Although Marie turned away, she didn't have time to remove her headphones. The baby screamed like she'd never heard a baby scream before and it hurt her heart. The shrill cry reverberated through her fraying mind.
Returning her focus to the desk, Marie fumbled with the volume control and faded the child's pain out. It's not real. It's not real.
***
At least ten minutes passed before Marie finally looked at the screen again. Frankie's mouth was stretched wide and his face was covered in blood.
The baby's corpse lay discarded on the floor. An angry gash ran across its little throat and a line of claret was drizzled between it and Frankie.
When there was a nudge in the back of her chair, Marie whipped her headphones off and spun around. Rage burned through her when she looked up at her boss. This was all his doing.
Doug scratched the stubble on his double chin. "So you saw it then?"
Although she opened her mouth, the words didn't come.
"You were the only one. When I told them what I wanted to happen, the programmers refused to watch it. I'm guessing it went well?"
How did she end up working for such a prick?
"I'm sorry you had to watch that, dear. Next time I'll give you a heads up."
It was a challenge to even look at the man. Marie turned back to the image of the broken Frankie. At least she was still far enough out of shot to not be recognised, and at least Doug hadn't watched it as it happened. There was no way she would have been able to hide the connection between her and Frankie then.
Before she could say anything, shooting pains tore through her stomach. She grabbed her desk and squeezed hard.
"Marie? Are you okay?"
Marie stood up, her chair knocking into Doug. She then pushed him aside to get to the retina scanner, pressed her face into it, and ran to the bathroom.
***
She slammed the flimsy toilet cubicle shut and the entire stall shook.
Her hands were clumsy as she fumbled with the lock. After she'd finally slid it home, she pressed her back to the door. Driving her hand into her knickers, she pulled it back out again and stared at her trembling fingers, or, more specifically, the spots of blood that sat on them.
Chapter Forty-Two
The morning light was already trying to push through the curtains. It would have been nice to claim the bright five A.M. sun was the reason for Marie being awake, but sleep had eluded her for most of the night. As she lay listening to the birdsong outside her bedroom window, she held her stomach and her breath. It was important to keep as still as possible to give the baby every chance to show her she was okay. All she needed was the tiniest shift. A gentle push against her hand from a small foot, elbow, knee… anything. Instead, she got nothing.
It was only yesterday when she'd bled; maybe she just needed to give it a little more time.
There was no point in lying there any longer. If she had to endure much more of the stillness and silence, she was sure to lose her mind. Marie pulled the duvet back and winced, afraid to look down.
When she finally did, she saw the sheets were blood-free. Thank god.
The double bed was huge without Frankie. It was another reminder of how empty her home was.
***
The second she walked into the kitchen, she was greeted by Jules. "Coffee?"
After a deep breath, Marie spoke through gritted teeth. "Not this morning, thank you."
"Then when? I'm useless here. You might as well throw me out of the window for all the good I do."
"You know what? Maybe that's not such a bad idea." When she gripped the machine on either side, it lit up and every single bulb and warning light blinked.
"I didn't mean that, I was only joking. It's fine, I love herbal tea. Please, I'll do any—"
A sharp yank disconnected the power cable. The silence in the kitchen was exponentially more appealing than in her bedroom.
Marie opened the kitchen window wide and the dusty morning heat rushed in. There was no one outside; it was too early for that. Other than people from the estate racing to their early morning shifts, no one was up at this time on a Saturday.
"Are you sure you don't want coffee?"
"What the fuck? How are you still working?"
The tone suggested he was grinning, even if Marie couldn't see the smile. "Battery backup."
Marie crossed the kitchen in two strides and picked Jules up again.
"Come on, Marie, can't you take a joke?"
When she rested him on the window ledge, she said, "No, I fucking can't," before pushing him out.
"Arghhhhh!" Jules fell to the ground, his black power cord chasing after him like a streamer from a bicycle's handlebars. Metal and plastic exploded away from the point of impact, scattering across the street.
The slightest pang of regret ran through Marie as she stared at the wrecked machine, dark coffee leaking from him like blood. It soon passed; he was an annoying little fuck.
She then closed the window and walked away from the dead appliance. "Good riddance."
***
The burn of the hot shower pushed down on Marie's head as she stared at the floor, her tears mixing with the water.
A wipe of her hand between her legs and she winced when she pulled it back out again. It was free of blood.
It may have only been a modest bump, but there was someone in there still. There had to be. Marie gave it a gentle prod. "Come on, darling, move for Mama."
Nothing.
***
By the time Marie had stepped out of the shower, her exhausted legs wobbled and her head spun from the heat.
With her dressing gown wrapped around her, she walked into her bedroom, sat down on the bed, lifted one of Frankie's pillows to her face, and inhaled his musty scent.
Marie stared at the floor. "What am I going to do?"
