Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Pessimism seeped into him like a leaking cesspit of gloom. There was no way Mandy would be in her flat, was there? They’d have moved them all. But why? It still made no sense. He’d go anyway, despite it being the most obvious place for him to go. He’d had no trouble so far. Whoever had arranged all this displayed little concern about him finding out. Maybe it was even part of their plan: to actually drive him insane.

  But he’d never give up. And for now, he’d push his certainty that he was to be disappointed again aside and pump himself up in anticipation she might be there, and she might have answers.

  It was impossible to tell from ten storeys down, but that didn’t stop Matthew from craning his neck to try. There was a keycode at the door, and he typed in the usual number. With a rarely displayed smile, Matthew pushed the door open as the lock clicked and buzzed his entry.

  Standing in the foyer, he took a minute to compose himself. The last time he’d stood here it had been with a supreme confidence; like he ruled the world. Now he could barely bring himself to take the first step.

  He opted for the stairs, rather than the lift, to keep aware of the risk of ambush. It struck him as unlikely, but not unfeasible. It was no time to let down his guard. Popping his slippers from his pocket, he sat on the third step and swapped his boots for them to aid his quiet ascent.

  Every few steps, he stopped and listened, straining against the silence he became more and more comfortable that he was safe. Striding now, chest out, there were just two more flights to go.

  Safety was only one of his concerns. What would he find when he knocked on his sister’s door? Aware of his rapid breaths, he stumbled the last few steps. Wiping damp palms on his trousers, the door loomed at him. Behind it could be the answer. The first successful step towards his life reshaping. Or, he tried to push aside burgeoning despair, yet more turmoil.

  The landing looked empty. No police or psychiatric nurses waited to imprison him and he took the final step towards the door. Dabbing his palms again, he ran them through his hair and smelled his breath in a cupped hand. He couldn’t smell it, but assumed it was rank. It didn’t matter. His sister would hold him tight. She’d welcome him and help him piece it all together and he’d be back with Debbie and Abi.

  If she was there.

  Rapping white knuckles on the sturdy wooden door, he thrust his hand to his pocket and attempted to affect a mature pose suited to seeing his sister for the first time in months.

  He shuffled from one foot to the other trying a nonchalant lean on the wall, but shrank away from it when it didn’t feel right. Unfolding his arms which had clasped themselves together for comfort, he didn’t want the fear he felt to show.

  Excruciating seconds passed and he knocked again, harder. Allowing a minute this time, when there still came no response, he banged louder. Flapping the letterbox, he bent forward and called out, “Mandy! Mandy, it’s me, Matthew. Answer the door!”

  Ear pressed to the open oblong, Matthew listened to the silence assaulting his ear. Then a noise did come; not from inside the apartment, but from a few stairs away; a concerned neighbour investigating the ruckus.

  “Can I help you?”

  Matthew stood up to his full height. Refraining from offering his hand, realising it might be unpleasant after his night in the alleyway, he smiled. “Ah. Good evening. I’m trying to locate my sister, but she doesn’t appear to be in.”

  The neighbour nodded. “There’s no-one there. It’s up to let, I think.”

  Matthew believed it, but surely that wasn’t possible. The lease they’d secured was for two years. “I own the lease,” he objected, causing the neighbours facial expression to change little.

  Shifting his posture, he squinted barely detectibly before addressing Matthew again, his discomfort at engaging with this odd old acquaintance clear. “I don’t know about that, but the previous lady has gone travelling.”

  What? She must be searching the globe for him. It made sense. Unless… of course. That was the story, but the truth would be she’d been relocated with Debbie and Abi. It’s what he’d anticipated with every step walking here.

  “You don’t know where she’s gone, do you?”

  The neighbour shook his head. A sly smile crept onto his lips. “Sister you say?”

  Matthew nodded.

  “Which one of you was adopted, then?”

  Brow furrowed, Matthew stiffened. Why had he assumed this stranger to be what he appeared? Nothing was as it appeared. “What do you mean?” he asked, knuckles hardening, buried in his pocket.

