The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  ‘Jesus, Gordon, what took you so long ringing me back?’ he says.

  ‘Never mind that; what’s the news you have for me?’

  Lenny pauses, takes a deep breath and then composes himself.

  ‘There was another suspect in Betsy’s disappearance – somebody De Brun never told you about.’

  Lenny can hear the shuffling of bed clothes, assumes Gordon has got out of bed and is now on his feet anticipating news he has waited seventeen years to hear.

  ‘Who?’ he says.

  ‘Now hold on, Gordon… I want to know that you will abide by the deal we made a few hours ago. If I am to give you information on Betsy’s disappearance that you’ve never heard before, you will leave me your home in your will.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gordon, do we have a deal?’

  ‘Who the fuck is it?’ Gordon says, his voice rising in both volume and frustration.

  ‘Gordon – I need you to—’

  ‘Of course you can have my fucking home if I die… tell me who the other suspect was. It’s Jake Dewey, isn’t it? The cops always told me they didn’t look into him, but they did, didn’t they? The dirty fucking—’

  ‘Gordon, it’s not Jake Dewey. Dewey didn’t have anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance. I spoke with De Brun and then to Frank Keville, do you know who he is?’

  ‘Frank Keville, the journalist guy?’

  ‘Yep… he told me there were four initial suspects in the case. You were one. Keating and Barry Ward the others.’

  ‘And?’

  Lenny pauses, and for the first time imagines how Gordon is going to take this news; that his best friend and business partner for many years looks likely to be the person who abducted his daughter. Then the green door creaks open and a man, dressed in a crisp white shirt, peers through the crack.

  ‘Who, Lenny?’ Gordon continues to bark down the line.

  Lenny holds the phone down by his side, stares at the stranger.

  ‘Who?’ Gordon continues to yell.

  ‘What’sh going on – why are you shnooping round my property?’ the stranger asks with a broad accent.

  Lenny holds the phone back up to his ear, just in time to hear Gordon speak.

  ‘Guus… Guus… Is that Guus Meyer?’

  Six years ago

  Betsy

  ‘Hmmmm. That was good,’ I say to Bozy as I put down my copy of a book called Agatha Christie: An Autobiography. She was an incredible woman. I must read some of her books sometime. I don’t really read too much fiction these days, but I’d love to read some of hers.

  Some of the words in her autobiography were a bit difficult for me. But I managed to read it all and thought it was really good. I just wish I could write as many books as her.

  I climb down off my bed and sit against the wall and pick up my copybook. I flick it open to where my pen is – right at the start of chapter 21. Chapter 20 was all about me seeing out of Dod’s window for the first time. Chapter 21 was supposed to be about the stories of the people I see when I look out the window. But I was thinking last night that I should begin to write about the newspaper articles I find up in Dod’s bedroom instead.

  I look up at the crack beneath the door at the top of the steps and when I am sure that Dod is nowhere near, I go over to my shelf, pick up my Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone book and open it. Then I pull out the newspaper article I took from Dod’s room two nights ago. I read it again. It’s an article about how a detective called Ray De Brun has been under pressure to find me. At the top of the newspaper page it says the date was sixth of September, 2006. I went missing in January 2002 according to another article. This isn’t the best one I’ve read. And it doesn’t have any pictures of me either. It’s just a small bit of writing down the side of the page with a headline that says: De Brun Feeling the Heat.

  It is weird when I see pictures of myself in the newspaper pages. I never think they look like me. But I guess it is difficult for me to remember what I looked like when I was four years old. It always seems to be the same picture; me with a little smile on my face wearing a navy jumper. I don’t remember that jumper at all. I don’t remember much about who I was or what I did before Dod took me. I just know that he took me and that there is a big detective out there looking for me. I really want to read all of the newspaper pages Dod has in his room. But it is not often that he leaves me alone up there. When he does, I open that drawer under his wardrobe, take one of the newspaper articles out and shove it down my pants. This is the fourth newspaper article I’ve taken and I think I found them for the first time nearly a year ago. I like reading them, even though they scare me a little bit. They also make me hate Dod a little bit because he took me from Mummy and Daddy. But then he will just walk into my basement and hand me a brand new book. And suddenly I don’t hate him anymore.

