Evil Beneath Us

by Laybourne, Alex

  It took a few moments for it to filter through Jeremy’s sleep-befuddled brain that he was no longer lying in bed. A few moments more were required before he realized he was standing outside. It was a cool night and once again a freezing mist had settled. Jeremy was naked, and standing on something hard. It felt like concrete. He looked around and saw that he was in the dunes. The strong light of the moon cast enough of a glow for him to see his surroundings. His head cleared with a flash. The peaceful feeling the dream had spread through his body was gone in an instant. Jeremy was standing on the top of the bunker. His arms were stretched and tears streaked his face. His clothes were scattered around his feet.

  Above the wind, which seemed to howl in his ears even though it was not strong, there was another sound. It began as a background noise, but caught his attention, nonetheless. The more he concentrated, the clearer it all became. Voices. Someone was calling him. He looked around, moving slowly, his body reacting sluggish. His heart beat slowly, but with powerful thumps that seemed to pulse through his entire body.

  Jeremy turned a half circle before he saw the source of the voice. His father was standing on the top of the bunker; a blanket in his hands. Behind him in the sand, staring up with wide, frightened eyes was his mother, while beside her stood Detective McIlroy.

  “Please, son.” The words finally broke through. “Come over here. It’s all going to be all right.” William pleaded in a tone Jeremy had never heard him use before.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jeremy answered, calling out as if his father were standing in the distance, rather than a matter of meters away. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “We do, son. We do believe you. But Jeremy, please, put down the glass before you hurt yourself even more.” William took a half-step towards his son, holding the blanket at arm’s length.

  Jeremy looked down and saw that his left hand was covered with blood; it shone black in the moonlight. Just like Simon’s had. In his right he held a shard of glass; the broken neck of a Coke bottle. Surprised, Jeremy jumped. He dropped the bottle neck, which shattered on the concrete roof.

  Sensing his moment, William strode forward and wrapped his son in the blanket. It was rough and the fibres made Jeremy’s skin burn with an itch he could not bring himself to scratch.

  Everything moved so fast. He lost track of time and in the blink of an eye he was off the bunker and walking through the sand. He had no memory of climbing down. Flanked by his father and Detective McIlroy, he felt as if he were being escorted rather than taken to the car. Nobody spoke; not to Jeremy, and not to one another.

  Jeremy sat on the back seat with Detective McIlroy by his side. His mother sat in the front passenger seat staring out of the window. His father was behind the wheel. Every time he checked the rear-view mirror Jeremy thought that he was staring straight at him.

  It didn’t take long for Jeremy to realize that they were not travelling towards home. The very fact that they turned left out of the dunes, following Beach Drive along the sea-front and across to the far side of town should have given it away, but it was only when they turned onto the road leading out of the town that he began to grow concerned.

  “Where are we going?” Jeremy asked, but he received no answer. His father continued to focus on the road, and his mother leaned even closer to the window. She had her arms wrapped around her; holding herself tight. Jeremy even looked at Detective McIlroy, hoping he would disclose some information he could use, but the experienced officer said nothing. Jeremy stared at him, but it was evident that the man would not be broken. Jeremy sighed and turned his gaze out of the window. It was dark, and they had already turned off the main road, heading out into the country. The lane was narrow and winding, not to mention poorly illuminated.

  “I asked you where we are going! You have to tell me,” Jeremy screamed, thrashing around in his seat. In the front of the car, his mother began to cry.

  “We are taking you someplace where you will be safe,” William answered after a long, uncomfortable pause, broken only by Sandra’s sobs.

  “What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, confused. The car felt small, he was trapped and wanted nothing more than to get outside. To stand by the road and feel the wind of passing cars rush over him.

  “I just mean some place that you can stay a while. A place where you can get some help, you know. To help you cope with what happened.” William gave the answers, but his voice was already becoming distant. He cut the emotion from his speech with a surgeon’s skill.