Chapter Forty-Three
The bus replacement service reeked of hot dust and body odour. They still hadn't rebuilt Navidson's House train station. But it wasn't like staying at home and crying all day was going to achieve anything. She had to take action, so she had to get on the stupid vehicle.
Every bump they hit ran through Marie and she held her stomach with both hands to stop the pain.
Suddenly a screen at the front of the bus lit up and her heart jolted. The worst possible image of Frankie stared back at her. Pale, unshaven, and with wild hair, this was the image of a man on the edge. It was the image of a lunatic. Although, despite all of this, the best photo manipulation software in the world couldn't insert malice into his warm, brown eyes. Or was it just she who refused to see anything but the deep pools of compassion staring from his ragged face?
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, Hank Manifesto, Nirvana TV. Frankie Jackson was living a double life. While pretending to spend most of his time either at work or in his flat, he was constantly in and out of the estate running his terrorist network. Not even his flatmate knew what was happening, which is why we've chosen to leave her anonymous."
That was why they'd left her alone, was it? Surely, it was also because humiliating a good, hardworking citizen of Nirvana didn’t suit their agenda… yet.
Hank continued. "Even the kidnapping of the child was a ruse to throw officials off the scent of his terrorist action. But it hasn't worked. The good news this morning is that the terrorists in connection with Frankie Jackson—one of the biggest terrorist threats we've seen in a long time—have been apprehended."
The picture of Frankie was replaced with a video of police carrying body bags off the estate.
"The twelve men involved in this operation have been named ‘The Twelve Disciples’. The police are confident they've taken down the entire organisation in one raid."
This was bullshit propaganda; Frankie wasn’t involved in any of that crap.
When Hank's face reappeared, he saluted the screen. "Thank the lord for our amazing police force. You do a sterling job, lads."
Despite the screen turn
ing black, Marie continued to stare at it, loose-jawed, numb, and broken. How she could have even considered raising a child in this world? If it was dead, maybe it was for the best.
***
Fifteen minutes of walking raised Marie's body temperature to the point where sweat ran down her back. As she walked, she looked at the lavish houses on either side of the street. Several of them were being rebuilt as if a competition for the grandest home was permanently being played. What a lovely life to live.
The pavement was so immaculate that Marie considered removing her shoes before she stepped on it. There wasn't a single piece of garbage or cigarette end in sight.
Click! Click! Click! Click!
A woman in a particularly tight skirt walking her miniature poodle came up the pavement towards Marie. Red lipstick covered her intensely pouting lips, and her black, Afro-Caribbean hair was huge like a lion's mane. A scowl gripped her features, and she marched straight up to Marie before coming to a halt.
It was too much to look at the woman's intense stare, so Marie looked at her dog, who was content to doze on a hovering platform.
After a few moments of silence, Marie returned her attention to the woman. "Um… Hi?"
When there was no response, Marie tried to walk around her, but she blocked her way. She tried the other way but the woman did the same again. What was she trying to do?
The confrontation tapped directly into the exhaustion of the past few days, and Marie started to shake. A tremble wobbled her words. "Can you please get out of my way?"
"Don't be short with me, young lady."
Marie could barely hold back her response—it was either that or head-butt the bitch.
"What are you doing here?" The squawk of the woman was that of an ugly bird.
"I'm visiting someone."
"Who?"
"Not you."
Although the woman balked at the reaction, she still didn't move aside. "This is a private road, don't you know."
A bus drove past them. "If it's a private road, why is a bus driving down it? Now if you'll kindly get your skinny little arse and fat shit of a dog out of my way, I'll be moving on; unless you want me to move the pair of you myself?"
It was enough to make the horrible bitch stand aside and press herself into the railings.
***
Was it the heat or the sheer length of the road that was making the walk seem long? Whatever it was, Marie was glad when she eventually arrived at the house she was looking for. She pressed the bell on the gate at the front and waited.
When there was no reply, she raised her finger to press it again but just before she touched it, a curt voice came out of the tiny speaker. It was as if the owner of said voice had been watching her the entire time. "No need to press it again. I heard you. Who are you?"
Marie leaned close to the box and pressed it again, jumping back when it made another angry buzz.
"You don't need to press the button to speak; I can hear you. Now who are you?"
Marie cleared her throat. "My name's Marie Hadlam. You're my landlord and I need to speak to you about my property."
"I was wondering when this was going to happen."
What did that mean?
"You do realise it's a Saturday morning, don't you?" the angry voice said.
"I'm well aware of that, and sorry, but it’s urgent."
Another buzz was followed by a click and the side gate popped open. As she walked through it, the man's voice said, "Step on the conveyor belt and stay on it. You may be tempted to get off, but don't. The dogs will attack if you do."
Once Marie had stepped onto the belt, she remained dead still; her hands pressed firmly to her side and her stare directed straight ahead. The last thing she needed was to be running from dogs.
As she was carried up to the front door, two huge black salivating robot dogs appeared at her side. They walked along with her and watched her as if desperate for an excuse to tear chunks from her body. That was what they were programmed for, after all.
