Firdy’s writing was irregular, ropey and childish, with no respect for lines. In places, he had torn the paper with his pens, perhaps deliberately, but more likely in the spur of the moment. On some pages, the text ran almost vertically, suggesting that he had been writing without looking. At first, Simon thought he was reading poetry, but after a few pages it seemed more likely that these were dreams, transcribed upon waking. In the night. In a cold sweat.
Most of the passages were written in capital letters. For the most part, these were the only ones Simon could decipher, but he could see that they had been written furiously nonetheless, as if the hand had been chasing the words across the page.
Here and there a word or phrase caught his eye.
LIKE PINPRICKS
I PRETENDED NOT TO NOTICE
DON’T FEEL THE COLD I DON’T FEEL ANYTHING
THERE IS NO ME NOT HERE AND NOWHERE
IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO BE
SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
LOST COUNT
The same phrases recurred over and over across the pages.
IT DOESNT MATTER NOW
HELL
SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
NO POINT
PARASITE
SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
Some entries were dated, all within the past year and a half, but Firdy hadn't kept up the dating system. Although the entries would have been written in chronological order, the thoughts appeared jumbled; one horrendous passage stopped abruptly and then another began. New line. New pen. New thought.
Firdy was outside. Sarah continued to rest. Simon turned to a new page. The capitalised scrawl had been written on top of existing sentences, further evidence that much of this had been written in darkness. He struggled to punctuate the sentences. The more he read the easier it became.
DREAM:
ARM AROUND A ...
CARE ABOUT HER I’M ALSO ...
TIGHT SO SHE CAN’T ESCAPE ...
MY DAUGHTER ...
WIFE AND SHE’S ...
OUR PICTURE ...
SHE’S NOT STEPPING BACK, SHE’S JUST SLIDING AWAY FROM US ...
I HOLD THE GIRL, MY DAUGHTER, BECAUSE I KNOW THAT AS LONG AS I HAVE HER WE WON’T SLIDE AWAY TOO ...
I’M SQUEEZING AND SQUEEZING HER AND I CAN’T STOP. I HEAR HER BONES CRACK ...
SHE TRIES TO TELL ME TO STOP BUT I’VE CRUSHED HER ...
SHE CAN’T BREATHE ...
TAKES A PICTURE ...
THE CAMERA ...
AND EVERYONE DISAPPEARS ...
EXCEPT FOR ME ...
*
“I used to have that dream every week,” Firdy said. He was standing in the doorway looking over his shoulder to face Simon. “I'd wake up and reach out for them. I'd hear them screaming, even though I was awake, but they were never there. Of course not. They never were. I didn't even know who they were.
“I'd get up, wash, go for a walk, try to eat, but I could still hear them. Chatting, laughing, screaming. Nice. Try getting on with your day with that going on in your head.
“I thought it would get easier once I knew who they were. I was wrong.”
“Who -”
“Don't be dense, Simon. You know who they are. You were in the photograph. The question isn't 'who is the family'; it's 'why am I dreaming about them'? Why have I been having this dream for years, when we only met yesterday.”
He went back outside, shutting the door behind him.
Simon was floundering. He put the book aside and attempted to steady himself. In the distance, he could feel the Creature, the Third as Firdy had called it. Thinking of it by its new name caused it cast an inquisitive tendril in his direction. Its movements, if thoughts could be called such a thing, were slow and gentle, oily and threatening, but still very far away. He thought that he had been right when he suggested that it was conserving its energy, but he also sensed that it had plenty; perhaps more than ever, concentrated. He had no intention of testing the theory.
He calmed his breathing and tried to think of something neutral, but there was the book, full of questions and answers.
*
In a meandering, lower-case note that began in a margin and then took over the page:
“It’s difficult to keep a family together. A family isn’t a living thing, it’s lots of living things, all pulling and tugging. You need someone to keep them all going in the same direction. It’s not easy to be that person.”
“Here and there they go, obeying the voice and the vibration, leaving their offices, their workshops, their beds, their husbands and wives, to wander the streets of the city at night, sometimes returning home exhausted but relieved, and other times collecting a friendly face along the way and chucking them in the river, in the canal, in the sea.
“All pulling and tugging in different directions.
“A family needs a mother and a father. Thankless tasks both.”
*
Simon heard Firdy open the door and looked up. He wished that he hadn't. Firdy had the thing that he had been keeping in the van.
This thing was not like the dog. From a glance, he was able to ascertain that it had much more in the way of intelligence, because it had seemed to smile at him.
