A Killer Among Us

by Rhys Stalba-Smith

  No, Ethan said, ignoring Charlie. You’re gonna help me Charlie. Under my bed is a can of petrol. I bought it during the week. I smuggled some matches out of the kitchen in case they went out, he was looking at the candles. The lone one burning. But we seem fine. He came over to Charlie on the floor. Gonna help me aren’t ya Charlie? Be a good mate.

  Charlie frozen on the floor, eyes not leaving the body. The worms still writhing. He wanted to scream and run. He could never help Ethan. Yet Ethan had proved what he was capable of, was Charlie no different? Would he kill him too? That scared Charlie more than he ever thought it would’ve. He used to think they were kids, none of what they did was serious. But this?

  What about my sister? Charlie asked.

  What about your sister? Ethan replied, fetching the can of petrol out.

  How’d you—But Charlie’s question got drowned out by the sloshing of liquid as Ethan began emptying the petrol onto his old bed. Drenching the dead pastor. How did you know she was dead?

  Like I said, heard it from the copper as he spoke with Philips.

  But the police only left our house not long ago.

  Well you don’t forget stuff like that easily Charlie. Ethan was frustrated that Charlie was holding him up. He stood, can at his side, candle flickering in the background, the cap in his hand. You know, you said she was reaching for the window. Like she didn’t want to die. In the tub too. Ethan shaking his head.

  Charlie went cold. His face white.

  What? Ethan asked. The candle really flickering behind him.

  I never said she’d been in the tub, Charlie said. Realisation truly coming. I took her out. When the police came, when Mum and Dad came, she was in a towel on the ground.

  Well then he said that you’d told him that. Ethan unsure now.

  I never told the policeman that, Charlie said quietly. You would only know that if you were there. If you’d seen her like that.

  Ethan said nothing.

  Were you there?

  Don’t ask that question Charlie.

  Were you there?

  Ethan said nothing, took the matches from his pocket. He couldn’t see the candle behind him flickering like Charlie could. I said not to ask the question Charlie. Knew you would never understand—

  You let my sister die? Charlie’s voice rose into hysteria.

  The candle became incredibly bright incredibly quick. It tasted the full hit of petrol, then—Whumpf! The small explosion enveloped the bed and reached out towards Ethan. He screamed and dropped the burning can of petrol. It clattered to the floor and the spilt petrol ignited immediately.

  Ethan dove towards Charlie, who’d been on the floor shielding his eyes. Charlie felt the body come towards him and immediately began thrashing about, hitting Ethan. The boys fighting. The flames and heat hot already. The timber floors burning.

  You let my sister die, Charlie was screaming. Swinging his fists clumsily. Wild. A strong set of hands wrapping around his throat. He couldn’t pry them off. Ethan’s eyes damaged, burning into him. He forced Charlie backwards and off him. Then he was on top of Charlie, choking him to death.

  You don’t know, Ethan said. Like a chant. Grunting the words as if they hurt him. None of you knew.

  Charlie tried to tell him that he never said. He never mentioned.

  Ethan’s eyes were tearing up. Crying as he killed Charlie. You never asked me. And I came all those times. We dug fucking holes in your backyard. You moaned about bullshit like pocket money. The fact that your sister didn’t talk anymore. You didn’t even try and listen to me. To help us.

  Charlie’s vision blurring, all he could see were the mad eyes of Ethan. He was reaching and kicking about. Then his hand brushed the burning petrol can. The metal boiling his skin. He grabbed it and swung. The can colliding with Ethan’s face, teeth blowing out of his mouth. He screamed and fell from Charlie. Charlie’s breath burning fire, the air making his throat hurt even more. He crawled towards the door. Got to his feet, grabbed the door handle. Ethan rolling about on the floor, holding his face and screaming. He tried to get to his knees but tripped on the burning boards that had broken beneath him. Charlie took one last look at Ethan Burke, panting in the smoke filled room, and opened the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Charlie stood in the shadows, watching the entrance of the warehouse. It was a rave. Ethan had sent him to a rave. People lining up in neon colours, white shirts and pants, covering themselves in paint. A few wearing masks. There was a girl at the entrance stamping people’s hands, drawing on their faces and bodies with a glowing paint. Besides her were a set of mannequins.