  He can be so good. And yet he is so bad. I guess that’s why there is a good Dod and an angry Dod.

  I hear the key turn in the door and then it swings open. Oh no. I put the newspaper article inside the Harry Potter book and snap it closed really quickly. This is the first time Dod’s come down to the basement without me having a newspaper article I’ve stolen from him hidden safely. I hear my heart thump louder than it normally does. I stay silent, don’t even look up at Dod when he comes down the steps. I don’t know where to look or what to do.

  ‘Hey – what’s wrong with you, moody pants?’ he says. I finally look up at him and then shrug my shoulders. He probably has a little present for me. I should be feeling excited about it. But I don’t. I feel really scared. I stare down at the Harry Potter book, then back up at him.

  ‘I’ve got you a little something,’ he says.

  I get to my feet, walk over towards him.

  ‘Close your eyes, put out your hands.’

  I do.

  ‘No peeking.’

  And then he puts something into my hands. It feels a little cold. Hard and cold.

  ‘Okay, and open.’

  A Kindle. A Kindle!

  ‘Is this for me?’ I ask.

  He laughs.

  ‘You betcha.’

  I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him really hard.

  ‘Thank you so much, Dod.’

  He laughs again, tosses my hair with his hands.

  I look up into his eyes and smile a really, really big smile.

  ‘Well, I figured we wouldn’t have much room for many more books down here.’

  He turns around and points at my shelves.

  ‘How many do you have now?’

  ‘A hundred and thirty-three,’ I say.

  ‘Well a hundred and thirty-three in this,’ he says, touching the Kindle I have snuggled into my chest, ‘won’t take up a whole wall of your basement, huh?’

  I laugh.

  ‘Ah… and this one still is one of your favourites out of all one hundred and thirty-three, isn’t it?’ he says.

  ‘Huh?’

  My heart thumps when I look to him.

  He bends down and picks up my Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

  ‘Y’know – I know I’m an old man at this stage, but I really should try these out.’

  He smiles, looks at me. Then his smile goes away.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Betsy? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  I hug my Kindle, step back a few steps and just nod my head. My heart sounds like a train. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk.

  ‘Betsy. Betsy.’

  He calls out my name as he takes a step towards me. I try not to look at the Harry Potter book in his hands. But I can’t help it. He holds a hand to my forehead.

  ‘Your temperature seems fine. Why don’t you just hop into bed? Take some rest today. Maybe you can read your Kindle. I have two books loaded up on it for you. I can teach you how to download newer ones too. I’ve set up an account for you.’

  I sit on the edge of my bed. Dod then lifts my feet, turns me into the bed and pulls the sheet u
p over me.

  ‘Do you not like the Kindle?’ he says. ‘Hold on – you just want books, huh? You prefer paper.’

  I don’t say anything. I just stare straight ahead.

  ‘What’s wrong, Betsy? Why have you gone really quiet?’

  I’m not quiet. My heart is being really loud. Really, really loud. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk.

  ‘You’d rather read a paper one like this, huh?’ he says wiggling my Harry Potter book.

  Then I see it fall out. The newspaper article floating slowly from my Harry Potter book, and sailing in the air until it finally reaches the ground. I stay still.

  Dod crouches down, picks it up and opens it. Then he stares right at me. As if he wants to kill me.

  14:15

  Gordon

  I sit up sharply, whip the sheets away from me and throw my legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘Who?’ I say.

  ‘Gordon, do we have a deal?’

  My palms begin to sweat. I suck a sharp breath in through my grinding teeth.

  ‘Who the fuck is it?’