  Despite his hidden hands, the man picked up on Matthew’s change in attitude; almost as though he’d expected it. He pushed himself up from the wall, ready for what wasn’t clear yet. “Well, you can’t expect me to believe that Thu Ling is your sister, mate. Who are you, and how the fuck did you get in here?”

  Matthew lunged, thrusting his hands from his pockets to the man’s collar in a stiff manoeuvre which despite its lack of poise still had the man rammed against the wall.

  Matthew forced his wiry forearm into the man’s throat, muffling his cry, “Sarah! Call the police!”

  It seemed unlikely Sarah had heard, or even that she existed. His eyes were wide. Pin-prick pupils struggling to keep his relentless stare belied his bluff. If she was real and was now on the phone, Matthew reckoned he had a good few minutes before anyone would arrive. Enough time to force this arsehole into giving up what he knew.

  Thrusting his arm further into the man’s throat, he released only when the choking looked like it might prove more damaging than useful.

  “Who are you? Who do you work for? And what have they done with my family?” Releasing just enough for the man to answer, when he failed to do so, his flickering eyes bulged at a ferocious punch to his abdomen.

  As he convulsed, choking and rasping for breath, Matthew leaned in and pressing his dry lips into the man’s ear he growled. “Who are you, who do you work for, and what have they done with my family?”

  The man forced himself up in his first show of strength. Catching Matthew off guard, he gained ground until Matthew’s sheer force of desperate will thrust him backwards again.

  Clawing at the bannister as he stumbled over his feet in the tumult, the man pitched headlong down the short flight of stairs coming to a confused crash at the bottom. Matthew leapt the few steps and loomed over him, adding a sturdy body kick for good measure. “I won’t ask you nicely again!”

  Cowing in the onslaught, the man spat his retort, blood mixing with saliva staining the floor as he spoke. “I don’t know what you’re on about. I don’t know your fucking family, you weirdo!”

  About to exact further torture on the lying bastard, Matthew stopped in his tracks at the “Stop. Police!” echoing from the foyer below. Snarling at the man, and cursing how the unexpectedly real Sarah had managed to get the police here so quickly, Matthew knew he couldn’t let them take him. His family were in danger, and he wasn’t prepared to lose them.

  Plying the heavy fire extinguisher from the wall, Matthew jumped the first few steps, ran along the landing and leaped the next flight in a single bound. The momentum when he collided with the policeman on the next stairwell was sufficient to knock him flying.

  As he lay winded, Matthew could see him bark warnings into his epaulette radio, but not fast enough. When Matthew encountered the officer’s colleague at the doorway, he hurled the fire extinguisher crashing it into the policeman’s shoulder, felling him to his knees.

  As Matthew side-stepped him, he slumped to his face with a groan. Matthew had made it fifty metres along the towpath before looking back he saw the first officer in fast pursuit. Matthew increased his pace. He’d never been one for running, but now he found his long legs were perfect for the job. A glance back confirmed it; he was gaining ground on his pursuer.

  More blue lights on the road beside him were the first indication there were more of them. As two burly men rushed at him from the side, Matthew could see two more a
hundred metres away, hurtling towards him.

  Despite having gained ground on the first policeman, there was no chance he could make it back. There was only one escape route open to him, and in this cold, it might kill him. Matthew saw no choice.

  Running at full speed, he launched himself high into the air at the perfect trajectory to fly far from the path. The icy water parted at his feet, the hospital jogging bottoms protecting him from the worst of the shock. His slippers, jumping ship, drifted away in an eddy towards the bank.

  By miraculous chance, the huge duffle coat ballooned in the down force of Matthew’s descent and now buoyed him along the fast flow of the river, watching from a comfortable distance as one of the policemen dived in after him.

  Thrashing arms achieved little in their pursuit. Apart from needing to leave the water at an unexpected point, and requiring fresh, dry clothes, Matthew was home free. Free to do whatever he could think of to get at the truth. But ideas were dangerously depleted.

