by Mike Shevdon
Out on the road, I ran down the street. After an initial sprint, I slowed to a steady jog, putting as much distance between me and the thing in my flat as possible. I'm not a natural runner and the loose boots and rucksack didn't help, but all I had to do was keep moving.
The rain pattered down in steady drops and began to soak through my shirt as I crossed the empty street and turned the corner. Occasional cars rolled past but there were no other pedestrians. I guess four in the morning was a little early, even for the London suburbs. My breath was burning in my lungs as I turned right into a side road, heading vaguely towards the tube station. My rucksack began to pull at my shoulder and I stopped to shift it from one side to the other.
That was when the police car put the blue lights on and pulled over beside the curb.
It crossed my mind that I might run for it, but I was already breathing hard and they were fresh, unencumbered and probably a lot fitter then I was. The last time I had been to the gym had been to fetch Katherine home and that had been a while ago. Both the driver and the passenger got out, effectively cutting off the avenues of escape. I didn't move, but leant over, resting my hands on my knees and wheezing like a steam train.
"Isn't it a little early for jogging, sir?"
That was bad news. They always called you "sir" when they were expecting to arrest you.
My throat burned and I wheezed while I thought of something to say. Unfortunately whatever I told them was going to have to contain at least a portion of the truth. I glanced back down the road for signs of pursuit, but the pavement was empty.
The policemen waited while I caught my breath. The first was tall and heavily built, like a rugby player, and had a slightly crooked nose to match. The other was slight by comparison. His face was narrow and his cheekbones sharp. He wore black gloves and was holding his baton.
"I'm not jogging." I paused to breathe. "I'm running away."
The rugby player took the lead. "Running away, sir?"
"Officer, look I know this is going to sound crazy, but there was something in my flat, trying to get into my bedroom. I jumped out of the window and ran for it." I panted while he looked me over sceptically.
"With your rucksack, sir?"
"I was going on a trip, later," I explained. It sounded lame, even to me.
"Do you mind if my colleague takes a look in your rucksack, sir?" I let the thin one take the rucksack from where it rested against my legs. "Meanwhile you can show me some evidence of your identity, if you'd be so kind."
I patted my pockets. My wallet, watch and keys were still in my top drawer in the bedroom. Good plan, bring clean socks but leave the money behind.
"I don't have them with me. I left them behind when I jumped out of the window."
"So you say, sir."
He glanced at his colleague who was busy rooting though my belongings. "Just clothes, Jim. Some food," he acknowledged.
Jim watched me. "Tell you what, sir. Why don't you get into the back of the car where it's dry and you can tell us all about it?" It wasn't really a question.
His colleague held the door open and they herded me into the back of the car. I was willing to bet the door didn't open from the inside, so I was stuck. They spoke to each other after the door shut and then the thin officer opened the passenger door of the car and deposited my rucksack on the front seat. Jim walked around the back of the car and got in beside me. He easily filled the space behind the driver's seat. I was starting to shiver and my hands were shaking in my lap. He must have noticed because he got out again and opened the boot, returning a moment later with a grey blanket.
"Here, put this around your shoulders. It'll stop you getting a chill."
I nodded, my teeth starting to chatter, partly through cold and partly reaction. I unfolded the blanket and pulled it around my neck, shifting it around to pull it down behind me in the cramped rear of the car. "Thanks."
Was he more sympathetic than his colleague, or was he just playing good cop, bad cop like they did on TV? I had to remind myself that this wasn't a television drama, these were real police and if I came across badly I would end up spending a night in custody. The thought of spending a night locked in a room where the thing in my flat might find me set me shivering again.
The driver slid into the driver's seat in front of his colleague and pulled the door closed with a dull thunk. He picked up the car radio and twisted around in his seat.
"I'm going to need to check your ID, sir, if you don't mind. Can you give me your name and address?"
"It's Petersen. Niall Petersen. I live at 145 Cromwell Road."
He nodded. "And how long have you lived there?"
"Just over a year. I moved in at the beginning of September, last year."
Clicking the button on the radio handset he spoke into it. "Control, this is four-two-five-six. I need an electoral check on a householder?"
There was a momentary crackle. "Go ahead, Colin."
"Name, Petersen; first name Niall." He asked me to spell it and repeated it into the handset. "Lives Cromwell Road, number one-four-five."
"Stand by."
He rested the handset in his lap. "Nice place?"
"Sorry?"
"One hundred and forty-five, Cromwell Road. Is it a nice place?"
"I like it." It had taken a while for it to become home after the breakup of my marriage, but in time it had become mine.
The radio crackled. "Colin, I have an affirmative. Niall Petersen, age forty-two, lives one hundred and forty-five, Cromwell Road."
Colin lifted the handset again. "Thanks, control. We have a suspected intruder at that address. Requesting backup, a dog handler, if we can have one?"
"Negative on that, Colin. The dog handlers are all on nightclub duty. Will another car do?"
"Affirmative, control. Roger that." He turned to look over his shoulder at me. "Let's take you home, sir, and see what's what."
"I'd really rather not go back there right now." The edge of panic in my voice raised an eyebrow from the officer beside me.