  ‘Gordon – I need you to—’

  ‘Of course you can have my fucking home if I die! Tell me who the other suspect was. It’s Jake Dewey isn’t it? The cops always told me they didn’t look into him, but they did, didn’t they? The dirty fucking—’

  ‘Gordon, it’s not Jake Dewey,’ Lenny says and then my world seems to almost stand still. ‘Dewey didn’t have anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance. I spoke with De Brun and then to Frank Keville, do you know who he is?’

  My eyes flicker around the ward.

  ‘Frank Keville, the journalist guy?’

  ‘Yep… he told me there were four initial suspects in the case. You were one. Alan Keating and Barry Ward the others.’

  ‘And?’

  The line pauses. For way too long.

  ‘Who, Lenny?’ I bark.

  Silence again.

  ‘Who?’

  Then I hear a quiet voice. A voice I haven’t heard in years. The Dutch lisp still strong.

  ‘Guus… Guus… Is that Guus Meyer?’

  My eyes widen. I pace around the room, my feet slapping against the cold floor.

  ‘Yes, Gordon. I’m at Guus Meyer’s home. I’ll ring you back in a few—’

  ‘You will in your bollocks ring me back… I wanna know exactly what’s going on.’

  For some reason I find myself in the toilet cubicle, then outside it. I perch on the end of my bed, then pace over to the far wall. I can’t stay still. My whole body is sprinting just as quickly as my mind is.

  ‘Gordon, I know this has come as a major shock to you. But please just calm down. I am going to get answers and then I am going to ring you straight back.’ I hyperventilate down the line, can actually hear my heavy breaths reverberate back into my own ear. ‘Gordon, just get that will signed and I will deliver on my promise. I am about to have news for you that you have never heard before.’ The line goes dead.

  I lean back against the wall, slide down it until my ass is sitting on the cold floor. I don’t think it takes long for my head to snap out the spin it’s been in. My eyes focus on the bed rail in front of me. I lift the phone back up to my face and press at Lenny’s number. I remain focused on the bed rail, my eyes in no way interested in even blinking. Bollocks! The phone rings out. I get to my feet, try again.

  ‘Answer the fucking phone, Lenny,’ I pant just as my ward door opens and Elaine walks in. Her face contorts seeing me strolling around with the phone to my ear.

  ‘Gordon!’ She paces over to my bedside cabinet, drops a tube of fruit pastels on top of it, then folds her arms under her tiny breasts and sighs at me.

  I hold the phone down by my side, hold her stare before I finally speak up.

  ‘Elaine, my PI found something new. My best friend, can you believe it? He thinks my best friend took Betsy.’

  Elaine doesn’t react; she stands still, her arms still folded. The silence is almost deafening, both of us deep in thought.

  ‘I need to ring him back. I need to ring him back.’

  I bring the phone to my face to redial and just as I go to press on Lenny’s number Elaine finally makes a move, stepping towards me and grabbing my wrist.

  ‘Mr Douglas will not go through with your surgeries if you make that call,’ she says. She’s gripping so hard it actually hurts. ‘You promised me you would keep that phone turned off, promised me you would relax. I’m trying to keep you alive, Gordon Blake. Whatever your PI has to say to you, he can say it to you after you recover from your surgeries.’

  I hold my eyes tightly closed. And as I do, I sense Elaine leading me over to my bed. Without questioning her, I arch my bum cheeks on top of the mattress and then lie down.

  ‘I need you to witness me signing something,’ I say.

  She doesn’t reply.

  ‘In fact I need you and some other person to witness me signing something, can you do that?’

  She stands back after draping the sheets over me.

  ‘Elaine?’ I say, turning to her, opening my eyes.

  ‘Gordon, I need you to relax. There is barely any time left until you are taken down for surgery.’

  I close my eyes again, then shift down in the bed until my head is resting on the pillow.

  Guus. Fucking Guus. No. Couldn’t be. I can’t get my head straight. My thoughts keep jumping. Is this why the cunt hasn’t spoken to me in years? Jesus, Gordon, get your act together. Think, for fuck’s sake!

