Darkmans

by Nicola Barker

  …‘admirable restraint’?

  He flared his nostrils –

  Or…or…

  He grimaced –

  Or just plain cowardice, more like it?

  He completed the knot and placed the bag firmly aside (quietly opting to do the same with the debate).

  Next, he located the bucket for the mop. It was hidden under the upturned sofa – which he set straight, shoving it back to its former position (although there was no careful measuring this time, just a rough approximation).

  His progress was painfully slow. The pain in his shoulder was quite intolerable (the arm on that side was virtually numb now and his grip was growing increasingly weak in the hand).

  Once the sofa was rearranged he returned to the kitchen and set about mopping up the wet floor. He gradually noticed that the source of all the water –

  What is the source?

  – was located elsewhere – in the bathroom – so he opened the door –

  Woah!

  – and tentatively ventured inside –

  Jesus wept!

  The floor was awash, and there were more feathers in here – black feathers (although no sign of an actual carcass to speak of –

  Hmmn.

  Strange.)

  – but the main feature in this room to draw his eye –

  Oh dear…

  – was the blood. There was blood on the tiles. Blood in the sink. Blood dripping down the walls inside the shower cubicle…Blood smeared, splattered and daubed…not…not huge amounts (by any means)…not…

  Uh

  Dangerous…

  Beede swallowed, nervously, feeling a tiny chink forming in the brick wall of his composure. But then instead of surrendering to it –

  Nope.

  Don’t.

  You won’t.

  – he corralled his anxiety into the task of cleaning up. This was his business, after all. His trade. He was an expert at it. He grabbed hold of a J-cloth and began washing everything down –

  Wipe, rinse, wring

  Wipe, rinse, wring

  Establish a steady rhythm…

  That’s the spirit!

  – then he paused, frowning –

  Eh?

  – staring intently at something –

  What’s…?

  There was a handprint, on the mirror, above the sink. He inspected it for a second and then glanced down at his own hand. He lifted his own hand up –

  Ouch

  Hard to…

  Heavy

  – and held it, gingerly, adjacent to the print –

  Smaller

  The print was considerably smaller. Almost like a…a woman’s hand. His own hand began to shake. His lower lip started to wobble –

  What have I…?

  Then his head spun around –

  Huh?!

  – drawn by a sharp, repetitive ringing sound –

  The phone?

  He dropped the cloth, vacated the bathroom, padded rapidly through the kitchen and back into the living-room…

  Still ringing

  He gazed around him, confused –

  Where?

  – then walked over to the wall where the phone socket was located and saw that a wire was still feeding into it –

  But of course it is, you damn fool!

  Beede crouched down and carefully began uncovering the wire…

  Papers

  Bills

  Broken plant pot

  Soil

  Books

  Little side-table

  Eh?

  Good God!

  How’d that end up there?!

  He pulled a dark, wooden cross from the midst of the chaos – a handcarved, wooden cross (20 inches long, 12 or so wide) –

  Remember?

  – part of it (a small part) had been roughly whittled (in a primitive style) and the word MUM scratched in a childish hand across the middle. But the other part? The best part? Painstakingly, even exquisitely chiselled with a dozen tiny, intricate wild roses, blooming (as if against all the odds) between a dense and tangled thicket of leaves and stems and thorns.

  Beede stared at the cross for a while, almost regretfully, then he placed it down and recommenced his search. The phone – when he found it – was actually hidden under a small wigwam of cushions. He threw them aside and grabbed the receiver – ‘Hello?’

  His voice sounded very soft, very low. His voice sounded…

  Scared?

  ‘Beede?’

  ‘Yes? Hello?’

  ‘Beede, it’s me, it’s Dory…’

  ‘Dory?’

  Beede seemed surprised. ‘Dory? Are you all right? Is something wrong? You sound…’ He paused ‘…different.’

  Silence

  ‘Dory? Hello? Dory?’

  ‘Where are you?’ Dory demanded, somewhat childishly, almost petulantly. ‘What are you doing?’

  The reception on the line was bad.

  Uh…

  ‘I’m at home, Dory,’ Beede scratched his head, ‘you’ve rung me at home. I’m here, at home, speaking on the phone.’

  ‘At home?’

  Dory seemed confused by this answer.

  ‘Yes.’ Beede nodded, frowning. ‘At home. At my home. But how on earth did you get this number?’

  ‘The number? I don’t know. It just…It just popped into my head. The same way it did – you know – before…’

  ‘Before?’