It padded across the tiles, with lighter footsteps than the dog. It was feline; enormous and wrong because of its size. Its fur was dark grey with bald patches where pink skin showed through. It sat on the floor and took in its surroundings while Firdy locked the door. It licked its paws.
“The Third has forgiven you for what you did to the Dog,” Firdy said. “And I must follow suit. The Cat, however, has a mind of her own and has been known to hold a grudge. So you might want to keep your distance, regardless of where I am.”
He gestured for the cat to follow him into the living area and it walked in the opposite direction, inspecting Simon's stray tooth.
Firdy winced and lowered his head.
The smart ones are harder to train, Simon thought.
“Yes,” said Firdy, as though Simon had spoken, and he snapped his fingers. The cat scowled. “Come here,” he said. It walked straight past him, then curled up on the floor beside the armchair. “They'll be plenty for you to do soon,” Firdy said. “It'll be worth waiting for.” It seemed placated by this and continued licking its giant paws. Now that it was closer, Simon could see that one paw was much bigger than the other.
There was no escape from his anxiety. To his left sat the cat, Firdy's ragged guardian and defender; when he closed his eyes he was aware of the Third, twisting and coiling, bringing itself to the boil, and in his hands he held the tattered, black book.
“It took so much to write it,” Firdy said, “that the least you can do is read it.” He hadn't created it with an audience in mind, but, aside from the fact that Simon would be gone before the night was over, there was no better witness to his journal.
*
As was often the case, the subtitle 'Dream' had been crossed out and replaced with the word 'Memory' followed by a question mark:
SHE APPROACHES ME, MAKING IT EASY. SHE ASKS IF I WANT TO HAVE SOME FUN AND I ASK STUPID QUESTIONS. “WHAT KIND OF FUN?” SHE FROWNS A LOT BUT IN THE END SHE STILL GETS IN. BEING HONEST WITH HER IS A RELIEF. IT'S A RELIEF NOT TO HAVE TO PRETEND. I ASK HER HOW OLD SHE IS AND SHE SAYS 23. I THINK SHE’S LYING. SHE'S THE ONE PRETENDING.
I DRIVE. I FEEL NERVOUS AND SHE GIVES ME DIRECTIONS TO A PLAYGROUND WHERE SHE NORMALLY GOES WITH CLIENTS. I LOOK AT HER A COUPLE OF TIMES. SHE'S WEARING A TINY, WHITE SKIRT AND I LOOK AT HER THIGHS. I CAN’T WAIT TO BE INSIDE HER. I WANT TO BE CLOSE TO SOMEONE AGAIN AND YOU CAN'T GET CLOSER THAN THIS. I THINK ABOUT TELLING HER, BUT I DON'T THINK SHE WANTS TO HEAR IT. I PULL UP AND PAY UP AND SHE IMMEDIATELY GOES DOWN ON ME. I CLOSE MY EYES. MY HEART IS THUMPING, BUT I DON'T FEEL TURNED ON AT ALL. I DON'T FEEL LIKE I'M REALLY HERE.
IT'S A LONG TIME BEFORE I'M HARD. SHE ASKS ME WHAT'S WRONG. SHE CALLS ME DARLING, WHICH HELPS THINGS ALONG
.
THEN, FROM VERY FAR AWAY, I FEEL SOMETHING COMING AND I'M THINKING “NO, NOT NOW,” BUT IT'S HERE. I PUSH THE GIRL AWAY AND SHE STARES AT ME. AT FIRST SHE'S SHOCKED AND THEN SHE'S ANGRY AND SHE'S ASKING ME WHAT'S GOING ON.
IN ONE INSTANT I'M GETTING MY COCK SUCKED AND IN THE NEXT I'M CRYING AND IT'S BACK TO BUSINESS AND I HAVE MY INSTRUCTIONS.
THE GIRL ASKS ME WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME AND THAT'S THE LAST THING SHE SAYS TO ANYBODY, BECAUSE I TAKE A LOOK AROUND AND PUT MY HANDS AROUND HER THROAT AND BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND TO DO IT HERE I'VE STRANGLED HER.
I DON’T QUITE KILL HER. SHE PASSES OUT AND SLUMPS OVER AND I DRIVE TO THE THROWING OFF POINT. I DRAG HER OUT OF THE CAR. SHE'S LIGHT. I PULL HER BODY THROUGH THE TREES. IT'S WORSE THAN WITH THE OTHERS, BECAUSE I GOT HER INTO THIS. I CALLED HER OVER TO ME TO SATISFY MY NEEDS, NOT THE THING'S. IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR ME, SHE'D STILL BE WORKING BESIDE TOWER HILL TUBE, SUCKING COCK, WALKING HOME, EATING CEREAL.
