Cuckoo

by Richard Wright

  Alex pressed the doorbell.

  Forever passed as they waited.

  The door started to open.

  Events executed a dramatic turn of pace, from agonised crawl to blinding sprint. Before the door was fully open, Alex shoved it all the way back, stepping in. There was a small shriek, the sound of a one-sided struggle. Greg realised he had yet to enter.

  As though moving too swiftly would fracture this fragile reality, he stepped around the doorway. His first instinct when he saw Alex sitting astride his wife was one of violence, an urge to protect the woman he loved. It vanished when Alex turned towards him, fear in his eyes, as though Greg could somehow make this all stop. One of his hands was over her mouth, another held her arms together at the wrists.

  Feeling sick to the soul, Greg closed the door behind him. Moving towards the grappling pair, he bent low next to Jennifer.

  “Please. Please stop struggling.” She saw him then, and with that recognition came terror. This was the man who had attacked her, beaten her husband, and sprayed her hallway with blood. She was in the hands of a lunatic. Reading her thoughts was easy, dealing with them less so. Greg’s eyes welled up. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. I promise you we don’t want that. You won’t be harmed in any way, but you are going to come with us. I’m going to let you go again. Do you understand?” He doubted that she did, but he would have time to work on that later. For now it was enough that she had ceased fighting Alex.

  “Can you hold her?” Can you forcibly restrain my wife? Can you pin her violently to the floor? Such a simple question. Would she ever be able to forgive him?

  “I think so, now she’s stopped chewing my palm.” Greg winced in sympathy, then hurried to the kitchen. Rummaging through the fitted units, he found what he was looking for. Sellotape. Earlier Alex had been so adamant this would be insufficient to bind somebody that Greg had been forced to demonstrate. Once it was wrapped several times around his wrists, Alex had been forced to concede the point.

  Taking the roll back to the hallway, he squatted on the pastel blue carpet that was not his. Taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he taped the cloth over her mouth to muffle any cries she wanted to give. Next he took her wrists from Alex, allowing his friend to help in turning her over before strapping her arms together behind her back. It was all performed with clinical speed, as though somebody else had taken over his body and allowed him to simply spectate.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.” Moving down to her ankles, he used the rest of the roll to secure her legs.

  Alex stood up, trembling from the exertion. “Feisty woman, your wife.”

  Jennifer tried to shriek into the handkerchief, and Greg winced.

  “Not now,” he told Alex under his breath. “She’s panicked enough as it is. We’ll shake up her world view later, when she can at least mull it over with a coffee.”

  Alex gazed at his masticated palm. “I wish there were somebody here to note that down. You’d be immortalised as the world’s most civilised kidnapper.”

  Greg stifled a half-hysterical laugh. “Get the car, I’ll meet you out back in five.” Rather than take Jennifer out of the front door, they had decided to use the lane that ran behind the rear gardens of the street. Alex nodded and left.

  Leaving Greg alone with his wife.

  Not like this, he thought. It shouldn’t be like this. Anger simmered his blood, and he punched the wall to put it somewhere else. Jennifer jumped at the sound and Greg cursed himself. Kneeling, he tried to soothe her. Stroking her soft brown hair, he noticed she was trembling. At his touch, her whole body tensed. Sickened by the thoughts that could be running through her head, he tried to reassure her.

  “Jen, I’m not a rapist. It couldn’t be further from my mind.” As soon as he said it, he realised with horror that it wasn’t true. She was bound, unable to prevent him acting. Seeing her jeans flow over slim hips, noticing the line of her bra through the flimsy white of her blouse, he wanted to take her, and reclaim her from the thing which had stolen her.

  He knew it was beyond him to do anything with the notion but recoil, yet the realisation that he was tempted terrified him. To physically take from her what she would no longer give willingly…

  Perverse as it was, he wished that Georgina were there, just to give him the emotional boost he craved. Sitting in the hallway that was not his, watching the wife who did not know him, he felt devoid of sense.

