Souls At Zero (A Dark Psychological Thriller)

by Neal Martin

  Then there was the lung cancer. All the tests he had to go through. By the time they told him he was dying, he would rather have chewed on broken glass before spending another second in that depressing, sterile environment. As sick as he was, a hospital was the last place on earth he wanted to be in.

  Now, as he entered the hospital, he pretended he was walking into a hotel, albeit one full of sick people. His silly conceit did nothing to ease his discomfort, especially when the sickly antiseptic smell assailed his nostrils, an odour that always made his stomach feel queasy.

  At the front reception desk, he showed the receptionist his ID and asked where Kaitlin McGuire was. The receptionist checked her computer for a moment, during which time Black tried not to look at the droves of people hovering around the place, quite a lot of them sick or injured to some degree or another, it being a hospital and all…or rather, a hotel for sick people. The receptionist eventually directed Black to a private room on the third floor somewhere. He took the lift up, asking a nurse when he got there where the girl's room was, and the nurse pointed down the hall to where two men in dark suits stood outside the door.

  What the fuck is this? Bodyguards?

  The two men guarding the door watched him come down the corridor, eyeing him suspiciously in case he was there to assassinate the girl in the room or something. Both men appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties. It was hard to tell, as they both had short haircuts and were clean shaved, their eyes bright and aware like they were determined not to let anyone get by them. Both men were well enough built, although not big enough as to be overly intimidating. Black could also tell both men were carrying a gun under their dark jackets. As he approached them, he thought about demanding to see their concealed carry permit, then thought better of it when he pictured the smug look on their faces when they produced one.

  "All right, lads," Black said good naturedly. "This Kaitlin McGuire's room?"

  Both men gave Black stern looks and stepped forward. "Whose asking?" the one with the lighter coloured hair said.

  Black reached into his coat pocket and held his hand there for a moment, just to see what the two bodyguards would do. The darker haired one stepped towards Black, his hand reaching inside his own jacket. Black put a hand out. "Easy there, cowboy," he said, taking out his ID wallet and badging the two bodyguards. "DCI Black, CID."

  Both men looked at each other, obviously unsure of what to do now. Most likely they were told not to let anyone into the room, for reasons Black hadn't quite figured out yet. Obviously, Edger thought the threat wasn't over yet. But why?

  Black stared at the two bodyguards. "I'm going in there to pursue my investigation. Try and stop me and see what happens. An obstruction charge will be the least of your worries." He maintained eye contact with both men as they seemed to falter.

  "Alright," Light Hair said. "You can go in."

  Black smirked. "Thank you kindly."

  Dark Hair opened the door and Black entered the hospital room. Gemma McGuire, Edger's ex-wife, was in the room, sitting on a chair by her daughter's hospital bed. She glared at Black as he entered.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded to know. "My daughter hasn't long been admitted. At least give her a chance to recover before you start interrogating her."

  Black held his hands up as he approached the bed. "Relax, Miss McGuire," he said. "I'm not here to interrogate anyone. Because of the nature of your daughter's injuries, the hospital staff had to report her admission. I'm just following up on that, is all."

  Gemma McGuire squinted at him. "I'm sure you are. More like you're here to see what you can get on my ex-husband."

  "And where is Mr Edger?"

  "At home probably. He's not my husband anymore. I don't track his movements."

  Black smiled at her, then looked down at the girl sitting up in the bed. Whatever experience she had went through, the trauma of it was written all over her pale face. Both her hands were bandaged, and Black soon noticed the finger missing from her left hand. "What happened your finger, Kaitlin?" he asked her.

  The girl just looked at him blankly and said nothing.

  "She had an accident," her mother said. "Caught her finger in a door."

  "That what happened, Kaitlin?" Black asked the girl.

  Kaitlin McGuire nodded, then looked away.

  "And what about your other hand there? You catch that one in the door too?"

  "Detective," Gemma McGuire said. "Stop. If you want to speak to my daughter, you'll have to do it when she's better, in the presence of my solicitor."

  Black stared at the woman, said nothing.

  "And anyway," she continued. "It's my understanding that you were told to stay out of this. What would your superiors say if I told them you were here interrogating my daughter?"

  He held her gaze for a moment, clenched his jaw. "Where's the brother?" he asked her.

  "What brother?" she said, clearly feigning ignorance.

  She might not be married to Edger anymore, but clearly she was still loyal to him. He pressed on anyway. "Are you telling me you don't know your ex-husband's brother is alive?"

  "Don't be ridiculous, Detective. Harry's brother has been dead for years." She looked away from him, held her daughter's hand.

  "Don't take me for a fool, Miss McGuire. I know it was Declan Edger who took your daughter here, who cut off her finger. I intend to find out why."

  "This is all over," she snapped back. "Why are you insisting on pursuing this?"

  Black smiled. "It's just my nature. I'm a detective, after all."

  She shook her head, and said without looking at him, "You need to leave now, Detective. My daughter needs rest."

  "Okay, Miss McGuire. I'll leave you to it. Tell your ex-husband I'll be looking out for him."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means I want to speak to him. Tell him to call me."

