Dex glanced at the dark man standing behind Charney’s chair. He knew then that should he answer in the negative he would be destroyed. Nothing as crude as murder, or even a fatal accident; something worse. This was what his weekends of gratification had led to. He had walked into the hot and humid jungle, hungry for sensation, and had inadvertently wandered into the territory of the tigers. They had been watching him all along from the shadows.
‘Whatever,’ he said. At that moment, all he wanted was to escape that room. ‘Whatever you fucking want.’
Lorrance and Charney exchanged a glance. Charney was expressionless. ‘I generally trust your judgement, Rhys, but have to confess I do not find this candidate entirely suitable.’
‘He is the right raw material,’ said Lorrance. ‘He must learn.’
‘Then teach him,’ Charney murmured, ‘and bring him to me when you’re done.’
Lorrance bowed his head.
‘I appreciated your gift tonight,’ said Charney, leaning back in his chair. ‘It was the sweetest thing.’ He kissed his fingertips. ‘I feel utterly sated.’
‘My pleasure.’ Lorrance put a hand on Dex’s back and steered him towards the door.
Dex felt chilled inside. He was sure that in some way Charney had drawn strength from the anonymous boy’s death. He glanced back at the desk. Charney and his dark man were conferring. Lorrance and Dex had been dismissed.
Outside, Dex said, ‘What the hell was all that about?’
Lorrance stroked his cheek. ‘Can’t you guess? You’re being admitted into the club.’
‘Like the fucking Masons, or something?’
‘Something,’ said Lorrance. He leaned forward and kissed Dex on the mouth. ‘Don’t let me down. Charney will be disappointed.’
Dex was surprised by the kiss. Lorrance had never touched him in that way before. ‘What do you want of me?’
‘Commitment, truth, courage. In return, you’ll learn about power. You’ll have what you want from life, whatever that may be.’
‘Rhys, you shouldn’t have done this to me,’ Dex said. ‘Why didn’t you ask me first? I don’t want this.’
‘It’s too late.’
I fucking realise that. You had no right.’
‘No right?’ Lorrance laughed in genuine amusement. ‘I made you, Dex. I can do with you what I like. If you think otherwise, you’re far more stupid than I gave you credit for.’ He stroked Dex’s hair. ‘Be angry, if you like, for that is part of you. Live it. But know you can trust me.’
He left Dex standing in the hallway of the house, the party tumbling around him. Dex felt nauseous now, and confused. What had just happened might have been a dream. If only it had been. The effects of the potion he’d swallowed were diminishing; his senses were fuzzy, his limbs prickled. He needed to sit down.
In the drawing-room, he collapsed onto a sofa, his mind curiously blank. For some time, perhaps hours, he stared at the ceiling. Sounds rose and pounced like waves; music, voices, the purr of fabric against flesh. He could smell the sweat of everyone in the house. He could smell their dissipation, their lack of awareness, their self-centred terror. On the other side of the gate was truth, and the gate was the word ‘whatever’.
There were no weekend parties at Emmertame after that. If any of Lorrance’s guests or staff mentioned to friends or family what they’d seen that night, it never leaked out. They were all conspirators. Zeke Michaels had not been a guest that weekend, and Dex doubted he’d ever been told what had happened there.
Dex knew that something had marked him, something beyond what he understood about the world. He waited for a summons from Lorrance, for the education that Charney had spoken of to begin. He lived in dread of it. When the accident had happened in the hall of Emmertame, Dex had not felt that affected by the young man’s death, perhaps because of Lorrance’s influence, but afterwards this was not the case. He was haunted by it, and sickened by the callous way in which Lorrance had dealt with it. Dex had become part of this world, and had come to hate it. He was not the person Lorrance believed or wanted him to be. In his youth, all Dex’s songs had been full of fire against the very things he now did himself, the world in which he moved. He had become part of all he had despised, and worse. It had happened insidiously, crept up on him, bit by bit, until he was fully in the thick of it.
