Almost instantaneously, the baby’s screams began to die down. Like someone had turned the volume dial. Soon enough, the baby was snoozing deeply in her mother’s arms, her own expression of relief and amazement somewhat comical.
“Oh, that’s so much better,” Quinton said, removing his shades and picking up a menu. Now that the sound had died down, they could hear the tinny sound of the diner’s radio station. Gabe’s face dropped as the bass line for ‘Thriller’ could be heard.
“I swear to God, if I don’t get away from this song, I’m going to dropkick someone in the face.”
Quinton laughed. A waitress approached. They ordered their food and sat back in their chairs.
They were silent for a while, feeling the magnified warmth of the sun through the glass. Occasionally Gabe would glance over at Quinton, a curious look in his eye.
“Something’s different,” he said.
Quinton shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, you do. For one, I can’t remember the last time me and you have hit up Betty’s in the middle of a weekday. We must’ve been… what? 15? 16?”
“Our last summer at school.”
“That’s right—”
“—Here you go, dears,” the waitress interrupted, placing down two silver tumblers spilling over with bubbles and foam. Chocolate for Quinton, and banoffee for Gabe.
Gabe’s eyes followed the waitress’s bum until she disappeared behind the counter.
“So?”
“So what?” Quinton asked, busying himself with chugging mouthfuls of the shake through the large straw.
“What is it? You pulling a sickie?”
Quinton shook his head.
“They switched your shifts?”
Head shake.
“Evergreen’s is closing?”
Quinton laughed. They might as well have been, given the lack of custom they’d had all week. True to his predictions, his manager had received a visit from the regional team, and the outcome wasn’t looking great for the store.
“Nope. Not yet, anyway.”
“Then what is it? What are you hiding, and why can’t you wipe that stupid grin off your face?”
Quinton felt himself growing red. His cheeks actually sore from the smile he had carried all week. “It’s just been a good week, is all.”
Quinton proceeded to tell Gabe about the events of his week. When Tuesday morning had rolled around, he had toyed with his newfound luck, testing the waters of what his father had promised. He didn’t want to start off with grandiose gestures, so he played it small, imagining the things that he wanted and seeing if his newly-discovered deal with Her was as powerful as he suspected it might be.
To begin with he had prayed and hoped that, rather than a miserable crawl from her bedroom to her father’s armchair, that he would find his mother in the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea as she had nearly every single day of his life. When he went downstairs, he had heard the sound of china and metal clinking, and discovered her standing by the kettle, waiting for the thing to boil.
She looked tired, she looked frail, but dear God, the sight of her in the kitchen filled his heart with hope. He had heard that time healed all wounds, but he had truly begun to lose hope as his mother had deteriorated in her fusty, fetid cocoon of living room darkness.
“Morning,” Quinton said, trying to hold back the happiness in his voice.
“Morning,” his mother replied, not turning around, but waving a hand.
It was enough. He’d take it.
At work that day he had wanted nothing more than to be sent home early again. After yet another late night, he was tired and was already ready to leave. Little did he realize that, as he entered the store and wound his way to the back office, his manager would catch him and tell him to go home. Business had been bleak, and they needed to cut back on staff costs to make up for the deficit.
Although a small pang of guilt dropped into his stomach like a coin down a well, Quinton didn’t argue. If his hunches were right, a day and a half’s worth of wages would be a meagre problem in the future.
He spent the rest of his day wandering around town. It was another blissful day, and, despite his late nights, he felt lighter than he could remember. He made his way back home a little after lunch, took a long nap and rejuvenated himself, feeling refreshed and better than ever when he went to Sarah’s house and made love more times than they could count. He raced back home in time for his visit from his father and, after another night of discussion and disbelief at the boons that were being granted, Quinton began to see the bloodline agreement in a whole new light.
The following day saw the real test. Upon arriving at work, his manager once again told Quinton that he should go home early. The shifts just weren’t needed, and the store was in a real dire situation. They hadn’t seen a loss like this since the recession, and they were pulling all the stops to get ahead and fend off a possible store closure.
Quinton felt a small wave of guilt at that, knowing that he was connected to the store’s diminishing success. He thought back to his father’s job, the mystery behind the locked door that had plagued him all these years. His father had never wanted for cash. Why should Quinton not follow the same path?
“I’ll make it easier for you, Shelley. I quit.”
He had left Shelley’s shocked face behind as he walked out of store with his head held high.
It had been a risk, that was for sure. But a quick, desperate look at his phone’s banking app brought the largest smile Quinton had seen, yet.
What had, only yesterday, been a numerical figure of £1,189.27, now had the luxury of an additional two figures to the total, making his eyes light up more brightly than his screen as he marveled at the figure: £118,927.00.
Quinton had closed his eyes, shutting out the bustling shopping center as he hugged his phone to his chest.
Everything was going to be okay, now.
All of his troubles from the past would fade.
And a new future waited ahead.