  "What for?"

  Black was silent for a moment, then he said, "Maybe I want to help him."

  Gemma McGuire looked confused. "Help him do what?"

  A smile crossed Black's face. "I'll be seeing you, Miss McGuire." He turned to leave the room, then stopped when he got to the door. "Oh, I meant to ask. Why do you have private security at the door?"

  She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. "Goodbye, Detective."

  Black left the room, ignoring the two goons still standing outside in the corridor.

  He needed to talk to Edger. Something was going on.

  And if it was what he thought it was, he wanted in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  When Edger and his brother were kids, their parents used to take them on holidays to Donegal. Their mother owned a small cottage there, that was left to her by her father after he died. The cottage was tiny, and Edger and his brother used to have to sleep in sleeping bags on the living room floor while their parents slept in the only bedroom. But Edger had loved going there, as did Declan. The cottage was surrounded by fields of heather, with streams running through them, and water so clear and fresh you could drink it straight from the source. There was also a few lakes near the cottage, and Edger's father used to take him and Declan fishing to these lakes, where they would catch small lake trout, and then cook them for tea later that day. At night, Edger's parents would drive into the nearby town and spend a few hours in one of the pubs, happy enough to leave the two kids alone at the cottage. Sometimes the people who lived in the small bungalow about a quarter mile down the lane would come and check on them just to see if they were alright, which they always were. Edger and his brother would sit by the turf fire and play board games that they had brought with them, or they would tell stupid stories to each other. There was no TV in the cottage. Neither was there any electric. The cooker was gas powered and they used oil lamps to see at night. They also only went there in the summer time when the weather was warm, so they never got cold. They only ever spent a few days at a time at the cottage, but it was a welcome respi
te from the grimness and troubles of Belfast.

  After Edger's mother died, the cottage was passed over to him. He hadn't been near the place for almost thirty years, but he did pay a local estate agent to keep an eye on the place, and to arrange to make any repairs that were necessary. Over the years, Edger received plenty of offers from people looking to buy the small plot of land the cottage sat on. Some of those offers were quite high, especially during the property boom in the nineties when the price of property in Donegal rose to astronomical levels. But Edger refused to sell the place. For him it was a link to happier times in his life, a place where he formed fond memories of hanging out with his older brother, whom he idolised. Edger always held some dream in his mind of returning to the cottage one day, doing the place up and perhaps living out the rest of his days there. Maybe one day he still would.

  For now, he was making the two and a half journey from Belfast in order to bury his brother's body by the cottage. That, and to sort out what his next move was going to be.

  He hadn't long driven out of Belfast when he got a call from his ex-wife. "That cop was just here," she told him.

  "What cop?" he said as he drove down the M1 motorway. "Black?"

  "Yeah." She sounded pissed. "He was trying to ask Kaitlin questions, like what happened to her finger."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing. I told him she caught it in a door." She sighed. "I don't think he's going to let this go. He says he wants to talk to you."

  "What for?"

  "He didn't say, although he said he might be able to help you, whatever that means."

  Edger frowned. Did Black know something about what was going on? Did he know something Edger didn't?

  "How's Kaitlin doing?" he asked.

  "Physically, the doctors said she'll recover soon. Mentally, that's a different story."

  "Can I talk to her?"

  "She's sleeping. The doctor gave her a sedative to help her rest. She was asking for you, though."

  "I wish I could be there with her."

  "Where are you, Harry?"

  "Going to bury my brother."

  "What? You have his body in my car?" She sounded appalled.

  Edger said nothing.

  "Fucks sake, Harry. You should have just left him where he was after everything he did to Kaitlin. Fucking bastard."

  "He's still my brother, Gemma," Edger said, his heart rate quickening as a police car overtook him, making him suddenly aware of what he had in the boot of the car. He dropped into the slow lane and watched the cop car speed on up the motorway. "People did things to him. Made him twisted."

  I helped make him twisted.

  He thought about his admission of guilt back at the farmhouse on Black Mountain. That was the first time he ever admitted that he ran away and left his brother that night. Even in his protracted interview sessions to get into the Legion—an interrogation to uncover all of your secrets from your previous life, and often referred to as Gestapo—Edger managed not to mention what really happened that night, despite the interrogator pressing him for hours to tell the truth. The interrogators were good at their jobs. They sensed he was hiding something, but eventually they let it slide for whatever reason, perhaps deeming it not that important. Edger often wondered what would have happened if they had found out he abandoned his brother out of fear in his worst time of need. Would the Legion have branded him a coward and not let him in? Regardless, whatever suspicions they had about his character, he soon proved them wrong in training, and then in his active service. No one could have branded him a coward after that.

  "Did you hear me, Harry?"

  Edger blinked back to the present. "Sorry, what?"

  "I said, what are you going to do?"

  The cop car was far up ahead now, about to make the turn off to Lisburn. Edger let himself relax a little. "I'm going to find out who took my brother and made him into a monster."

  "You'll get yourself killed, Harry. You've already been shot."