BEFORE SHE WAKES I DUMP HER HALF-DRESSED BODY INTO THE THAMES. SHE MAKES A BIG SPLASH. THERE'S A HORRIBLE THUD. THE RIVER TAKES HER DOWNSTREAM. SHE BOBS UP A FEW TIMES, SPINNING. I WISH I COULD TAKE IT BACK, BUT IT'S DONE NOW. I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE.
I WATCH UNTIL SHE IS ALMOST OUT OF SIGHT. THEN SHE'S SUCKED UNDER THE SURFACE, HEAD FIRST. IT ISN’T THE CURRENT THAT'S DONE THIS. THERE ARE NO AIR BUBBLES. THERE'S NO STRUGGLE. SHE’S JUST PULLED UNDER. THE LAST BIT OF HOPE IN ME GOES WITH HER.
*
Firdy raided the kitchen for anything edible and settled for cheese and stale crackers. He furnished himself with a cup of coffee.
“I don't normally drink the stuff,” he said. He offered to make one for Simon, but he declined.
Sarah woke intermittently, but never for more than a few seconds. Her clothes were drenched with sweat.
“I know you're worried about her,” Firdy said, “but I need her as well as you, so I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her.”
“Anything else, you mean.”
“You'll do me the favour of remembering that I at least apologised.”
The cat had been eyeing up the remains of last night's chicken dinner and attempting to make eye contact with Firdy. It tilted its head in a manner that Simon felt was sarcastic. After some time, Firdy nodded and the cat knocked the chicken bones to the carpet, assembling them in a pile beside the armchair before ripping at the flesh and pulling cartilage with its teeth. Unlike the dog, the inside of the cat's mouth appeared to be normal, except for the size and apparent strength of it. Simon felt cold run through him as its teeth scraped at a drumstick and it tongued the marrow.
Firdy made messy business of the cheese and crackers. When he was done, he retrieved a small, square bottle from his jacket pocket and turned it over and over in his hand.
“Imagine waking up with these thoughts every morning,” he said. “Dragging them around. I see that girl's face everywhere. I remember the smell of her, even though we never met.” He removed the lid of the bottle and sprayed the fragrance into the air between them. “Cinema. Yves Saint Lauren. Cinema and cigarettes. She had no smell of her own.”
Simon knew that their symbiosis was deepening, because as the scent reached him he felt his heart rate spike. Not only that, but he sensed the answer to a question he'd dared not ask. It had lain there, unspoken between them, for almost 24 hours, but now it begged to be out in the open, as terrible as it was.
“I can’t help but respond to that smell,” Firdy was saying. “I'd say that it takes me back, but I wasn't there.”
“Memory by osmosis,” Simon said.
“Now you're getting it.”
“You haven't been around very long have you?” Simon said.
“Three years,” Firdy said.
This man, with his pale, wizened skin, his bald head and crooked teeth, claimed to be no older than a baby, but the answer didn't surprise Simon, because his father had disappeared three years ago and it was making a horrible kind of sense now.
“Ask the question,” Firdy said. “I'll answer it.”
“My dad walked out of this house three years ago and didn't come back,” Simon said. “Until yesterday.”
In the near-silence, Sarah's chest rose and sank.
Rose ...
“Yeah,” said Firdy.
… Sank.
Simon's pulse accelerated. His calm, his concentration, was shattered. While he felt that the Creature, the Third, was aware of the change in him, it did not intervene.
Simon looked Firdy up and down. His mind was doing handbrake turns, populated suddenly by incredible thoughts.
“Shall I explain?” Firdy said. When Simon failed to find his voice, Firdy continued. “I arrived, was born, three years ago, fully-formed.” He looked at his left hand. “So to speak. I had to work out how to walk, how to eat, how to sleep. But these things took hours, not months. I was remembering, not learning. I never had to learn a single word and yet I speak pretty well compared to most people I've met. I was born complete with memories, emotional scars, ticks and nightmares. I'm a hybrid. Four men in total. Physically and mentally.”
Simon searched his face for a trace of his father, but the head was too misshapen, he had no hair, the nose was broken and fixed and rebroken; the good eye was brown, whereas his father's had been very dark blue. His mouth, with its thin lips, was like a slash that let the air in and out. His chin, well, he didn't have one. Nothing was recognisable.