  After their talk in the bathroom Ralph had called Roger on his behalf, telling him he was sick and had been vomiting in the toilets at work. He’d have to do his own review himself tonight. To Carl he told another story, as they walked into his office.

  Remember about six years ago there were those phone booths with fragile glass? Exploding and breaking under pressure and heat? Carl nodded, watching Charlie with curiosity. Ralph gestured at Charlie. Our boy found one.

  Ya kidding? Carl whistled. I always thought Nolstech had lied about fixing them all. The press had plummeted their stock to the floor. Figured they said it just to keep face while the glass company worked like hell to fix ‘em.

  Yep, Ralph said. Can’t get ‘em all.

  There’s a story there, Carl said. If you want it, he said to Charlie. Keep it on the burner while your hands heal. Could probably get some compensation too?

  Just want to get back and be grateful for the job I’ve got, Charlie said.

  Carl laughed. Okay, each to their own. But you don’t get anywhere being a soft cock. Bit a fuck you would’ve probably helped you those years ago. You change your mind I’ll give you the number for our solicitor here at the paper. Weather’s is a prick, but the perfect lawyer without a single moral. They’d been given an excuse to leave when Calvin Slade walked in.

  Then Ralph had seen Charlie down to the bus stop. Made sure he’d got on. But a few stops later the phone rang. Charlie descended and answered. He was told an address and time. He would be there to know if Charlie came. If he didn’t, worse things than his hands being cut up would happen.

  So here he was down in the Port. The rave being held in an old transport warehouse, meathooks and chests lying long abandoned by the big sliding metal door. He could smell the fish guts from the nearby market behind him, rotting all day in the open air. He heard the waves splashing against the river piers. He watched the people coming and entering for almost an hour, trying to figure it out.

  Getting nowhere, Charlie lined up and couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his stomach. What did this have to do with the murders? What would him attending a rave achieve? Maybe Ethan was going to meet him, show his face like he said?

  He came to the front of the line and the girl frowned. Another huh? Few of you trying to find your youth lately. Let’s jazz you up. Charlie tried to bat her away but she tutted at him, and it reignited the pain in his hands and wrists. If you’re coming here, you play our way, she said. He allowed his face to be painted, she took his tie and tied it around his head like a bandana. Then she took some glowsticks, broke them in half and threw the contents over him. Whoops, she said. Charlie now glowed green and purple. She smiled, it copied the large cheshire cat she had on her shirt. It’s eyes where her breasts were. It’s rude to stare, she said.

  Charlie brought his eyes up. What’s with the mannequins? he asked.

  Wait till you’re inside, she said. The smile spreading wider. You’ll see.

  Charlie was ushered through the door and immediately the music hit him. He’d felt the bass while he was outside, but now it all came at him like a punch. His ears closed up and began ringing. The music whining and dipping. The beat repetitive and hitting him in the stomach. His hands stinging. There were people in trances and dancing, staring at the lasers that flashed through the air. He could smell weed burning through the masks of peopl
e he passed. Jaws chewing constantly.

  He realised the room was full of mannequins. Hundreds of them. Propped up and posed in different positions. Some wearing masks, some with rubber faces placed over them. Charlie felt sick with understanding. The music felt to pump louder as he realised what would happen. No no no no, he yelled, running forward.

  Yeah yeah yeah yeah, a man replied, grabbing Charlie into a hug. He pushed a pill into Charlie’s bandaged hand. It’ll help with the pain, he said, winking. Yeah yeah yeah!

  Charlie turned away, went to a mannequin. Fake, but draped with a rubber human face. He felt sick. Like a crash coming. His stomach lurching as he moved all over the place. Pushing through the crowd. An enormou flash! Bang. Everyone cheering. He turned towards the light. A masked DJ took the stage. Strolled to the centre console and raised his arms. Everyone screamed. Smoke pouring in from the ceiling, lasers spinning in wheels and arcs of light. Charlie felt dizzy. But he kept searching. The single bright glare resolving into a flashing pulse. Everyone became lifeless and robotic. Static movements. Frozen poses. Like the mannequins.