Once she was at the black and gold front door, she raised her hand to knock but it opened before she could.
This was the first time she'd met her landlord. He was an odd little thing. At about five feet and five inches, he was shorter than she was. Balding at the front, he still clung to a tuft of wiry hair that ran over the top of his head. The man also had slightly pointy ears and buckteeth. Why hadn't he had surgery to fix that? God knows he needed it, and god knows he had the money for it. Unless the porcine look was his thing.
Upon seeing her, his red face twisted and he looked her up and down.
Marie held her hand out. "Stuart, I'm Marie. I rent one of your flats in the Heartland block."
A look down at her hand and Stuart's top lip arced further. "Mr Routledge to you. And I know who you are."
Marie looked past him into his house. "Can I come in?"
After holding her stare for a moment longer, the piggy little man stepped aside and let her through.
Only getting as far as the huge hallway, Marie looked around with her jaw hanging loose as she took in the huge marble staircase. "This is a beautiful house."
Stuart didn't reply.
There was a chair next to a grandfather clock, so Marie sat down on it and looked up at the man.
His face contorted like it was about to turn inside out. "I didn't tell you to sit down."
Marie stood straight back up again. "I'm terribly sorry."
"Look, I'm busy; why have you come here?"
A gulp of hot air and Marie released a nervous cough. Could this man be any more of an arsehole? "Did you see the reports on the television about the boy who got held at knifepoint by his teacher?"
"Yes. The man deserved everything he got."
"And more, right?"
The nod was sharp, but there was a softening in Stuart Routledge's demeanour.
"Well, he was my flatmate."
"I know."
Of course, he knew. Surely, it was just a matter of time before the authorities paid her a visit. Would they tell Doug too? She couldn't think about that. "I hope he rots in jail. What a ghastly man," she said.
"Me too, but why are you telling me this?"
"The thing is; I now only have one income coming into the flat."
After rolling his eyes, Stuart shrugged. "Not my problem."
"No, of course not, but I was wondering if I could ask for a grace period, of say, two weeks? Just so I can find another flatmate."
The already red face turned a deeper shade of scarlet and Stuart started to shake. "No, absolutely not; I'm running a business, not a charity."
"It's just… I really can't be homeless at this point in time."
"Again, not my problem."
The tears finally broke free and Marie covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, Mr Routledge, I'm just so worried about losing my home. Please, just two weeks grace and I'll make up the back payments very quickly."
The sneer was permanent, but there was a softening in his hazel eyes. He held his hand up and showed her two fingers as if trying to convey a message of peace. "Two weeks. Not a second more."
"Thank you. I'll make sure you don't regret it."
Without replying, Stuart walked over to the door and held it open for her to leave.
***
When Marie returned to her flat, there was a huge van out the front. Its back tyre was crushing Jules farther into the ground. Poor Jules.
The fingerprint scanner didn't work on the first time of asking, so Marie wiped the sweat from her thumb and pressed against it again. The expected snap of a freeing lock still didn't come.
A harder press against it and there was still no click.
Marie looked up in time to see the driver of the van get out. "Marie Hadlam?"
"Yeeeees."
"You don't live here anymore I'm afraid, love. A couple of days ago, your landlord came to us and explained that you lived with that horrible teacher. He hired us to move you out today. We've filled t
he van with your belongings."
Stuart had this planned all along? He'd stood there and watched her beg while her flat was being emptied. "I… I…"
"I'm sorry, love, I don't make the rules. If you jump into the cab, I'll take you to your new home."
"But—"
"I'm sorry, love."
Once inside the van, Marie screwed her nose up at the smell of sweat and dirt that was woven into the fabric of the vehicle's interior. How long would it be before Doug found out she lived with Frankie? That is, if he didn't already know and was keeping it quiet for some reason. "Where are we going?"
The man sighed and scratched his head.
A cold rush of dread ran from her head to her toes. "It's the estate, isn't it?"
The driver continued staring straight ahead. "I'm sorry, love. I'm truly sorry."
Chapter Forty-Four
The journey to the estate had been carried out in silence, and when the grey brick tower blocks came into view, Marie's heart sank. Even now, when they were this close to the estate, Marie couldn't see daylight between the ugly buildings. Like weeds jostling for position in an overcrowded flowerbed, they reached for the sky to get that small amount of life-sustaining sunshine, just so they could hang on for another miserable day.
After everything she and Frankie had done, she'd ended up here anyway. Why had they even bothered? If they had fessed up about the pregnancy, at least they would be arriving together. And what was left now? Frankie stuck in New Reality to be destroyed by her horrible, fucking boss and her undoubtedly left jobless when Doug found out about everything. She turned to the van driver. "Which block will I be staying in?"
Several taps on a small device attached to his windscreen and the driver waited for a second for the information to come up. "B block."
New Reality 2: Justice Page 21