"It's OK, sir. You're quite safe. We just want to check it out."
His efforts to reassure me weren't working. "I mean it." I tried to think of a way to warn them. "Can't you just arrest me or something?" A night in the cells was looking better now.
"We'll see, sir, after we've been to the house."
My reticence to return to the house had sparked off their suspicion again, almost as if there was something I didn't want them to find. In a way they were right, but I could guarantee it wasn't what they suspected.
Colin started the car and did a rapid three-point turn. I wondered whether I could unlock the car doors using my magic and run for it, but then I would lose my rucksack and they would certainly chase me. They already knew my identity and having the police searching for me as well as the Untainted was not a good idea.
The drive back to the house only took a couple of minutes and it struck me that I hadn't run as far as I thought. They parked on the road outside. The house was dark.
"Is it two flats?" Colin asked me, noting the two front doors.
"Yes, the top one's mine. The bottom one belongs to a young couple."
"Do you have your keys?"
"They're upstairs, in my bedroom." I glanced nervously at the front door. "Look, please don't go in there, at least not until morning."
He hesitated.
Jim, the rugby player, answered, "We have to investigate, sir. It's our duty." He pulled the door catch and eased out into the rain.
Colin got out while Jim held the door open and gestured for me to slide across towards him. Colin waited while I reluctantly shrugged off the blanket and shuffled across to get out of the car between them.
"Follow close behind us. We won't let anyone hurt you, OK?" He nodded to Colin and we walked towards the door.
I hung back from them, but then edged closer as the gap opened up between us, leaving me exposed as we went through the gate. The back of my neck prickled. My
instinct told me something waited for us but I could see no way out. If I ran for it, I would become their suspect again. Maybe it had gone? Maybe when I ran away it gave up and left?
Colin pushed the front door. "Door's locked."
However it had got in, it'd had the sense to lock the door behind it.
"Is there a back door?" Jim asked me.
"Not for the upstairs flat. Only the downstairs has rear access," I told him, relieved that we weren't going inside.
"Do your neighbours have a key?"
"Yes, a spare. They'll be asleep though," I told him.
"Not for long." He nodded to Colin, who shrugged then went and rang my neighbour's bell.
It took a few minutes for the lights to come on and for my neighbour to come to the door. I could see he was not pleased to be woken at this time in the morning, but that changed as soon as he saw the uniform. His expression altered to one of nervous enquiry.
Colin told him that they needed the spare key and nodded towards me. I shrugged apologetically towards my neighbour. He nodded, looking towards me, recognising but not acknowledging. There was another wait while my neighbour found my key. You can never find these things when you need them. Then another police car turned up, without blue lights or sirens, pulling in behind the other car. Two more officers got out. One of the new policemen came across while the other hung back.
"Evening, Skipper." Jim nodded to the officer who hung back, "Eddie."
The new officer joined us. "What's the situation? Is this the owner of the flat?"
"This is Mr Petersen, Skipper, Niall Petersen. He was running down the pavement with a rucksack and boots with no socks." The expression said the lack of socks was a clear indication of criminal activity. "He says someone was trying to get into his bedroom and he jumped out of the window."
The Skipper turned to me. "Been in the flat long, have you?"
"Just over a year," I confirmed.
"Does anyone live here with you?"
"Only my neighbours downstairs."
"Any other exits besides the front door?"
"The first floor window I jumped out of."
"Did you see the intruder, Mr Petersen? Was there any sign of a weapon?"
"I didn't see anyone, but I could hear someone moving around in the flat."
"Any pets, sir?"
"Pets?"
"Sometimes a neighbour's cat can get trapped in a house and doesn't emerge until later, sir. It scares the wits out of people, but it solves the mystery." He smiled reassuringly.
I acknowledged the smile, figuring that the transition from potential criminal to potential victim was promising. "I don't have any pets and I don't think they do either." I nodded towards my neighbour who had been joined in the doorway by his partner. My expression must have conveyed that I thought it unlikely.
"What's the layout, sir?"
I described the flat to him, including the squeaky stair and fact that I'd left my coat on the kitchen chair, I added that I'd left my wash-bag in the bathroom. I wanted to reassure them I had been fine until someone had broken in. I told them I had jammed the bedroom door shut from the inside and climbed out over the balcony. The new officer was more understanding, but noncommittal. I guessed he was simply extracting as much information as he could before the difficult questions started.
"Eddie, you're with Jim. Go around the back and see if you can see anything. Colin, you're with me. We'll take Mr Petersen inside." Jim exchanged a look with Colin, looking relieved that he wasn't one of the people going into the flat. I guess I had them spooked.
They extracted torches from their belts then went to the corner of the house.
Skipper told me to stick close to them. He took the key and went to the front door. Jim and Eddie slipped quietly around the side of the building.
The two officers went quickly and efficiently inside with me close behind them.
"Police! Anyone in here? Police!"
The stair creaked as soon as they stood on it. Skipper looked back at me and nodded once.
My sitting room was on the right.
"Police!" The officer called Eddie danced his torch beam around the room. "Clear."