  Charlie pushed through the throng of people. Looking at the dolls. Boiling in the warehouse with all these people, pouring sweat. Couldn’t tell who was a person and what was a mannequin. He stumbled, losing his balance. Fell into someone.

  Sorry, he said, trying to get to his feet, jostling about between people. She was barefoot. Doesn’t that hurt? he asked.

  But when he looked up, he knew she wouldn’t answer. She was dead. One of the bodies, posed as a mannequin. Dead among the living. Rods through her body keeping her in position. Charlie screamed. Scrambled to his feet. Everyone dancing and jostling. He tried getting back to the woman. He was calling out to her. The body mannequin, but the tide pulled him away, and in a few moments in the flashing strobe he could no longer tell who she was. He looked at the mannequins around him, the people dancing.

  Charlie spun around, trying to find the edges of the room. But with all the smoke and lasers he couldn’t see. His senses overloaded. He couldn’t balance, only allow himself to be pushed by the people. He stumbled into a pillar, held on with pained hands as the throng pushed at his cuts. Hyperventilating. He had to get out. Tell the girl at the front. There was a body, would be bodies, in here. People partying around—he let go of the pillar and made for the centre of the throng of people. Certain he’d come through them.

  Again he was jostled from all directions. A loud bang and flash from towards the stage. The music stopped, everyone looked at the DJ. He looked away from the stage, shielding his eyes at the light, looking at the people, the mannequins, trying to see—but the music and darkness returned. He stumbled then, slipped on something wet. He fell on his elbows. Screamed as he jarred against the cement. The little pill he’d been carrying rolled away among the dancing feet. He felt hands trying to pick him up. Managed to get to his hands and knees, tried feeling for wetness on the floor. A mannequin nearby.

  Another body.

  Charlie crawled for it. Saw the blood leaking down the legs and onto the floor. How was no one seeing this? The body covered in neon paint, a mask over it, but clearly—Charlie made it to the base. Saw the metal stand that had been fixed to her skeleton. He was sweating, would’ve vomited had he not felt so afraid. He stood slowly, using the body to stand up. The flesh giving. He came face to face with her, hand shaking and reaching for the mask. This one wasn’t rubber. It was real. The skin peeling and rolling back. Saw the muscle beneath. Charlie let go immediately. His body shutting down and shuddering. He allowed himself to be pushed away, crying out. Pats on his back from people thinking he was having a bad trip.

  It wasn’t real, he told himself. It couldn’t be. No one could be like this. Not notice this, these bodies. But among the mannequins, the flashing light, they all looked the same. He felt the same. Alive and dead. The blindness. No one wanted to see it. They only wanted to see what they wanted to see. He was rolled around in circles, circling the drain of his fear. He bumped into more people, more bodies, more mannequins. He realised tears were flowing down his face. He was crying and people thought him in ecstasy. The music came to a lull and the crowd slowed, pulsing slowly to the slow jam. The blue lights were on. White’s everywhere turning fluorescent.

  He saw the cheshire grin and smiling eyes of the cat. The girl from the entrance growing from the image. She came towards him, stuck her tongue out with a little white pill on it. Her glowing white teeth framing her glowing white pill. Charlie’s mouth frozen open, staring. Was it real? He felt lips kissing him. Hands groping. Realised it was real and that she was kissing him, pushing the pill into his mouth. Down his throat.

  Then Charlie was spinning backwards. Laughter in his ears. Feeling his arms and body brushing up against people, mannequins again. Death on him like a cobweb in the dark. The lights overcame him again, the smoke, the lasters, he was lost. His body spinning, spinning, spinning. Down. Down. Down. Darkness. Black. Death. The world orange and red, green, bright, loud, dark, thick. The air hot and hard to breath. A small window in his mind remembering a memory like this distantly. Hard to breath in heat—he pushed it away. He couldn’t breath now. He was falling down with the music, with the world. Down down down he went. Down down down until he felt cement on his body. Hands. Face cold. Now carrying. Light as a lie. His chest expanding beyond his lungs, beyond his body, beyond the universe. Then cold. Pure, ice shattering cold.