Often, Dex thought of confiding in Jay about what had happened that night at Lorrance’s, but couldn’t bring himself to. Despite her sassy worldliness, she now seemed innocent to him. He couldn’t involve her. It wouldn’t be fair. She was part of the sacrifice he must make to cleanse himself. He wrote songs about that night, every detail of it, lashing himself and the world he inhabited, the world run by people like Charney and Lorrance, to whom life meant nothing and power meant all. Dex had lost sight of any spirituality in his life, and now yearned to rediscover it. This would be the new album. Through music, he would tell the world a few truths, albeit concealed in parcels of words that only a few might unwrap. Words came more easily now. Language was a tool he could wield with mordant precision. If this gift came from Lorrance and his overlords, Dex would use it to expose them. He was withdrawing his consent to Lorrance’s schemes. Dex knew the path he had chosen might mean his own destruction, but he could see no other way. Unless he fought now, he would be lost. He knew his weaknesses.
Lorrance must have sensed Dex’s withdrawal, but undoubtedly viewed it was a temporary reaction. He would, after all, be confident of his power over his protégé. A month or so after the party, he called Dex on his mobile (he never liked Jay to know when he’d called), and asked how the tracks for ‘Songs to the Shadow’ were going. ‘I’m exorcising ghosts,’ Dex had said.
‘Nothing too gloomy, I trust,’ Lorrance replied.
Dex was filled with the urge to rebel, which had often been his undoing in the past. ‘Perhaps you should hear them.’
A pause. ‘Yes. Come to dinner this Sunday.’
After he’d broken the connection, Dex considered he might have spoken unwisely. Before Sunday, he made a few changes to the lyrics, encoded their meaning more cryptically.
Lacey was at Emmertame that Sunday night; a cold, sullen presence at the dinner table. She had dyed her fair hair different colours of red and green, which had faded. Her clothes were a jumble of ethnic styles that hid her body. She reeked of patchouli. Dex wondered why she ever bothered going home, seeing as the experience clearly brought her no pleasure.
‘Good of you to dress for dinner,’ Lorrance said.
Lacey shrugged, disinterested in his opinion, and drank some wine. She glanced at Dex with what appeared to be despising. Dex could tell she considered him to be simply her father’s creature.
Samantha yacked her way through the courses, leaving no space for other voices, which was perhaps fortunate as Dex felt he had nothing to say. Lacey kept directing penetrating glances at her father, which sometimes he would return. Dex was puzzled about their relationship. Lacey hardly spoke, but a conversation took place, Dex was sure of that.
After dinner, he and Lorrance went into the oak-panelled music room, and Dex produced a tape of his recent songs. Lorrance poured brandy, and they both sat in leather, high-backed chairs as the music spilled out of the hi-fi. Lorrance said nothing, sipping his drink steadily. Dex had sought to wrap his statements up in metaphor and innuendo, but now it seemed all too obvious what he sang about. At the end of it, Lorrance rose slowly from his chair, put his drink down deliberately on a side table and moved to the stereo. With careful, precise movements, he took the tape out of the machine and began pulling it from its case. It tumbled out like shining entrails.
‘Hey!’ Dex half rose from his chair, but was paralysed by a glance from Lorrance.
‘I presume this is not the only copy,’ he said, still pulling tape. The spools screeched softly.
‘No.’ Dex was stunned. He had meant to say he would tone down the sentiments in the songs, but it seemed Lorrance had already made up his mind abo
ut them.
‘Are you insane?’ Lorrance inquired gently. ‘You must destroy these songs. The music is good, of course, but the rest must go. I do this only for your sake, Dex.’
‘I told you, it was an exorcism,’ Dex said. ‘I can only write what’s in my head.’
‘Whip yourself in private,’ Lorrance said. ‘I can’t believe what you’ve done.’
Something in his tone made Dex crack. ‘Can’t believe what I’ve done?’ He laughed coldly. ‘Have you never thought about what happened?’ For a brief moment, Dex’s mind was filled with the image of a forgotten, rotting body, lying in a cellar, half eaten by rats and insects. He had to put his fingers against his mouth, afraid of retching.
‘No, I don’t think about it,’ Lorrance replied. ‘There’s no point. It happened, and the occasion marked the end of our parties for a while.’
‘Did you kill that boy, Rhys?’