“He's inside,” said Firdy, tapping his head. Then he indicated the leather journal and said: “He's in there too. I feel him when I dream. He lingers. Like a stench. Like guilt. His fear. His self-loathing. Sometimes I think I could almost be happy if it wasn't for him.
“The night I was born, I tried to go home. It wasn't easy. For one thing, there were several to choose from. Past lives. Broken things. That night, I chose yours. It was the most powerful impulse.
“I watched you through the same window that you broke tonight. It hurt to look at you. I didn't know why at the time. But I know now. It was your father's memory. It was nothing to do with me, but I felt it anyway.
“I was lost. The Third gave me my reason to live.”
“And what was that?” Simon said.
Firdy closed his mind with such effectiveness that Simon's head hurt. He flinched and Sarah moved against him, making him aware that his arms and back were sore from sitting.
In the meantime, Firdy stood and moved to the window. He stood there for nearly an hour, clearing his mind, staying awake, watching the sky grow dark. Simon turned the book over and over in his hands and read the pages where it fell open naturally.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A DREAM AND A MEMORY. I’M KILLING MY SON. I HOLD HIM UNDERWATER IN THE BATH, IN THE SINK, IN A PUDDLE IN THE ROAD. HE’S A BABY. HE’S KICKING. I CHANGE MY MIND, BUT I CAN’T LET GO. I WATCH HIM DROWN ...
“I can tell you’re very upset,” Firdy said eventually. “It wasn't my intention. I thought you should know the truth about your father. You were almost there anyway.”
... I WATCH HIM DROWNING BUT HE DOESNT DIE HE GOES ON SCREAMING GULPING WATER CHOKING VOMITING BUBBLES ...
“Your dad thought of it as a monster, which is probably why you call it The Creature. That's not really the case.
“It's very old, that's all. So it sees the big picture. With that kind of perspective, we couldn't possibly understand it. Not completely.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Simon asked and Firdy's mouth snapped shut. The clack of his teeth was enough to rouse Sarah from her feverish dream. Her eyes flickered open.
Gradually, she realised that she was awake.
Gradually, she remembered how wrong life could feel.
“Welcome back,” said Firdy.
She reached for the handle jutting from her shoulder and Simon swatted her hand.
“It hurts,” she said.
“I know,” said Simon. “But I need you to focus and to stay calm. There's something here.
”
The cat looked up, knowing that they were talking about it. It gazed at Sarah and seemed to settle on her in some way, as if it had worked out her part in all this. If Simon was the lever, then she was the fulcrum.
“I told you,” Firdy said. “She holds a grudge. You took one of ours, she wants one of yours.”
“Just keep it away from her.”
“That's up to you, Simon. That's up to you both.”
“What is it?” Sarah said. She was rubbing her eyes, hoping that she was not yet fully awake. “What the fuck is that?” It sat on its hind legs so that its head was up above the edge of the sofa. Despite its bedraggled fur, it moved proudly. It yawned, showing off its teeth.
“I won't let it hurt you,” Simon said, sensing Sarah's scream rising.
The Third was also rising. It had been coiled like a snake in the recesses of their consciousness and now it was unfurling its great length, swimming up as if through black water. It was gleaming; excited and anxious and electrified. It was a deep breath held for many minutes and their heads pounded.
Like a soldier, Firdy responded without hesitation.
“Get her up,” he said. “Let's do this.” He appeared to be obeying an instruction as he took Simon's jacket and searched it for weapons. “Empty your trouser pockets,” he demanded as he worked. “Take off your belt too.”
Seeing Firdy thus animated, the Cat rose to its full height, arched its back and shivered. This was evidently what it had been waiting for.
When Simon was three sharp objects lighter, Firdy returned his jacket.
“Hang on to me,” Simon told Sarah and the Third was there, underneath his breath, in between his words. He couldn't afford to rest his mind any longer. Not only was he being watched, but he was back on duty.
“Where are we going?” Sarah asked. She sounded like she was thirteen years old again. He'd taken her to school, because their father had been out all night and their mother had failed to rise from her bed during an uncharacteristic display of depression. She hadn't wanted to go, but he had forced her. He wanted her to have options that he didn't. Their family was coming apart around them and, since she was the best of them all, he was determined that she be the one left standing when it was over.
“You need to move,” Simon said. “Now.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Sarah said. “I want to sleep.”
The Hollow Places - A Paranormal Suspense Thriller Page 13