  “You mean juvie?” Jeremy stared at Detective McIlroy as the realization dawned on him. “That is why he is here, isn’t it? He is going to arrest me for murdering Simon and then off to juvie Jeremy goes.” Jeremy was enraged, and his fury only served to increase his mother’s wails.

  “Calm down, Jeremy,” Trevor McIlroy, his father’s long-time friend spoke. He reached out and placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

  “Get your hands off me,” Jeremy snapped, rage consuming him. He swung out, his hand striking Trevor in the chest.

  “Jeremy,” William roared, slamming his foot on the car’s brake. Everybody flew forward and snapped back into their seats at the sudden change in momentum.

  “No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine, William,” Trevor answered quickly, turning in his seat so that he looked at Jeremy from a more direct angle. “Jeremy, you are not going to juvie, and you are not under arrest. But, you do need help. We are only talking about a few days in a place that is away from everything. Where you can talk to people who can help. Help you come to terms with what happened, and help us to help you.” Trevor tried hard to reassure Jeremy, while William pulled the car to the side of the road, waiting to see how his son would react before getting their journey back underway.

  “I don’t need help, Trevor. I know exactly what happened,” Jeremy spat, putting all of his venom into speaking the detective’s first name. “I know what I saw. Go dig in the sand. You will find something.” Jeremy’s heart sped in his chest, and his mouth turned dry. The sensation of being trapped only grew. If anything, it felt as if the car was shrinking around them.

  Jeremy began to panic; his chest tightened, his breathing became shallow and frantic. He reached for the door, not caring if the car was stationary or in the fast lane on a busy motorway. He needed to get out, but the door was locked, and wouldn’t open from the inside. Next he tried for the window, but that too was locked. The override control by the driver’s seat at been engaged.

  “What is this?” Jeremy cried out.

  “It is for your own protection, son,” William answered. He didn’t look at his son as he spoke, but seemed to further concentrate on the road before them, his demeanour once again changing.

  Chapter 4

  They drove for close to an hour before they pulled into a long driveway. The dawn was already beginning to tease the new day into existence. Since their earlier altercation, the journey was in near silence. Jeremy had sat, stewing in his anger at the way he was being treated. It felt as if they were kidnapping him. Sandra cried most of the way, before falling into what could have just as easily been unconsciousness as it was sleep. William and Trevor had exchanged a few brief words, but nothing that was in danger of being considered a conversation.

  The car came to a stop a few meters off the road, and Trevor jumped out, his door not subject to the same locked terms and conditions as Jeremy’s. Looking through the windshield, Jeremy saw that a large gate blocked their path. Trevor was leaning against the left-hand pillar. He was talking into an intercom. A few moments later he returned, and with a click, the gate released its lock and swung open, granting them passage.

  They drove slowly, and Jeremy saw an expansive garden running alongside both sides of the drive. It was nothing fancy. No topiary art or anything that resembled lawn furniture, but it looked well maintained in the pre-dawn haze.

  They pulled up outside an enormous stately home. Once undoubtedly the central point of some title-laden household.
It had fallen into the pit of government control; transformed from something majestic into something clinical. The driveway changed from paved road to shingle. It widened to form a large circular parking area in the front of the building. A sign hammered into the ground at the point where paving and shingle met, read Westshire County Treatment Centre. The name was enough of a clue. Jeremy didn’t need to look at the orderlies in their white scrubs, nor the doctor that they flanked, to know exactly what sort of place he had been brought to.

  “I’m not crazy.” He began to protest, but the car came to a stop, the shingle crunching beneath the wheels. The orderlies were at the door before Jeremy knew it, and he was hauled from the car and held firmly between them.

  The two men led Jeremy towards the house, making no attempt to hide their rough-handed tactics.

  The doctor had remained standing at the top of the steps, and as they ascended, he held his hands out to either side of his body like a shepherd welcoming the newest member of his flock. He was wearing a shirt and tie, but it was dishevelled. The shirt untucked, the tie just a little too crooked to be anything but a rush job. Even Jeremy, who couldn’t remember the last time he had worn a tie, could tell the difference.