  He was outside. Water splashed against his face. A large man, smiling at him. Fuck mate. Bit green at the gills. He laughed, slapped Charlie on the shoulder, now smiling. Take this. He pushed water into Charlie’s hands.

  Charlie sat against the outside wall of the warehouse. Gravel at his arse. His throat parched. He wanted to talk.

  Drink mate, ya need it. The man helped the water to Charlie’s mouth.

  Charlie drank. Felt his throat relaxing, the cooling liquid on his dry throat. Inside, Charlie began. Inside.

  Pretty fuck’n wild aye? the man said. He wore a tank top, paint drenching his body in the shape of snakes and eyes. They were moving. The snakes hissing. He remembered a pill briefly. The girl? The bodies.

  Inside, he began. There’s bodies.

  Yeah no shit. Mannequins mate. Not real.

  No, but, Charlie swallowed. Real bodies.

  Course mate, it’s a fucking party. He was pumping his arms.

  No dead ones.

  Nah mate, the man’s face became confused, then broadened into a smile. What ya taken mate?

  No, Charlie said, trying to get up. He wasn’t being understood. He was held down. Inside, he repeated. Real bodies.

  They’re mannequins, the man repeated. Frustrated now.

  Charlie shook his head. There’s real bodies. People are dead in there.

  Someone else outside heard Charlie. What he’d say? they asked the man. Nothing, he replied. He’s having a bad trip—

  I’m not, Charlie said. I’ve not taken any drugs. There’s bodies inside.

  They’re just mannequins. Small chatter that Charlie couldn’t understand. Isn’t he that Gardner fella?

  What’s on your elbows? A new person asked. Charlie couldn’t make out their features. Everything becoming loud, mellow, soft but hard. Charlie looked down at his elbows, held up his arms. Vicious streaks of red painting his skin. His shirt soaking in it.

  Then the man helping him swore. Talking to someone else now. Bodies, he heard said. A girl ran out now, hysterical. The world became chaos. Loud talking, panic, yelling. The music stopped. People angry. Then screaming. Afraid. Charlie tried to get up, stumbled sideways. Someone caught him, telling him it was alright.

  Where’s that fella gone talking about the bodies? Charlie heard the man that had helped him yelling. Pandemonium. Charlie wanted to answer, but another person was helping him. But they were dragging him away. They held him in a way that silenced his calls. Grabbing him tight, holding his mouth closed. They came into darkness, the sound of the people hurrying abo
ut quieting. The warehouse fading. Charlie was laid against a wall. He felt hands searching him. Bodies, he said to the person. There’s bodies in there. The person didn’t reply, just kept searching him. Hands in pockets. Around his body. Feeling his face.

  Charlie’s mouth dry, chewing his cheek. He said it again, about the bodies. They didn’t listen. He tried to move, couldn’t. Too tired. The bodies, he repeated. He opened his eyes. Saw the vague shape in the darkness. A man leaning over him. Touching him. Bodies, not mannequins, he said weakly.

  The shadow leaned down. I know. I put ‘em there.

  Then Charlie felt something hard hit the side of his head. Darkness.

  Charlie woke. Something covering his face. Felt groggy and thick. His head pounding. He brought his hands to his face, tender, couldn’t tell which either of them hurt more. Felt that it was cardboard on him. He pushed it away and saw the dark night. Stars, moon, flashing lights. He sat up, his world spun and blurred, he put hands out to balance.

  A piece of paper on his chest. Look how they conspire against you…

  Charlie read it again, then again, remembered dimly being taken from the rave. Someone dragging him off? I put ‘em there, then pain and darkness. He read the note again, this had been Ethan. His body went prickly. He crawled slowly towards the flashing lights, around a corner.

  He looked out, cars everywhere, spotlights on the warehouse, people standing and seated. Revelers from the rave mingling with police officers, statements being taken. Along the ground laying in body bags were bodies. More than the three that Ethan had told him were left. They were still bringing bodies out from the warehouse.

  Charlie’s heart was a pummel. Every inch of him telling him to run out, tell the officers everything, tell them who was behind it. He could end it all now. Then it would only be the manhunt. And with the whole state, probably country, after him, there was no way Ethan could hide for long. He could end this all now.