila realised he was performing Kylie Minogue’s ‘I Should Be So Lucky’.

  By this time the two boys were in hysterics. Laughing not only at the spectacle before them but at the power they had to command him to do it. Lila wanted to be sick.

  She saw tears roll down Josey’s face, saw the pain in his eyes. She stood up.

  ‘Fucking hell, just give him what he wants.’

  The other three all stopped and stared at her. She suddenly became self-conscious, embarrassed, but had to continue.