  He wasn’t dead yet, and while he still had breath, he wouldn’t rest.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As the duffle jacket soaked up more of the rapidly flowing Avon, its buoyancy diminished. Edging himself to the bank, his choice of where to exit the freezing water was limited to his ability to withstand the cold.

  The coat and layers of other clothes had prepared him for the shock, but it couldn’t repel the cold forever. Without something dry to wear, Hypothermia was a certainty.

  If he managed to find some coins, he might be able to dry his clothes at a launderette. A long shot, perhaps, but he took heart that he’d found change left in machines one time when they’d used the laundrette whilst they waited for a delivery of a new washing machine years ago.

  He recognised where he was, having chartered the river hundreds of times, and he remembered a launderette not too far away. Maybe lady luck would grace him with her presence. God knows, he needed it.

  Exiting unnoticed from the river at a convenient slipway was easy enough, but walking to the laundrette with a puddle pooling beneath him would surely get some looks; memorable looks that could be passed onto the local constabulary.

  What choice did he have? He hoped that the night time inhabitants of the Powders Laundromat were not busy-body informers. When the smell of recreational herb greeted his approach, it seemed a safe bet.

  A scruffy man sat on the front step, his fat blunt the obvious source of the odour. Ignoring Matthew until drops of water splashed down, his mellowness quickly gave way to a tirade of abuse.

  As Matthew side-stepped him, he hunched in the doorway and went back to puffing on his joint. The room was empty but for baskets and bags of washing dotted around that people were trusting would be there when they returned.

  Several machines were running, washers and driers. From the dial, Matthew could see the drier furthest away had the most time to run. His clothes were too wet to add to the load tumbling round, but if he removed them one at a time and rung them out, maybe it would work.

  Or maybe he should have a look in some of the bags? Double checking that pot-head was his only company, he smiled thinking of him as an early warning of a disturbance.

  The first bag eluded giving away the jackpot, but by bag three, Matthew had pieced together a fair wardrobe. Not his usual attire, and all the better for it.

  Prizing out the sodden shoes he’d stuffed into his pocket in his attempt at a quiet approach to Mandy’s front door, he thought it a pity they weren’t laundry items too. Blatantly opening a drier, he popped them in with whoever’s clothes were occupying the machine and closed the door. The damp garments provided useful cushioning for the boots as they clumped around and around.

  While they dried, Matthew removed his joggers, his modesty maintained by the long coat. Replacing them with jeans he’d found folded and warm, he cringed as they wrinkled the baggy boxers he’d already found in another bag. Someone else’s pants—nice.

  Taking off the coat, he checked the pockets, confirming the rest of the items he’d acquired at the charity clothes bank had been lost to the Avon’s current, he added it to the drier. He couldn’t afford to leave that behind. Removing the last of his hospital attire, he stuffed them into the bin filling the corner of the room and put on a new shirt and jumper.

  He looked clean, and smelled okay considering his river bath, the floral fabric clothes softener helped. A woman walked in tapping away at her phone and Matthew remembered his desperation to use Malcolm’s SIM-less one.

  She looked up at him but didn’t give him a second glance, still tapping on her phone screen as she walked to a machine; thankfully not one containing Matthew’s coat and shoes. Her disinterest indicated he wasn’t sporting her husband or boyfriend’s shirt and jeans.

  As she emptied one machine into another, Matthew removed his coat and shoes and put them on. She stared at him forcing the leather back into shape. Her next text would surely mention the odd man in the laundrette. But it didn’t matter. Matthew was ready.

  Plucking the pile of other people’s clean washing he’d gathered, he placed them carefully into the empty bag an unfortunate someone had planned to take their washing home in. Oh well. His need was greater.

  Mouthing a combined thank you and sorry to the powers that be, Matthew stepped back onto the street, confident he looked very different to the description that would be circulating. That was, of course, until someone reported the theft of clothes.