  It was a relief when he heard the car pull up, and before he could think, the handle of the front door was in his grasp. Only then did he pause. The front door was somehow significant.

  Alex was driving around the back way. Greg would be unable to hear him from where he sat. The creature had returned.

  Reaching the same conclusion, Jennifer began to squeal anew. Mouth dry, Greg locked the front door, just as he heard a car door slam in the driveway. Bending, he hauled Jennifer over his shoulder in a crude fireman’s lift and headed for the kitchen. Shutting this door too, he paused to adjust his wife’s position on his shoulder, losing valuable seconds. She was kicking, but the fight was nowhere near as extreme as the one she had engaged Alex in. Perhaps she’s in shock, he thought. Perhaps I am too. Keys turned in the front lock, and he bolted for the rear door.

  Once in the garden, leaving the kitchen entrance ajar so that the noise of it closing would not draw unwelcome attention, he staggered down the garden path to where Alex was waiting. His friend’s eyes widened as he saw them approach at speed, the question forming on his lips as he opened the gate for them.

  Greg nodded before he could ask. “The thing. It’s home.” Alex paled at the news, turning to open the back door of the car. Still struggling, Jennifer was unceremoniously dumped on the seat. Greg tried to look back at the house, but the thick hedge bordering the garden prevented him from seeing if they were being pursued yet.

  Alex was already starting the engine as Greg climbed into the passenger seat. It stalled at the first attempt, and Greg swore under his breath. Fixing his gaze on the gate, he counted the passing moments away. Any second now, he warned himself.

  As the car growled to life, the thing burst from the gate and threw itself at Alex’s door. An aeon passed, enough time for Greg to see the unbridled hate on the currently human face. Enough time for him to memorise each line of fury, every nuance of spite.

  Enough time for Alex to begin reversing the car down the narrow lane. Missing the door, the creature found itself doubled over the bonnet. As Alex, in full panic, accelerated his frantic reverse, Greg realised it had hold of the car, was pulling itself towards the windscreen. The face was inches from the back of Alex’s head, eyes burning. When Alex glanced back out the front, it changed.

  The change was faster this time, the skin running away as though liquid were a natural state for it to assume.

  For a second Alex only watched, open-mouthed. Then he screamed. As he did the car swerved, gouging branches from the bushes, sending an explosion of autumn-brown leaves into the air. Greg lunged for the steering wheel, grabbing and yanking. For a moment it was too late, a collision was unavoidable, but then the vehicle slewed in the other direction before straightening up. Alex was deafening now, frozen in terror, but his foot was still pressed hard against the accelerator, and for that Greg thanked God.

  The creature was not doing anything, which was the most terrifying thing. It just stared at Alex, exposing him to edges of the world he had never imagined, and Alex howled back.

  They shot out of the hedge-lined alley and on to the main road. A motorcycle, given no time to stop, careened into the front of the car. The crash rocked Greg; he heard a thump from the back as Jennifer fell to the floor, her muffled yelp almost lost in the din. The stunned cyclist sailed forward, an outstretched arm snagging the creature in desperation, ripping it from the bonnet.

  Alex snapped from his shock, swung the car around, and was away.

  Fifteen minutes later they were n
earing the Ramkin Hotel, Greg having baulked at the risk of going back to Alex’s now that his friend had been seen. They had to all intents and purposes just committed a kidnapping. All the creature had to do was play the concerned husband and report the matter to the police. There was also the fact of the hit-and-run on the motorcyclist. Alex’s car would be identified, the police would go to his flat, and the game would be lost.

  Regaining some of his self-assurance, Alex had suggesting holing up in the basement of the hotel. It was mostly unused nowadays, being separate from the beer cellar, and would be comfortable enough to stay in until they could resolve the matter with Jennifer.

  Pulling up at the back of the building, they lifted her between them and walked through the evening shadows to the back doors.