Lorrance stared at him. He didn’t seem angry or affronted. ‘He killed himself. It was unfortunate, and something to be put behind us. It certainly should not be shouted about in songs. Do you understand that?’
Dex closed his eyes. So far, nobody appeared to have searched for that boy, not like people had for Little Peter. Nobody cared. The evidence was slowly disappearing into the quiet, listening forest, until nothing would remain.
‘You are learning,’ Lorrance said, ‘and I appreciate this blood-letting is part of the process, but it’s time for you to rise above petty human codes.’
Dex glared at him. ‘I’m not interested. You conned me into something, and I don’t even know what it is. I don’t want to know.’
Lorrance smiled kindly. ‘You are part of it now. There’s no going back. Whatever your view of morality is, rest assured it’s only a product of human limitation. True power is beyond morality. Sanctimony and righteousness are for the weak and ignorant. I have hauled you out of the masses. You are awake now, Dex. Get used to it. See the world as it is.’
‘I’ve always been awake.’
Lorrance shook his head slowly. ‘You’ve been dozing,’ he said. ‘Dreaming.’
Dex stood up. ‘I have to go.’
Lorrance nodded, clearly at ease. ‘Very well. I will see you again soon. Make a new DAT, Dex. Take off the vocals and write something snappy that the kids will like.’ He smiled and tapped his brow. ‘Let your true songs, your essence, play up here. Eventually, you will communicate them, but only once you’ve achieved a certain level of understanding. This will take time, I know, but I am not concerned about you, Dex. I can see your soul.’
Dex shuddered inside. ‘I’m not what you think I am.’
‘You have no idea what I think you are.’
Lorrance walked with Dex to the front door. There, he put a hand on Dex’s shoulder. ‘Did you hope to reach me with those songs, make me feel remorse?’
‘No. It was just for myself.’
‘Just as well. Good night, Dex. Drive carefully.’
Out in the night, Dex stood in the driveway and stared back at the house. It was an evil place and it had touched him intimately. If he stayed around Lorrance, perhaps all that was good within him would die, and he’d become like the others, like Charney. Three Swords. They pierced the heart of the world.
Dex got into his car, and turned on the CD player. Songs from his last album, ‘Memory Drift’, surrounded him. Songs that had meant something. He knew Lorrance wanted him to write vapid confections about drugs and partying and shallow sex. Feed the masses what they want. Help them stay asleep. He remembered his original vision and what he’d hoped to achieve. He’d wanted to throw cold water over people, wake them up to reality. How far he’d strayed from the path. Perhaps the only way to escape whatever Lorrance had decided for him was to sacrifice himself. The songs he’d written should be released. He should be honest. If they weren’t, perhaps nothing should be released at all. People might wonder, then. As he put the car in gear to set off, a ray of light spilled out of the house, then disappeared. The front door had opened and closed. Dex peered out at the drive, and saw a slim figure approaching. It was Lacey. She leaned down to look into the car, her face impassive. ‘Drive me somewhere,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ Dex answered. ‘Get in.’
She walked around the car, her feet crunching on gravel. Once she had climbed in, she filled the interior with her earthy patchouli scent.
‘Where do you want to go?’ Dex asked. She had no bag with her. Her hands, with their multi-coloured fingernails, were clasped loosely in her lap.
‘Just drive.’
Dex set off down the drive-way. Lacey said nothing, staring out of the windscreen. He wondered what she wanted from him. ‘I’m going back to London,’ he said. ‘You want to go there?’
She shook her head. ‘You can stop in a moment.’
‘Why? What is this?’
She glanced at him. ‘Stop now.’ They were only a short way from the gates to the estate. Dex pulled onto the grass at the side of the road. Bright moonlight shone into the car, illumined the landscape around it without colour.
‘Well?’ Dex said.
‘Don’t be a fool all your life,’ Lacey murmured.
Dex stared at her. ‘I’m no fool. What do you want?’
She smiled bitterly. ‘You are a fool. You shouldn’t give in to my father. He didn’t make you, he just used you.’
‘You listened to our conversation.’ Dex leaned back in his seat, his arms folded.