Of course, when he regaled this information to Gabe, he only told him the headlines. He didn’t want Gabe to be caught in the middle of it all, or to look at him as though he had just been born straight from the mental asylum. As far as Gabe needed to know: Quinton had quit his job, he and Sarah were on great terms, and he had come into a hefty inheritance from his father.
A lie that wasn’t all that far from the truth.
Gabe placed his hands on his head, his plate empty and gravy-stained in front of him. “That’s crazy, man. Congratulations, I guess? That’s…” he exhaled loudly. “That’s insane.”
Quinton nodded. “Sometimes fortune just turns itself around, I guess. Soon enough me and Sarah will be,” he thumbed out the window and clicked out the side of his mouth, “out of here, and the three of us will be living it up like fat cats in the city. I’ve already got an eye on a place that I like. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, view overlooking the park.”
“Damn, how rich was your dad?” Gabe asked, shaking his head and leaning back so the waitress could place his marbled raspberry cheesecake in front of him. Quinton had gone for the apple pie. “That doesn’t sound cheap.”
“He did okay for himself.”
Yeah, until the end, came an unbidden voice in his head.
“And how has Sarah taken the news?”
Quinton chewed his mouthful. Swallowed loudly. “I haven’t told her, yet. It’s all such a big change and she works so hard that I didn’t just want to announce it out of nowhere and freak her out.”
“But it’s all good news, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Quinton agreed. “I’m hoping to take her out for a romantic evening Saturday. Cinema, meal, a walk along the river, the whole shebang. I’ll try to tell her then, and then hopefully get some...” He winked. “Y’know…”
Gabe snorted out of his nose. His hand flew up to his mouth to stop cheesecake flying over the table. “Man, I want your life.
It sounds dope.”
“And it’s not ‘dope’ being the center of the town’s attention? The only successful YouTube vlogger to come from Farside and put it on the map.”
Gabe shrugged. “I suppose.”
They tucked into their deserts, hungrily lapping at the cream and pastries. It wasn’t until Gabe was almost finished, his bowl raised to his mouth as he lapped the dregs of cream in that he paused, lowered the bowl and said, “Wait. Did you say the three of you are moving?”
Quinton winked and slurped his shake.
2
A little over four weeks since Quinton’s first encounter with his father and – what he’d since come to call the creature in the void – the ‘Damned’, Quinton found himself sat inside the cold white walls of the doctor’s office once more.
Sarah looked radiant, as always. Her blonde hair was bunched into a messy ponytail. Her eyes were keen and brighter than ever. Golden bars of light spilled into the office, illuminating the dust which danced and swirled in the air, several beams catching her hair and giving her an almost angelic look.
Nothing angelic going on here, though, is there?
She took deep breaths, her fingers intertwined with his. Her lips silently moved as she repeatedly whispered her mantra. “It’s got to be, please. Please, God. It’s got to be…”
The doctor came back a few minutes later with his pad and the pregnancy test Sarah had taken. He smiled internally, already knowing what the test would say. They had already tried over half a dozen brands over the last few days, and science did not lie.
Nor did the supernatural powers of an unholy being who granted your every wish in exchange for servitude to pass beyond the realms of normality and into the land of the mortals.
“Well? What does it say?” Sarah asked.
The doctor grinned. “Congratulations, Miss Eton. You’re pregnant.”
Sarah’s face dropped. Tears sprung out like fountains. Her whole body shook. Quinton did his best to fake his surprise, not that she would even have noticed between the blurry visage of her eyes.
An hour later and they sat in Sarah’s favorite coffee shop. A little bistro by the name of ‘Home on the Range.’ A place whose trade had been quiet and slow for years, but had since experienced a large upsurge in customers thanks to the rise of the vegan and ‘free-from’ trends. Home on the Range had always made their products using only the most eco-friendly methods. Little did they know how ahead of the times they had been and how patience would pay them dividends.
“It’s impossible,” Sarah said, a small chuckle escaping her lips. Her shaking hands grasped both sides of her mug, a perfect foam heart decorated the top of her coffee. “I mean… it is, isn’t it? We were told it would never happen.”
“We were told it’s likely it would never happen,” Quinton said, reaching across and taking her hand in his. Her skin was soft, so thin it was almost translucent. Even from across the table he could smell the intoxicating scent of her perfume. “But people have beaten worse odds. Think of the amount of people who get paralyzed and are told they will never walk again, only to recover a few months later. Or the amount of people who wake from comas every day.”
“They’re cheery examples,” she giggled.
“It’s all medicine, isn’t it?” Quinton said. “I guess it just goes to show that miracles can come true. Even for us.”
Sarah stared down at where the baby was growing. Flat as a pancake. It seemed impossible that there was really life growing somewhere deep inside. She clutched her stomach with both hands, her eyes filling again.
“I’m surprised you’re not more scared,” she said. “Aren’t you worried about any of this?”
“What’s to worry about?”