  “Welcome.” The doctor spoke to the adults, ignoring Jeremy who was starting to resist with a higher intensity than he had at the base of the steps.

  “Thank you for taking him so quickly.” William reached out and shook the doctor’s hand.

  “Oh Will … Mr Clark, it was my pleasure. I am always ready to help out another lost soul.” Jeremy was not sure if he had heard what he thought he had. There was no time to dwell on it, for the mental distraction allowed the orderlies to assume an even tighter control over his movements. With his feet dragging on the floor, Jeremy was hauled inside.

  “Let me go. Motherfuckers.” Jeremy snarled, kicking out at the man on his left. He was the smaller of the two, but that wasn’t saying much given the solid, muscular condition of both men.

  The orderlies paid Jeremy no mind.

  “Take him to his room. Room 314 is free. I would like to talk to his parents first. Make sure he is comfortable and I will be along to see him later.” The doctor spoke to the orderlies. “Oh, and I know it’s late, or maybe it is early, but either way, I am sure there is something to eat in the kitchen. Would you arrange for a plate to be sent up?”

  Jeremy didn’t have time to take in his surroundings, nor was he in the state of mind to recall what he was seeing. He was too busy resisting the strong hands that ushered him through the entrance hall. All he knew was that he was being taken to the right, and away from his parents. They, along with Trevor McIlroy, were ushered away to the left, disappearing quickly from view. Jeremy entered a long corridor. It was poorly lit and the entire experience was disorienting. Jeremy was ushered into a small elevator, the confines cramped with the two large men on each side. Neither was willing to take a step forward or back, to create any additional room. The odour of their closeness only became apparent when the doors closed. Jeremy was almost glad when the doors opened and he was led on towards his room. The air was cooler on the upper floor, and the lighting strong enough for Jeremy to at least see where he was.

  Doors lined either side of the hallway, each one identical; closed, and presumably locked. Wall lighting was placed on alternating sides of the hallway, with low wattage bulbs that cast a murky hue. The linoleum floor echoed their footsteps; the guards’, not Jeremy’s, for he was still barefoot. His shoes had not been found in the dunes. To Jeremy, it sounded like an army was marching behind him, chasing him. His heart pulsed and he wanted to struggle, but knew that it was useless.

  “In here,” one guard commanded as he released his grip on Jeremy in order to wrench open the door.

  With no time to argue, Jeremy was thrown into the room; stumbling to try to keep his balance, he failed and fell to the floor. The door slammed shut and the locks turned, sealing Jeremy in his new home.

  Hauling himself to his feet, Jeremy sat down on the bed which was covered with nothing but a green, woollen blanket. He looked around, took a deep breath and allowed the tears to flow.

  Jeremy’s hand ached, and his deep sobs shook his body to the core. His shuddered exhalations seemed to echo through the gash in his palm. It had stopped bleeding, but the scab was still soft and wet. Every time he moved his hand he could feel the congealed coating tear, and a pink hued liquid oozed out.

  With his emotions under control, Jeremy looked around the room. Better to know the lay of the land, he told himself.

  The bedroom was sparsely furnished: a hard plastic chair, a small, single door cupboard with two narrow drawers underneath, and a table top screwed into the wall, were the main items. The light bulb was bare, contained behind a square plastic box. The ceiling was painted white, and the walls had suffered a similar decorative fate. The floor was a black linoleum.

  The room had been decorated and refurbished to look clinical, to look like a hospital – a sanatorium – Jeremy prompted himself. Yet, there were certain features of the house that could not be hidden and showed the true regal qualities the building possessed. High ceilings, large windows, wooden floors, beneath the cheap covering it had been given. There was also a large alcove which could have served all manner of purposes, but had, for the sake of convenience, been converted into an open air toilet. The bowl was stainless steel just like the one he had been forced to use in the police cell when he had been waiting for his interview to begin.