  Now it was Beede’s turn to sound confused.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dory said. ‘The important thing is that you need to come, and you need to come soon.’

  Beede thought he heard a car horn sounding, in the background. It was followed by a nasty crackle of static on the line. He winced. ‘Dory? Are you still with me?’

  Silence

  ‘Dory?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Uh…I’m in the little room. You know…The little, metal room which likes to move around. I’m sitting in the middle of the little, metal room.’

  ‘Right. Okay. You’re in the car. You’re driving somewhere in the car…’

  ‘Yes,’ Dory sounded pleased, proud, almost, ‘that’s exactly what I’m doing.’

  ‘And do you know where you’re heading?’

  ‘Heading?’

  ‘Yes. In the car. Do you know where you’re going?’

  ‘In the car? I’m going heim, of course.’

  ‘Heim?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘You’re going heim?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘Right. Right…’

  Beede inspected his watch. ‘I was meant to meet you there, wasn’t I, at ten? I’m afraid I got a little…uh…caught up in something…’

  ‘Well you really need to come,’ Dory reiterated, quite matter-of-factly, ‘because he’s here, Beede.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Beede frowned.

  ‘He’s here. He’s right here.’

  ‘Who is?’ Beede’s throat suddenly contracted.

  ‘He is. Him. The…the…you know…the…the d-d-d-d…’

  Dory began to stutter.

  Beede closed his eyes. ‘You’ve seen him?’ he whispered.

  ‘He’s here, Beede, and he’s being very…very strong…very…’

  Dory cleared his throat. ‘I honestly don’t know how much longer I can hold him off for.’

  ‘Right…’ Beede struggled to calm his nerves. ‘Okay. And did he happen to mention what he wants?’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely. He says he wants to speak with you. In fact he told me this number. He recited it to me. He said he wants to see you.’

  Pause

  ‘Beede?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think he’s intending to do something bad. In fact I’m not sure if he hasn’t already done it. He seems very d-d-d-’

  ‘Dark,’ Beede said, standing up, abruptly, almost lifting the entire b
ody of the phone into the air on its tangled wire. ‘Then I must come,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes…’ Dory sounded a little distracted. ‘He says we must go ho…’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘Yes. No. Not like in home, like in…in hot – ho – like in hot or…or cot…’

  ‘Hot?’ Beede was immediately concerned. ‘Did he mention fire at all? Because you must be on your guard, Dory. D’you hear me? You must be on your guard. Just be sure and keep away from…’

  ‘No, not hot,’ Dory maintained stolidly, ‘not hot: hoch…He means hoch.’

  Eh?

  ‘Hoch…?’ Beede slowly mulled this over, then, ‘Oh…Of course.

  Hoch. Hoch, as in…as in “high”?’

  ‘Yes. That’s it. On the roof. The roef. He wants to go up on the roef. He doesn’t want to be hot. He wants to be…to be hoch. On the roef.’

  ‘Which roof, Dory?’

  Beede suddenly visualised a huge expanse of roof – an infinite expanse – covered in antique, red tiles. And he saw a hand – his hand – reaching out towards them. He also saw the sky –

  So blue!

  Beautiful!

  Look at that!

  – and he saw a turret. And then he felt –

  What?!

  – this vast, this black and intoxicating wave of rage engulfing him…

  Urgh!

  He shook himself –

  Enough!

  ‘My roef,’ Dory repeated (Beede hadn’t actually heard him the first time).

  ‘Why?’ Beede’s voice was pitched very soft and low again. It was almost a growl.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Why does he want you to go on to the roof, Dory?’

  ‘Why? Because he says there’s something we need to do up there.’

  ‘So you’ve been talking?’ Beede felt his anger rising – he felt it climbing, scampering –

  Higher and higher

  – on mean, painful, little feet – he felt it…he felt it barking inside of him…

  Roof!

  Roof!

  Roof!

  He was a fierce dog, scratching away, keenly, at the door of its rage –

  Roof!

  – waiting for release.

  ‘What do you mean, Beede?’

  Dory sounded bewildered.

  ‘You’ve been discussing these things together?’ Beede demanded (quite unable to help himself).

  ‘Yes. No. I’m…I’m not sure…’

  ‘For how long, exactly?’

  Beede’s cheeks were crimson. His upper lip was shiny with perspiration.

  ‘I’m not…’ Dory stuttered ‘…I don’t…’

  ‘Weeks, is it? Months? Tell me!’