  The disastrous campaign to retrieve his life had to pause. He had to lie low or risk arrest. His priority now had to be food and warmth. For that, he’d learn from the masters. Striding with confidence to one of the city’s less desirable areas where he knew from experience homeless beggars frequented, he would keep warm with his vagrant comrades for a couple of nights; eating what they ate and sheltering where they sheltered. God, how had it come to this?

  Stopping dead in his tracks, the distraction of putting into place what he had thought until today would be a joyful reunion had kept him from connecting with his emotion. Facing the graffiti tarnished walls (albeit some of them priceless works of art) allowed it to flood him, brimming and cascading in a torrent of despair.

  He couldn’t take another step. A tremble turned to a violent shake. Cold and hungry, Matthew’s need for shelter was outweighed by the overwhelming trauma that all hope was lost. Nearly. Hiding his face with the collar and hood of the duffle coat, tears refused to come. Instead they prickled at the back of his eyes, focusing needle-sharp rage at the street.

  No! Now wasn’t the time for despair. Now was the time to re-energise and come back stronger. They wouldn’t be expecting that. But they didn’t know Matthew Morrissey.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The girls were loving the zoo. Debbie could take heart in that. She was pleased, no, more relieved, that Abi was taking Matthew’s absence so well, but she resented her too.

  He was in trouble. She knew it. The rest of the family’s willingness to believe he’d just upped and left—on Christmas Day of all days—left her feeling distant. She didn’t want to come to terms with having lost him because she didn’t believe she had.

  “Come on, Mummy! Come and see the red pandas. They’re so cuuute!”

  Debbie sighed and shuffled from her bench. Pushing up on her thighs, she struggled to find the motivation to stand. But she did. And she cooed over the red pandas and the baby gorillas and the penguins. When it was time to leave, she picked up gifts and souvenirs from the shop, just as she’d done the last time they’d come here as a complete family. And every second hurt.

  “Matthew, where are you?” she sighed under her breath. “Where on earth are you?”

  The lounge had been moved around again. She’d thought they were trying to expunge Matthew from their lives and that made her angry. But moving things around again seemed pointless. It was her house, not theirs (apart from Abi, of course.)

  What were they even doing here? Their return, having left after Christmas, had
been gradual. Cooking for her one night, Charlotte sleeping over another, and now she wasn’t sure if they ever went home at all. They always seemed to be around whenever she engaged enough with her surroundings to notice.

  Abi might take comfort from their company but they were no comfort to her. They were a constant drain on her optimism.

  In fact, they’d stopped her doing things that could find him. With all their busy-bodying and re-arranging furniture, and days out. She didn’t know what she could have done; she’d exhausted her brain. But if she’d been left alone, maybe she could have thought of something else.

  If they’d left her in peace, perhaps she’d have fallen into a deeper depression. Okay, she conceded; almost definitely, and where that would have left Abi? She couldn’t bear to think about it. But it didn’t mean she had to like it. She’d ask them to leave. Or at least find out when they were planning on doing so.

  Slumping down on the sofa, she ignored the gratitude that had fossilised into resentment that Abi was content, happy even, and closed her eyes. Sleep was her only refuge, and even that betrayed her, giving into restlessness throughout the night. Exhausted, she forced her eyes shut.

  When she heard the banging, she wasn’t sure if it was a dream. Pricking her ears, she was sure. Someone was at the front door. “Great! Why has no-one answered it? I’m exhausted!” she called out to whoever might be listening. But no-one came, and the banging persisted.

  “Fine! I’ll go.” Flouncing as much as her exhaustion would allow her, she reached the door. Instinctively pulling the chain over, as she pulled it open ready to give whoever was disturbing her short shrift, she let out a gasp.

  Waiting on her doorstep stood the police lady she’d seen a few times before. She’d taken notes and sympathised in a supremely professional manner. Swaying in shock, Debbie watched detached as the warm smile rested uneasily on the police woman’s face. Unsure if she was to be allowed into the Morrissey home, she blurted out her key information at the door.