Skipper swept his torch down the hall. "Jeez," he said, "what's that?"
His torch hit the black stain that covered the door to my bedroom and the walls around it. It had spread across the ceiling and the smell of it pervaded the air. It smelled of damp and old rot.
I looked at the walls and ceiling, letting my expression show I was as mystified as they were.
The door, walls and ceiling were covered in what looked like damp-rot. It ran over the walls and up onto the ceiling, spreading a smell of pervasive decay. It gave the hall a fetid atmosphere it had never had while I had lived there. My bedroom door was black with mould apart from the gaping hole in the middle where it had burst through like tinder.
We walked forward slowly, the lights from the torches scanning the walls and ceiling.
The radio crackled and Jim's voice came through: "All clear here, Skipper."
Skipper put his hand to the radio switch at his collar. "Roger that."
Colin went down the hall past the bedroom door, being careful not to touch the black stain. He scanned the torch around my kitchen and then the bathroom.
"Clear here too, Skipper. There's not even a scrap of mould in the bathroom or kitchen. It's all clean." His tone said something odd was going on, though he was at a loss to explain what.
"Was it like this before?" the Skipper asked me.
I shook my head, unable to frame an outright lie to the contrary. I was well aware that if I started talking about mould running across the walls like water I would be spending the next three months in a psychiatric unit.
Colin leaned down and used his torch to scan through the gaping hole in my bedroom door. He extracted his baton and used the end to push the door handle down. It was still sealed and didn't move.
"There's no one in there, sir, as far as we can tell, but the door's stuck," he told me. "Is it locked?"
"No." I looked at the ruins of the door. "I just jammed it. Try it again." I felt for the link that connected the seal on the door to me. I imagined it opening at a touch. The link echoed and then faded.
Skipper used his baton to turn the handle down again and pushed. The door scraped, then opened, swinging away from him before casually dropping off the top hinge to land askew. He swung his torch around inside the room and then entered, delicately clicking the light switch on with the end of his baton. The inside was as bad as the outer, dark rot spread over the wall and ceiling. Thankfully it hadn't affected the carpet or furniture, but the smell was awful. It reeked of decay. The damp rainy air from the open windows smelled fresh by comparison.
"Door's had it," Colin remarked.
"And with all the debris on the inside of the room," the Skipper pointed out. "Was there any mould in the flat before?" he asked me again.
"No. I'm sure I would have noticed. I can't explain…" I let my voice trail off as I looked at the remnants of the door and the walls, stained black with it.
"Where are your keys and wallet?" Colin asked me.
"They're in the top drawer, by the bed."
Using his gloved hand, he opened the drawer using the edge of the wood rather than the drawer handle. He lifted out my watch, keys and wallet. "Are these yours?" he asked.
I nodded.
The Skipper clicked on his radio. "The flat's clear. Anything there?"
Jim's voice came back over the radio, curiously echoed by his voice travelling faintly though the open window to the rear. "All clear here, Skipper."
I breathed a sigh of relief. It had gone.
"Roger that," the Skipper replied. He turned to Colin. "Take Mr Petersen into the sitting room," he said.
Colin ushered me into the sitting room, switching on the lights as he went.
I heard the Skipper take a look in my bathroom and then in the kitchen, joining us in the sitting room
after a moment. He brought my coat from the kitchen and draped it over the back of a chair.
Colin stood by the door, while the Skipper indicated that I should sit on the sofa. He put my personal items on the coffee table, picking out my wallet and opening it to the photograph of Alex. He ruffled through the money stuffed into the back of it then held out the picture ID from my work pass, comparing my face with the younger image in the photo. It must have been close enough because he put the card back in my wallet and pushed it across the table towards me.
"That's a lot of cash to be carrying about, sir," he remarked as I pocketed the wallet and buckled the leather strap of my watch around my wrist.
"I told your colleague, I was going away for a while. I had my rucksack packed and ready for the morning."
"Where were you going, sir?"
"I have to clear up some family business, personal matters. I wasn't sure when I'd be back. Look, am I under suspicion of something here? I'm the one who was woken up by someone breaking into my home, remember?"
"That's the thing, sir. There's no sign of a break-in downstairs, the lock is intact and opens to your key. There's no indication of an intruder and yet your bedroom door looks as though someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. Then there's the mould…" He let that sentence hang.
"I told you. It wasn't like that before."
The radio cut across me. "Skipper. We think we've found someone."
The Skipper paused, then clicked on his radio. "What do you mean you think you've found someone, Eddie? Either you have or you haven't."
There was a burst of static and then Eddie's voice. "I dunno, Skipper. I could have sworn he wasn't there a minute ago. He's under the trees at the end of the garden. Jim's trying to coax him out now."
I could hear Jim's voice in the background. You could just make out the words, "Police! Come along out, sir. We just want to have a word with you."
The Skipper walked to the door and through into my bedroom to look out over the balcony. I stood up, but Colin held up his hand. "Just stay there, sir."
I could feel all the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It wasn't some old guy they'd found, it was the Untainted, come for me. I wanted to warn them, to tell them to leave it alone, but I couldn't think of what to say without appearing insane.
