The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  The sleeping bag was dirty, and the circle of charred remains that used to be a fire had been blown astray by frequent draughts; but it was exactly how it had been when he was last here. Sepia toned, the room seemed haunted by Scar.

  Jack collapsed in the ground near the fire pit. There were still matches that she’d left behind. He grasped them and stared at them intently. By all rights she should have finished them, discarded them for another pack. The fire should still be burning and he should have continued to visit her. Instead she was in jail, and he was here, covered in dust and sheltering from the law. It was almost ironic, but any sense of humour was lost on Jack.

  Eliza believed Jack to have killed Alex. It was more than hurtful that should ever have believed he was capable of such a thing, but the more he thought on it the more he realised that Alex must have cut all contact that day as well. Wild assumptions must have passed, especially when they learned that Jack was alive and well and murdering others.

  Striking a match, Jack rekindled the fire. As he watched the embers ignite into flame, his thoughts were mesmerised by their beautiful destruction. After all this time he had deluded himself into believing that he would be welcomed back into her arms. Jack kicked the fire. How could he have been so stupid? The whole country believed him to be the leader of this great and terrible terrorist organisation. He was a murderer. He’d already proven to them that he was a liar, why would she possibly wait for him?

  He never thought it would hurt this much. In all honestly, Jack never thought he could feel this much pain again. Not after his sister. Not after everyone he’d killed. It was soothing in a strange way to know that he still could feel this much rotting agony, but it was far from comforting.

  There was no way back now. There, in the background of every event, was the niggling doubt that it wasn’t real, that he could tap his shoes together and return to Kansas. He hadn’t really believed; but he always thought there might be a way back to reset all his mistakes.

  What was he now? Was he Jack, or was he Steven? Did it really matter in the end - they were the same people after all. Just names, just personalities of the same fucked up teenager who’d been let down by his parents.

  Lying back on the sleeping back, he patted a spider out of the way. And then he noticed something hard under his palm. Lifting the sleeping back up, dust raining down from his hand, he pulled out an old notebook. It was Scar’s, it had to have been. Opening it up, he blew the dust from the pages, a few creepy crawlies dangling from the corners.

  March Fourth, probably. Jack came tonight, he’s feeling a little on edge. He’s worried about his friend - well, Eliza’s brother actually. He’s probably messed up in something bad, but Jack don’t want to admit it just yet. But it’s hurting him cos he can’t help Alex. Eliza came earlier, too. She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on with her brother, and probably for the best. She’s mainly concerned with Jack at the moment. I keep telling her to make a move on him, but she thinks she’s too young and he isn’t interested in her. Of course he is. You’d be mad not to be completely in love with Eliza. She’s gorgeous and interesting and faithful and loyal and the funniest girl I’ve ever met. I hope she plucks up the courage to tell Jack, cos if I have to put up with any more of her nonsense I’ll probably just tell him myself.

  It’s cold outside, but I think the worst of winter is over. Jack said he’d bring me some more matches, I’m on my last box here. I don’t really know how much longer I can cope. Living rough seemed so rebellious at the time, but I know what I did and I’m starting to think he never deserved it. He’s a fucking shit. A disgusting fuck up that maybe I’d beat up again, but that doesn’t mean he deserved it. I’ve heard his prayers. I’ve read his damn book. It reels you in. It snatches you while you’re weak, and Dad was always weak. It’s why mum left him. Can I really blame them though? Maybe some people would, but I’m tired of living in some haunted hospital. I want home. I want my mum and after all he’s done, I still want my dad.

  Jack turned over a page.

  March Twelfth, more than likely. It’s lonely in here. I can feel the dead patients scratching the walls. This is the third night this week I’ve had to walk outside all night until dawn just to stop the voices screaming at me. I don’t want to be here. Jack and Eliza are helping as usual. They seem in better spirits. Probably getting it on but they don’t want to say. I’m happy for them, but lately I’ve been thinking it’s time to move on. I’ve been a burden to them long enough. The CRU are making patrols in the area. I’m on borrowed time and I need to realise that this way of life can’t continue for much longer.

  It was the last entry. Jack closed the book, feeling like he had betrayed a friend. Laying his head down on the ground, he scoffed. After all this time, she had wanted to leave and Jack dragged her into yet another one of his ill-fated adventures. That’s what he did best: fuck up other people’s lives.

  Stoking the fire with his feet again, Jack turned over and waited for the inevitable ghostly hauntings - he just didn’t believe they were ghosts.

  Morning dawned. The fire was smouldering, black smoke dispersing into the grim air around him. He wasn’t convinced he’d slept, but his eyes had been closed. Maybe it was difficult to distinguish between nightmares and reality when he lived the nightmare.

  Sitting up, he encased his knees within his arms and shivered. There was still a little warmth to the fire. Though his stomach did not growl, he was disappointed by the lack of food. But for now that could wait, just as he himself must do.