  ‘I can’t…I’m not…’

  ‘My God, how you must’ve laughed!’ Beede snarled. ‘How funny this all must’ve seemed. What a spectacular joke!’

  ‘A joke?’

  ‘Yes. Yes…’ Beede was livid now, betrayed. ‘So you’ve been changing my furniture around, eh? The rug? Did you swap the rug? And the kettle? The bed? Is Elen in on it too?’

  ‘You’re confusing me, Beede,’ Dory interrupted, ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I don’t even know whether…’ he paused. ‘Did you call me or did I call you?’

  Beede blinked. The wave smoothly withdrew. Quick as a breath, his anger retreated. He shook his head, confused.

  ‘Beede?!’ Dory sounded terrified.

  ‘You phoned,’ he said tiredly, ‘you called me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because you said…you said you needed my help.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence

  ‘Oh God,’ Dory groaned (as if suddenly remembering). ‘He’s been whispering things, Beede. I’ve told him to go away. I’ve pushed him away – with the yoga, the Pranayama, I’ve tried to block him out. But it’s almost had the opposite effect. It’s brought him even closer. And now he keeps telling me all this…all this stuff…’

  ‘What kind of stuff?’

  Beede gnawed on his lower lip.

  ‘Things about you. About Elen. The boy. He calls Elen the most terrible, the most unforgivable…’

  ‘What does he say about me?’ Beede interrupted, coldly.

  ‘About you? Strange things. Stupid things. He keeps telling me that you made your own key. He keeps repeating it. He keeps going on and on and on and on…I mean at first I didn’t understand – he speaks differently to us. He kept repeating the word kay and I just couldn’t…but then he said luk…then loch…and I knew he meant lock. Like a lock and a key. A key…’

  ‘He seems rather confused,’ Beede snapped, ‘rather incoherent.’

  ‘Yes.’ Dory sounded forlorn.

  Pause

  ‘So I suppose…’ he sighed, ‘I suppose we’ll just be waiting for you on the roef, then.’

  ‘No,’ Beede butted in, ‘that’s not a good idea. It sounds too dangerous.’

  ‘But he…’ Dory’s voice was dreamy, now, and quite resigned, ‘…he simply insists, Beede.’

  ‘Then you should be strong with him. You should refuse him.’

  ‘I know,’ Dory yawned, tiredly.

  ‘Try and stay lively,’ Beede said. ‘Buy yourself a coffee. Or eat a bar of chocolate. Conserve your energy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dory yawned again.

  ‘You need to stay awake, Dory. You’re driving. If you’re going to fall asleep then you must pull over.’

  ‘I know. I know. I already did. I pulled over earlier. But I don’t have too far to go now…’

  ‘Then just keep on talking,’ Beede said. ‘Tell me where you are. Tell me where you’re going.’

  ‘I’m going…’

  Pause

  ‘Dory?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Tell me where you’re going.’

  ‘I’m going…I’m going on the…I’ve got…’

  ‘Then tell me where you’ve been…Tell me about your morning.

  Did you drop Fleet off at school yet?’

  Pause

  ‘Fleet?’ Dory sounded very vague.

  ‘Your son, remember?’

  Beede was gripping the phone so tightly now that the receiver was almost cutting into his ear.

  ‘Dory?’

  He automatically switched hands (and ears) to relieve the pressure.

  ‘Damn!’

  His grip failed. He dropped the receiver.

  ‘Damn!’

  He swooped down, wincing, to retrieve it.

  ‘Dory?’

  Silence

  ‘Dory? Hello? I’m sorry about that. I just dropped the…’

  Silence

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence

  Beede peered down at the phone, confused. He shook the receiver. He stared into it. He gazed over towards the wall. The phone was unplugged.

  He blinked –

  Eh?

  He blinked again –

  But how long…?

  Then slowly, very cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder.

  FOURTEEN

  Tenterden. He’d planned to head for Tenterden –

  Peta –

  Peta Borough –

  The f-forger…

  The f-fabricare…

  She’s definitely the k-k-kay, here

  – but when he drew up at the roundabout –

  Eh?

  – the Rover was just one car ahead of him –

  Kay?

  – so he calmly proceeded to follow –

  F-f-fabric-what?!

  – almost without thinking – ignoring the first turn-off (for Canterbury and Willesborough), the second turn-off – his turn-off – (for Hastings, Lydd and Hamstreet), indicating at the third (Cedar Wood) and slowly pulling on to the brand-new (still only partially completed) access-route into the es
tate beyond.