  I feel Elaine grab at my left hand as I continue to stew in thought. She feels for my pulse. I don’t pull away. I just let her do what she needs to do as I think this through. Guus Meyer took by Betsy?

  ‘Just breathe, Gordon,’ Elaine says, her thumb pressed against my wrist. Then I feel her face near mine; she breathes in deeply, then out deeply.

  ‘Follow my breaths,’ she whispers.

  I do. I sync my breathing with hers. It slows my thinking.

  ‘In just over half-an-hour, you are going down for major surgery. You need to survive these surgeries.’ Elaine sounds like one of those meditation tapes. ‘In order to survive those surgeries, you need to be calm. Your heart rate needs to be consistent. Keep breathing.’

  I imagine myself on the surgical table, Douglas slicing his scalpel into me, ripping my chest open. Fucking hell. I’m going to die. I’m going to die in the next couple of hours. My eyes open wide. I whip the sheets off me again and jump out of bed, almost pushing Elaine aside. I still have the phone gripped in my hand. I tap at it, call Lenny’s number. It rings. And rings. And rings. Then cuts off.

  ‘Gordon Blake, I swear if you don’t lie down right now I am going to advise Mr Douglas to cancel your procedures.’

  I don’t answer Elaine; I just pace around the room, look at the phone’s screen and press again at Lenny’s number. I know I look like a madman, almost running around, but I don’t give a fuck.

  ‘Gordon please!’ Elaine shouts. She stops me from pacing in circles and grabs me around the waist. I can hear the tone ringing out again as she tries to wrestle the phone from my hand. We end up in a scrum in the middle of the ward, both of us tumbling to the floor.

  Then the door opens. I look up, under Elaine’s armpit, and expect to see Mr Douglas standing there with his clipboard, shaking his head. But it’s not him. I relent, release the grip on my phone and allow Elaine to take it. Then I scramble to a standing position.

  ‘Michelle,’ I say, stretching a big smile across my face. I wipe both of my hands down the front of my T-shirt and walk towards her, leaving Elaine sitting on the floor. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Five years ago

  Betsy

  This is the worst Christmas ever. Dod just put extra money on my Kindle account as a present. That was it. No box to unwrap. No funny hats to wear. No silly songs to sing. I’ve been down in the basement all day. Dod upstairs. We barely speak to each other these days. Not since he beat me up back in February. He th
rew me against the wall. Slapped my arms, my stomach, my back, my legs. He was really angry. Really, really angry. His face was purple.

  He doesn’t let me upstairs to watch TV anymore. Doesn’t let me go to his bedroom to stare out the window. I miss staring out the window the most. I loved to see other people.

  But I know it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been stealing newspaper articles out of his drawer. Even if they were newspaper articles about me.

  The worst thing about it all is that Dod feels really disappointed in me. I don’t think he loves me anymore. I don’t even know if he likes me. He probably wishes I was dead.

  The other times he beat me up, he always felt bad about it. He would come back down to my basement the next day and tell me how sorry he was. But ten months on from the last beating he gave me, he still hasn’t said sorry. And I think that’s because he is not sorry. He feels I deserved the beating. And so do I. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I have tried to say sorry lots of times since, but Dod doesn’t say anything back.

  The only time I really see him these days is when he lets me upstairs to wash in the toilet room and then on some days I go to the kitchen to cook dinner for us. But I don’t eat with him in the TV room. I have to take my dinner down here and eat it all by myself. I thought he would have let me upstairs to eat today of all days. But no. I’m here doing nothing. He’s up there doing nothing. This is the saddest Christmas I’ve ever had.

  The thing that I’m most sad about is that I will never get to see the rest of those newspaper articles. I wanted to find out so much about them for my book. I only ever got to read four of them. I found out things I never even knew about myself. I didn’t know my second name. But now I know that. I didn’t know the date I was taken. Now I know that. I didn’t know that I had a big detective looking for me. Now I know that. I wonder if he is still looking for me. The first article I stole said that I was dead. So maybe they’ve given up.