  A headache pulsated his temple. Hope burned in his heart; the last stand of a vessel bravely defying the inevitable. After last night, he wasn’t certain she would come. By the afternoon, he was nearly resigned that she would rather call the CRU than seek answers. But still he waited, mulling over the scenarios in which she might just forgive him. At the end of every tale he told himself, she stood there, caressing her bump and telling him that there was no way forward for them. It was true. Though he’d fought the thoughts from his mind, he couldn’t deny that she was pregnant by another man. All those lost years of love, it seemed as meaningless as a life taken too young.

  Footsteps echoed down the stairwell. Jack grimly looked up from his hands and watched the shadow pour in from the hallway. He knew it was her before he saw her pretty figure, but it saddened him nonetheless.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, not daring to meet her eyes, “Are you alone?”

  She took a few steps into the room, “Of course.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” he took control of the conversation at once, “I know you think I did and maybe that’s with good reason, but I didn’t kill him. I spoke to him not two days ago.”

  Eliza carefully approached, though he witnessed a fear in her eyes that he had never seen before.

  “The body,” she said, “There was a body. How can he be alive if there was a body? Tell me the truth, Jack. I need to know the fucking truth.”

  “A body?” Jack was stunned, “What body, where was it found?”

  “It was him. Alex. The dental records. It was a match. How can he be alive?”

  The knowledge overwhelmed him, but through the fog it became clear.

  “Did you think I killed him because I never came back?”!

  Eliz nodded, “The police, they also thought… we never heard from you. It was as if all trace of you had vanished. We assumed it to be true and then… and then we saw you on the news.”

  “I didn’t kill him, Eliza,” he said, “And I think you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

  She dissolved into tears. He reached out an arm to touch her, but she rejected it.

  “Eliza, please, if you trusted me back then, then please listen to me now,” he pleaded with her, “I left that night because Alex took me. He kidnapped me and he took me to The Resistance headquarters.”

  Tears still streaming from her eyes, she looked at him accusatory.

  “I’m not lying, Eliza,�
�� he said, “I would never lie to you.”

  “Of course not, Steven,” she sobbed.

  Jack hung his head in shame, “I mean, not over something like this.”

  “Are you trying to say my brother was in The Resistance?”

  “Not was, is. He is The Resistance,” Jack urged.

  “That isn’t what the news says.”

  “They made me a figurehead,” Jack said, “And maybe I help run it, but Alex is the leader. Now you have to believe me. He was in it from the beginning, from the attack on Princes Street Gardens. Ask yourself why he was away all the time? Ask yourself why he was so secretive, why he knew how to get in contact with Scar? C’mon, Eliza! Remember! I would never have harmed Alex. It’s me, it’s Jack. It’s your Jack.”

  “So you didn’t kill that politician?”

  Jack bit his lip, “I did, yes. But only to save Alex.”

  “And you really expect me to believe he’s still alive?”

  With no phone to call him with or recent photographs, Jack’s claims were looking thinner by the second.

  “You just have to trust me,” he said, “Like you used to.”

  Eliza wiped her eyes with her hands, “You know I hated you for a very long time. I thought you’d used me.”

  “I’d never do that, Eliza,” he reached out a hand to her, but she slapped it out of the way.

  “Don’t you dare try and pretend that nothing’s changed, Jack,” she sobbed, “Everything’s changed! It doesn’t matter whether or not I believe you now, I spent the last two years thinking you’d murdered my brother. Imagine the horror on my face when I saw your fucking mug on the television, fucking leader of The Resistance? How do you fucking think that made me feel, Jack? All those lies, Jack! All those fucking lies! I don’t know if any of what you’ve told me is real!”

  “Everything I told you on that pavement the day my dad turned up, that’s the truth,” he calmed her, “You want to know what happened after I left you? I caught up with Alex, and his cronies abducted me. He told me I had to leave you alone - to protect you, to protect us all. Believe me I hated being a part of their group in the beginning, but Eliza, they mean something. I won’t expect you to believe me about that, in fact fuck it, I’m not even going to try and persuade you.”

  “Persuade me?” she yelled, “Like you persuaded me to lose my virginity to you?”

  “That’s not how I remember it,” he said quietly.

  In the few moments of silence, Jack stole back control, “I still love you, Eliza,” he stared at the ground, “I’ve never stopped.”

  From the corner of his eye, Jack spied Scar’s diary. He picked it up, wiping away the ashes that had fallen from the fire.

  “Read this,” he thrust it into her hands, “Read this and remember what we shared.”

  Reluctantly, Eliza took it, opening up the first few pages.

  “This is Scar’s?”

  Jack nodded. He allowed her to read the first few lines.

  Calm had prevailed a lot longer than he had anticipated. There was so much more he had to say, but the words were tumbling over each other as he tried to order them correctly.

  Eliza looked up from the book, “Why did you come back?”

  “Honestly?” Jack said, “I had no choice. I needed to leave London. I’d organised a protest and the army just started shooting at us. I lost a friend.”

  “Then why back here, back to my home?”

  “Because I wanted to see you,” he said, feeling distinctly exposed, “Because in my wildest dreams, I thought you’d missed me.”

  “I saw you,” she began slowly, “In the bushes in the garden. I thought I was just imagining things, but it was you, wasn’t it?”

  Jack nodded, “I’d seen you by then, and I knew I was too late.”