  "I don't have a choice, Gemma. These people, whoever they are, they won't stop until I'm dead. They think I know about them."

  "And do you?"

  "Not yet. But I'll find out."

  "Then what? You'll just kill them all?"

  Edger didn't answer.

  "Christ, Harry," Gemma said. "Just be careful, will you? Remember you have a daughter who would never recover if you were killed."

  "That's why I'm doing this, Gemma. As long as these people are after me, you and Kaitlin won't be safe. That's why I have to stop them."

  "I know."

  "You and Kaitlin should go to your parents' house in Fermanagh for a while," he told her. "Nigel and one of the other guys will go with you. They'll keep you safe. Their good men."

  Gemma was silent for a minute, then she said, "Fine. Sort this mess out, Harry, so we can all go back to our lives."

  "I will."

  Even if it kills me.

  "And Harry?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Please, be careful."

  It was approaching evening when he crossed the border from County Fermanagh over into Donegal. Edger stopped in the seaside town of Killybegs in order to refuel the car and pick up some supplies. He went to a hardware store and bought a spade, a pick and a shovel, which he slid onto the back seat of the Fiesta. Then he visited an off licence where he purchased a bottle of Glennfiddich and a pouch of rolling tobacco. He considered buying some things from the supermarket as well, food and such, but then decided there was no need. He didn't plan on staying at the cottage for that long. A day or two at the most, just until he figured out a plan of attack. If he needed anything, he would just drive into the little town near the cottage. In the meantime, he walked into a chippy and bought himself a quarter pounder, which he ate in the car, before leaving Killybegs and driving towards the cottage, which was another half hour away. Maybe longer if he couldn't remember how to get there.

  As it turned out, he got lost only once, which set him back about fifteen minutes. Before long, he was driving up the long winding road which cut through the surrounding fields and led straight to the cottage. He slowed when he came to the bungalow a quarter mile back from the cottage. It wasn't like he remembered it. A few extensions had been put on it and it seemed to be a holiday home for someone now. There were no lights on however, and he couldn't see any cars parked around it. Which was good. He didn't need any unwanted disturbances during his short stay.

  The cottage itself was even smaller than he remembered it to be. It was a sad little whitewashed building with a thatched roof. The front door and two tiny windows at the front had been replaced with modern UPVC, which he remembered paying for several years ago. Apart from that the cottage still looked the same.

  Edger parked the car at the front of the cottage and got out, standing for a minute while he looked around, a sense of nostalgia flooding into him as he remembered the excitement he felt when him and Declan used to pile out of their father's battered Ford Cortina all those years ago when they were kids, both of them eager to go exploring in the fields. As he looked around, Edger noticed a few houses here and there that were not there the last time he was here, but none of the houses were any closer than a mile away, for which he was glad, considering what he had to do.

  The key to the front door was under the welcome mat as the estate agent said it would be. Edger stepped inside to the tiny hallway to find an oil lamp sitting on the carpeted floor. He lit the oil lamp, checking the bathroom to his left, which held a toilet and a sink, before turning into the kitchen and living area. Again, the space was small, the room being dominated by a stone fireplace in the centre. To his left was the gas cooker that had always been there, and besides that, there was a large Belfast sink. He went to the sink and turned one of the taps on. Brown water ran out of the faucet which eventually turned clear. He carried on through the living area to the bedroom at the back, which was just big enough to hold a double bed and an old chest of drawers. The whole place smelt of a
ged lime plaster and old straw. The blocks of turf piled up next to the fireplace added their own sweet aroma.

  Edger finished looking around and went and sat in one of the old armchairs by the fireplace, the chair creaking so much under his weight he feared it would break and fall to pieces. But as he sat back, the chair held his weight, and turned out to be as comfortable as he remembered it to be. The whole experience was like stepping into a time warp. Nothing had changed, even the smell of the place. His body began to relax as he sat in the chair. Within five minutes he had fallen asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  In the dream he was back in the barracks at Aubagne, going through Gestapo, sitting in a chair in an empty room, while two Legion interrogators went at him like attack dogs, merciless in their interrogation, tearing apart his life bit by agonising bit, even the things he had done after joining the Legion. "You killed a boy in Sarajevo," they barked, seemingly in unison. "Are you a child killer, Edger? Is that the type of scum you are?"

  "No," he answered in the dream, sweat pouring off his face. "He was shooting at us. I didn't know he was a boy…"

  "You enjoy shooting children, is that it?"

  "He shot my friend!"

  "Why did you survive that ambush in Iraq, when everyone else was killed? Did you hide? Did you run?"

  "No! I fought! I survived! I tried to save—"

  "Why'd you leave your own brother to be abducted? Are you a coward, Edger?"

  "I didn't—"

  "You didn't run?"

  "I did, but—"

  "Then you're a coward, Edger! Only filthy cowards run!"

  "I was afraid! I panicked!"

  "Coward!"

  "No!"

  When he looked at the interrogators again they both looked like Declan, with bullet holes in their foreheads, parts of their skulls lying open, blood dripping down their face. "You fucking left me!" they screamed in unison. "You're a worthless coward, Harry!"