  “This one leads straight down,” said Alex, as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. Unlocking it took an uncomfortable few moments, Greg shuffling as Jennifer kicked, hoping they were not being watched from the tiny windows in the building opposite. Then they entered, Alex locking the door behind them.

  At first all was darkness, then Alex found the light switch. Shadows fled as Greg surveyed their temporary home. It was very large and mostly empty. Stone steps led down, from the landing on which he stood to a huge dust-filled space. Against the far wall loomed two enormous water heaters. He glanced at Alex.

  “It’s fine, the system’s automatic nowadays. All on timers. Caretaker only comes down when something goes wrong.” Greg nodded and worked his way down the stairs. Threading past the various brick supports leading up to the ceiling, he strode over to the heaters. It was warmer there, and he laid Jennifer on the concrete floor.

  Turning to Alex, the echo of the room startled him when he spoke. “You need to ditch the car somewhere. If it’s left outside it will take the police all of fifteen seconds to find us. Also, you should phone George and get her to bring us some blankets.”

  Alex nodded, then climbed back up the steps, his weariness and shock heavy on him. As the door at the top shut them in, Gregory Summers, for the second time that day, was left alone with his helpless wife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PROGRESS

  Growing, filling, expanding - oh, but this is power. Again the tank drains. Again she exults as she feeds. Better than it once was, she thinks, better than the old times. As waves of pleasure and sustenance break over her body, images replace the thoughts in her head.

  Chasing. Feasting. Her first time. Men-at-arms. Travelling. Fleeing. Hiding. Always consuming. Countless decades. The moon.

  The tank fills anew. Breathing heavily now - and what a strange thrill it is to breathe, to suck cold air - she checks the tubes running into her arm. Embedded deep in the flesh of each wrist are the four plastic drips that empower her. What a brave new world this is. What marvels are here to find.

  Yes, the old days. Could it even have been theorised, back then, how completely one could consume? Could evolution ever have offered her alternatives such as these? Unlikely, for man had created a world capable of usurping the very Nature which spawned him. She watched it happen, her and a few others. Now they had the true power.

  Stroking the needle thin incisions at her wrists, shuddering at the ripples of sexuality even this small pressure creates, she once more turns her attention to the specimen, now no more than a loosely bound collection of organs, limbs, and soul.

  With a small, exquisite sigh, she awaits the penultimate draining.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  INQUISITION

  Alone with his wife. Greg shuddered. Nearly an hour had passed since Alex left, and the base urge to reclaim writhed in him again. It was hard to think about anything else. He had sported a near constant erection for the last thirty minutes. Whenever he shifted position, anticipatory shivers hurtled through his groin.

  Hating himself for the memory, he pictured the time they had sex in her uncle’s wine cellar. Crude, violent sex. Pinning her to the dusty wall, ripping aside cotton, forcing his way in as they screamed and gasped their way to rough, thrilling orgasms. Would this be so different?

  Penis twitching, he looked to where she lay by the water heater. Perhaps that would break through the brainwashing, make her body remember what her mind could not. A reminder of the special intimacy they shared might be all it took to make her his again.

  He rose from the step he was sitting on. Wishing that his movements felt less predatory, knowing this would be for her ultimate good, he moved in on her. Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, she was asleep, her chest rising and falling in gentle, inviting ways. Her blouse had been pulled out of her jeans during the earlier struggle, exposing smooth pale skin. He reached out a hand to touch her there.

  Hearing the rattle of the door unlocking, he straightened and whirled round. Georgina slipped in, Alex following and pulling the door shut.

  Greg stared at them.

  Turned to stare at the woman at his feet.

  Like a clockwork man, he oscillated between the two before settling on his wife.

  He would have done it.

  As Alex reached the bottom of the stairs, Greg stumbled to meet him. Georgina looked on in bemusement as he hugged the larger man. She didn’t hear the words Greg breathed into his ear.