  As everything calmed around him, Jeremy felt a new emotion begin to surge through his body. Fear. For the first time since Simon had disappeared, Jeremy’s mind had settled, and he did not like the feeling that his settled mind generated.

  Afraid to lie down, fearful of what sleep might bring, Jeremy felt a fresh wave of tears stinging his eyes. He wept until he had nothing left to give. He cried for Simon, and he cried for himself. He wept because nobody believed him, and he wailed because he knew that monsters lurked in the shadows, and that they had free reign over everything.

  There was a single small window in the room. It was barred and sealed by a plastic sheet which was screwed into the wall. Jeremy stood up and peered through the bars. The plastic was filthy, greasy. It was the still dark out, and there was not as much as a street lamp in the distance that gave Jeremy a point to focus on. It was as if he had been taken out of existence, and placed in purgatory.

  Lost, with no sense of time or place, Jeremy felt himself sink into a depression that threatened to consume him. For a brief second, respite came. A light appeared beyond his window. Jeremy jumped, his heart beating a quick step. It sank when he saw his mother get into the passenger seat of the car. Her silhouette easy to identify even in the meagre light offered by the car. Jeremy watched as his father positioned his mother into her seat, moving her like a doll. He even leaned in and fastened the seatbelt for her. Jeremy watched as his father closed the passenger door. A moment later the light appeared again. His father settled into the driver’s seat and Trevor McIlroy into the back. The engine turned and they drove away. Jeremy watched the red tail lights grow smaller and smaller until they blinked out of existence.

  They had left him. Without as much as goodbye.

  Jeremy pounded his fist on the plastic window cover, cursing his family with every word he knew. Continuing with fabricated words once his existing vocabulary had been exhausted.

  Jeremy felt a shudder run through his body, and in the blink of an eye everything changed. The room was spinning. Jeremy felt giddy; lightheaded and distant. As if he didn’t belong in the scene his body occupied. He looked around. The window cover was covered in blood. It had been smeared over every inch of the clear surface. Jeremy looked at his hand. It throbbed, and with each contraction blood dripped onto the floor where the dark-coloured linoleum hid the spreading puddle with remarkable effectiveness.

  Jeremy collapsed back onto the bed, feeling more unwell with each beat of his heart. He took little comfort in the
fact that the strong steady beat was a good sign.

  A few moments later, there was a heavy clunk from the hallway, and with a groan the door was opened. In the opening, Jeremy saw the same doctor that had intercepted his parents upon their arrival. He was surely also the same man who had shook their hands and showed them the door as they left. He was once again flanked by the two orderlies, and this time one of them was holding a metal tray. On it sat a nearly folded grey surgical cloth.

  The sight of the cloth and tray made Jeremy jump. “Get out!” he snapped. “Leave me alone.”

  “Calm down, Jeremy”, the doctor spoke. His voice was calm and soothing. He was an older man, in his sixties, with grey hair that covered his head with a crazy mop. He had an equally grey bushy moustache which hid his upper lip. It was nestled beneath a bulbous nose which looked as if it had been broken more than once over the years.

  “Leave me alone,” Jeremy repeated. He jumped up from the bed and the second orderly made a move to go past the doctor, to block Jeremy’s path. The doctor, however, stuck out his arm and held the man at bay with the nonchalant ease with which a master might control a well-trained dog.

  “Don’t worry, Eric.” He spoke in the same calm tones, and the orderly obeyed without question. “I understand what you must be going through, Jeremy. Trust me when I say we mean you no harm. I am Doctor Marshall, and I run this establishment. These two gentlemen here are Eric and Tyrone.” Doctor Marshall pointed to each man in turn. “They are here to assist me while I suture the wound on your hand, which I can see now has started bleeding again.” His voice was the stereotypical voice of a physician; caring and relaxed. “See for yourself,” he added, pulling back the surgical cloth to reveal the contents of the tray.

  Jeremy leaned over and peered at the instruments. His eyes fell on two syringes that were filled with clear fluid. “What’s in those?” he asked bluntly, not seeing the point in hiding his distrust.