“Oh, I don’t know… How about the fact that we haven’t got a house, yet? You’re on a minimum wage job working six days a week and I’m on irregular hours that have me working through mornings, noons and nights?” She started off jovially, but as she continued, the worries came through. Her words grew faster, more hurried. “I mean, we’re saving for a house, but we’re nowhere near, yet. Oh, God, Quinton. Can we do this? We can’t even sort our own lives out, how are we going to cope with a child? Sally Brixton—the girl I told you about at work, coffee-stained teeth and pigtails—she’s on her fourth child now and she can barely cope. Her husband is working overtime to pay for childcare, and they’re barely bringing in enough to cover their costs of living.” She ran a hand through her hair, tears brimming once more. “We can’t do this, Quinton, we can’t.”
She stared at her boyfriend across the table, expecting to see the terrified reflection of her trembling self. A shaking mess. Instead, she looked into the eyes of a man remarkably at ease, and incredibly handsome. A warm smile on his face as he took her hands back and clasped them in his, ignoring the strange looks from people on the table behind as they listened to Sarah’s hysterical rant.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was fact.
“How do you know?”
Quinton had been waiting weeks for the right moment. Had debated telling Sarah a thousand times but it never quite felt right. Now, though, the words came out before he could even stop them.
“I don’t work at Evergreen’s anymore.”
Sarah’s face fell, her voice dropping an octave. “Excuse me?”
Quinton hurriedly continued. “I handed in my notice a few weeks ago. I’m no longer a store supervisor.”
Sarah looked at Quinton for a long, hard moment. Somewhere in the cafe they heard a baby begin to cry, the desperate mother searching frantically for her dummy.
“You’re telling me you have no job? Now, you’re telling me? Are you kidding me?”
Quinton nodded goofily. “Well, that’s maybe not exactly true. I have a new job.”
“Doing what?” Sarah said through gritted teeth.
Quinton saw a glimpse of Sarah walking over the line to the red zone. The same line he had sent her over the day the tattoo had appeared on his arm. The same line that he had crossed over on every argument they ever had. Only, this time, he remained calm. A cocky coolness to his whole demeanor.
Sarah seemed to sense this, too. Her usual anger softening around the edges like hard soap dropped in boiling water.
“I’m a research assistant,” Quinton said, remembering the line his father had reeled to him. “Well, a research coordinator for a furnace company.”
He fell into his practiced story about how a man had come into the store one day and asked if Evergreen’s sold any electrical fires. Quinton had told him no but had shown him where the portable heaters had been kept. While in conversation about the best convection currents to efficiently power the house with heat in the long winter months without sapping extraneous energy and adding to the electrical bill, the man had taken a liking to Quinton and offered him a job on the spot.
“It was crazy. There I was in my Evergreen’s apron, stinking of dust from the storeroom boxes, then suddenly I was being offered a ticket out of there.”
“How much does it pay?” Sarah asked.
Quinton grinned. “I see where your focus is.”
“How much does it pay?” She repeated. “We have a baby on the way.”
Quinton leaned forward; one eyebrow raised. His voice was quiet. “Triple my weekly wage.”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding?”
He shook his head.
All of a sudden, she kicked her chair backwards and threw her arms around Quinton’s neck. The chair clattered to the floor behind, the table rattling so violently that great brown splurges of coffee spilled across its surface.
A server behind the counter raised his head and shouted, “Hey! Everything okay over there?”
But Sarah wasn’t listening. Her face was buried in the crook of Quinton’s neck, tears dampening his t-shirt. He held her tight, inhaling her aroma, loving the power that he felt at finally being able to provide for her. After years
of struggling on minimum wage, he’d made it. He’d be able to make every one of their dreams come true.
And it was all thanks to his father.
The server worked his way over to the table, cloth in hand. “You know if you break those cups, you pay for them, right?”
Quinton beamed. “No worries, buddy. I’d be happy to cover the costs.”
The man gave him a perplexed look before wiping the dribbling coffee from the table and floor.
Quinton, meanwhile, stared at the tattoo on his arm, wondering how life could get any better from here.
3
One of the best pieces of news to come from Sarah and Quinton expecting a baby was the sudden uplift that the news had given his mother.
Two months after the burial of her husband and even Quinton had begun to give up hope. He knew that depression could be a bitch, and that once a victim had fallen into the void, it was more difficult to get them out than anyone could believe, mostly for two reasons:
The first reason being that communication was almost impossible. A sufferer of depression turns their line of sight inwards, opening every weakness and vulnerability of their mind and body as though they were lain on a coroner’s table with their flesh split apart and their anatomy on display. Their consciousness scanning and prodding every fiber of muscle, every inch of fat, every negative thought and experience until they were swirling in a whirlpool of despair and darkness.
The second reason being that no one else can really help them, but themselves. Once the beast of depression has caught you in its fangs, it digests you slowly. Chewing at an infinitesimal rate. Only once the sufferer decides that they want to exit the void, can someone else then reach down and grab their hand.
And even then, the efforts can fail, many a family member or friend knelt at the edge of the pit with sweaty palms, reaching, ever reaching for their loved one. Feeling the gentle skin of their palms connecting before watching on in disbelief as the sufferer realizes that they’re not ready as they let go and drop themselves back down into the hole, only to be caught in the monster’s clutches again.
The Mark of the Damned Page 6