  “Don’t leave me with her again.”

  Returning the trembling embrace, Alex nodded his head in silent assent.

  Alex had brought two full thermos flasks of steaming coffee, a carton of milk, and some sugar. He had not bothered with food, as there was an all night takeaway five minutes walk from where they hid. In the back of a large rucksack, four rolled sleeping bags were crammed against the possibility of a cold evening.

  Alex was crouched next to Jennifer. “Mrs Summers, my name is Alex Carlisle. I know you’re confused and scared, but please allow for the fact that if we wanted to hurt you we’d have done it already.” He paused, studying her face to see if she accepted this line of argument. Greg couldn’t look at her eyes.

  He would have hurt her.

  She nodded, and Alex continued. “You are here because...well, it’s a bit out of the ordinary.” He smiled at her, a little rueful. “This pitiable abduction was the only way we could guarantee you would listen to us. That’s all we want you to do. We‘ll ask questions which we hope you’ll answer honestly. That’s it.

  “But that’s for later. For the moment we’d like to remove that gag and ask you to join us for coffee. If we do, will you scream?”

  From a few feet back, Greg was aware of her eyes flicking between him and Alex. She seemed to have some small trust in his friend. Greg was the one she feared. It was with good reason, and he felt sick to the soul. It had felt so justified. How could such a base urge be so easy to rationalise?

  “Please, Mrs Summers. The only reason for this to be an unpleasant, uncomfortable experience is if you refuse to let us make it otherwise.” Now who qualifies as the world’s most convivial kidnapper, thought Greg.

  To his surprise and relief, Jennifer nodded.

  “Thank you,” said Alex, and meant it. None of the three were cut out for the role of abductor. When Georgina had first seen Jennifer bound at the foot of the enormous heater, the shock had nearly driven her to tears.

  As Alex reached for the tape holding the handkerchief over her mouth, he winced in anticipation. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He peeled it back, and removed the cloth. Jennifer pulled in a great lungful of air, but remained otherwise silent.

  Greg poured the coffees. Jennifer had milk and two sugars. He didn’t even have to think about it. I am her husband, it reminded him. Not some common criminal for her to fear.

  Passing out the four mugs, he sat opposite his wife. A rough circle formed as Alex and Georgina sat to either side of Jennifer. Her eyes were less frightened now, more wary than fearful. He placed her coffee at her feet. She was sat up, the heater to her back.

  She spoke for the first time. “I have two…”

  “Sugars. And a little
milk.” Finishing her sentence, he made eye contact for the first time. “I know Jen.”

  Her eyes widened. “How? How do you know so much about me? You’re the man who attacked me, aren’t you? The one who beat up my husband? What do you want with us? Why won’t you leave us alone?”

  Withdrawing at the unexpected torrent, Greg was relieved to feel Georgina reach out and place a hand on his knee. He glanced at her and she smiled back, but he still couldn’t face answering the questions his wife had put.

  Alex saved him from having to. “Mrs Summers, please calm down. I’m being presumptuous in answering for my friend, but none of this is of his choosing. The day he assaulted you was as confusing for him as you, believe me. If he had the chance to go back, I think things would have turned out very differently.”

  “But who is he? Who are you?” The second question was directed at Greg, but Alex intervened again.

  “Sorry. We should be introduced. We all know you, but you’re surrounded by strangers.” Greg winced at the word, but yes, he was a stranger to her now. “The young lady there is Georgina Hood, though she answers to George.”

  “Hi,” Georgina said. Greg almost giggled at the absurdity. Jennifer was a prisoner, he was a criminal, and his mistress had just been introduced to his wife for the very first time. Stifling himself, not wanting to look as deranged as Jennifer believed, he studied George. She was a little nervous, but considering the enormity of what she was involved in this was the least of what she could be feeling. She was not even particularly upset at meeting her competitor for his affections, appearing more curious than hurt. Explicable, Greg supposed, but still odd.