‘Yes, I listened,’ Lacey said. ‘I have no interest in you, that’s not why I’m talking to you now. I care only about truth.’
‘Dex expelled a bark of caustic laughter. ‘Truth?’ He shook his head. ‘Get out of the car, Lacey. Don’t try to involve me in any family feuds.’ It was not inconceivable Lorrance had sent his daughter out here himself.
Lacey raised her eyebrows at Dex, spoke coldly. ‘I’m not involving you in anything. All I’m saying is be true to yourself.’ She opened the car door. ‘I know what happens,’ she said, and walked away from the vehicle, leaving the door hanging open.
Dex watched her walk back onto the drive-way to home. Had that been another test? Dex could not tell. Perhaps Lacey had acted from her own impulses, in which case, how much did she know?
Shortly after this event, Lacey Lorrance absconded from university and ran away. Dex found out about it from Zeke Michaels. ‘She’s gone to join a hippy commune or something,’ he said. Dex privately wondered if this was true.
Dex pretended to work on the new material, but spent all of his time thinking. When the time came to go on tour, he was terrified. He had made the decision to perform the songs as they should be performed. He would sing the truth. Then, after the first gig, he realised an incontrovertible truth.
He stood up on stage, watching the audience pulsing to the music, their hands held aloft. He sang to them - really sang to them - projecting into his voice all the feeling in his heart. The applause came, the baying, but it was no different from the response to any other concert. They still howled for the old familiar songs. Dex realised then that his fans never really heard him. His painful revelations, about himself and world, had washed over them. He expected too much from them. Their adoration was his life-blood, but for them to adore him they had to be ignorant. He could not have their understanding and their blind faith, for faith dies in the glare of awareness.
At that moment, as the lights dimmed, and he left the stage, he realised he had gambled with the commitment of his audience, but had misjudged them, over-estimated their intelligence. He was no guru to them; he was a star. Gurus might speak, and people might learn from them, but stars merely glowed; beautiful, but remote. The audience would never respond in the way he’d like. They’d never come to their senses and say “Yes, he’s right. We must do something about this”. But he sensed the power he had over them, the sort much prized by Lorrance and his kind.
Gina Allen was standing in the wings, chewing the inside of her cheek. Dex felt scorche
d by her glance. She looked predatory. He brushed past her.
Backstage, Dex began to fret. He knew that Lorrance would soon discover he’d dared to sing the forbidden songs, because he’d noticed earlier on that a half dozen or so dark-suited Ghosts had been stationed around the edge of the venue. What would be the consequences of his actions? He’d be punished in some way. Jay might even be in danger, or Julie and the kids. And for what? The audience hadn’t even noticed his message. They adored him, but not Dex the person. He wasn’t real to them. They didn’t want him to be real. Neither did the carrion-eaters that hung around the scene, the social climbers, the wannabes.
Dex had sensed the power in his voice, a force that became stronger every day. His education had been taking place whether he co-operated with Three Swords or not. He was changing. And nobody would notice. He could charm people, influence them, direct them, and like drugged sheep they’d comply. What value did these people have, anyway? Men like Charney and Lorrance existed because the masses were too lazy and self-centred to care. There were fates worse than death. Dex could wait for it, or walk away from it all, deny them their victory. Ultimately, it had not been a difficult choice to make.
Chapter Seven
Jay sat with her head in her hands, her elbows resting on the worn table-top. ‘I was a fool not to sense anything was wrong with you,’ she said. ‘I was too wrapped up in dead-lines and that shallow, horrible life.’
Dex moved uneasily. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Jay. I was deeply in the shit before I even met you. You gave me respite, you gave me love, but ultimately it was not enough.’
‘Thanks.’
Dex ran his hands through his hair. ‘By the time I left you, I was hardly myself any more. I had to go, just to try and recapture what I’d been. Jay, if I’d stayed, I don’t know what would have happened. Leaving you was the kindest thing I could do. You found a new life...’
Jay leaned forward. ‘Dex, be quiet. I loved you. You should have told me what was going on. We could have got out of it together. I would have stood by you. We respected one another.’
Thin Air Page 24