  Eliza rubbed her belly, guilt flashing across her eyes.

  “I didn’t kill Alex,” he reiterated, “If you go right now and never see me again, just take that one thing with you.”

  Eliza hesitated, her heavy breathing filled the void. For a few seconds she seemed to stammer over what to say, but then she marshalled her thoughts and began to speak.

  “Come over tonight,” she said, “I’ll be alone.”

  She rose to her feet - Jack brushed delicately against her hand. Pausing, she turned and, with the gentlest of touches, responded. Their eyes met. Jack rose to his feet and enveloped his lips on hers. Her touch, their closeness, two years of absence simmering in a single kiss. But she withdrew.

  “I can’t,” she said, crying, “Tonight. Eight o’clock.”

  Letting go of his hand, she rushed away.

  “Eliza,” he called her, but she did not turn. He collapsed to the debris of ash, dirt and tumultuous memory. Eight o’clock. That little dark patch of doubt twinkled with hope.

  Hunger carving a hole in his otherwise knotted stomach, Jack was consumed with the possibilities that tonight would bring. Morning whittled away into afternoon. The coldness brushed against his skin like a purring cat. Sat in the same crumpled heap that she’d left him in, he mulled over what Eliza might have to say that she couldn’t have said that morning. But after two years, there was so much to say. Maybe she just needed a little time.

  Two years - he’d missed the moment she’d become a woman. A pregnant woman. Pain pierced through him. Eliza was carrying another man’s child. She’d moved on and the guilt stirred within - had he really expected her not to? She was twenty-years old. So much older than the years he’d left her with. What had she gone through without him? All that time hating the man she’d believed killed her brother. And how? There was a body, she had said. The pit of Jack’s stomach lurched. There could be only one author of such a mistake.

  Was that the main reason Alex had forbade him from seeing Eliza? Not out of her safety, but out of concern for his alibi? So long as he was dead, he could continue to run The Resistance quite without external challenge. Maybe he had delighted in the poetic justice of it all. Jack, framed for Alex’s murder; banned from seeing Eliza and all the while being secretly despised by the love of his life.

  Kicking the remnants of the smouldering fire; ash exploded around him like snow, his heart achingly yelled into the abandoned hospital. Where once poor souls used to come for help, now they only lingered with an unmendable hurt. There was no cure for this. How many months had Scar sat on this very spot, yelling at the walls that would never talk back.

  Two and a half years on, it was now Jack’s destiny to sit and dwell on the past in this dark, dingy place. Bang, flash and Quentin was dead. Blood, guts, and a lifetime of naivety murdered. Julian, coughing to death on his own blood. Out of all the people he’d killed, he could only name two of them. He struck another match and relit the fire.

  As the hours passed, his mind meandered into strange territory. There were moments where he nearly walked out, determined to leave the city that evening and never to return. Eliza didn’t deserve this, not after all that she had been through. For years she had believed her brother to be dead, and now that she doubted it, was it putting her in even more danger? Jack was poison. His mere presence here threatened everyone around him. He was the most wanted man in the country; the most feared, the most despised. It only took one person to recognise him and report him and he would be dragged away to prison, or worse. Eliza and her unborn child were not likely to be excused from punishment.

  But the selfish bastard stayed. Having stormed up the stairs, his hands clutching the window tightly; he paused, staring out at the grey landscape battered by drizzle and the Haar; and in the end he just couldn’t do it. He’d done far too much running in his life. It was finally time to stop. Two years - he owed it to her to meet her. That was the reason that would make him sleep at night. It was far from the reason he shut the window and returned to the dark depths, stoking the embers and mulling over the questions she might ask him in a few short hours.

  Though he stayed, he did not remain without troubled pain. Every minute ne
w questions arose in his mind. Every second, he found new reason to blame himself for the hurt he’d caused. And what did it matter? Did anything really matter against the greater good? Alex’s whisperings played with his mind, toyed with his feelings and battered his emotions. He should never have come here, but now that he did, he had to stay. Home. The only home he’d ever really cared for. The only heart he’d ever really loved. How could he leave again without so much as a reason? He’d left her once before and he had no agenda to repeat his mistakes.

  Without a watch or even a phone it was hard to tell the time. As the pink sky filtered through the mould spattered windows, Jack waited on the dusty stairs; thoughts fermenting his fractured mind. For hours he mulled over why Eliza had summoned him, over the answers he would reveal and what he would possibly keep hidden. Would he admit to the murders? Would he admit to the man he had become, constantly shifting in the shadows like a monster waiting to pounce. Could he really deny he wasn’t every bit the person she believed him to be? Even he couldn’t answer those questions anymore and as his brain pressed against his temples, he suddenly found himself hoisting the window open as the cool fresh air encapsulated him and immersed him a soft coating of doubt.

  Creeping around the edge of the building, Jack kept a keen eye on the blurry horizon. There was no one in the hospital grounds. He stepped out and walked confidently along the path towards Relugas Road. The streetlights played like stars through the trees. The old familiar houses seemed to smile, comfortingly, with their warm interiors and glowing front gardens. He almost fooled himself that he was returning from another evening spent nattering with Scar about life, the universe and everything.