by Ryan Casey
“No, seriously. You’re an idiot of the highest order. You could’ve been having a heart attack.”
“I wasn’t having a heart attack.”
“Then what was that downstairs?”
“I just got a bit hot, that’s all.”
“A bit hot?”
“What?”
“Jesus, Brian. You going through menopause or something?”
“Not funny. And slightly sexist.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Betty Friedan.”
“Now you’re mocking feminism. Remind me why we got together again?”
Hannah smiled. She held on to Brian as the pair of them lay in bed. It was dark outside, the only light from a streetlight just up the road that glared in through their window. Brian found it annoying at first, but it soon settled him. They’d moved here a few months back after the incident with the old house. Hannah had got caught up in the fire. Brian had seen the true power of the Children of the Light and he didn’t want to mess with them again.
Now, they lived in a more residential area, a more built-up area, which was always busy. They had top-notch CCTV. State of the art surveillance.
Not once had they needed it. Everything had gone quiet. It looked like Brian’s contact had come through after all.
But still, he worried.
“Jokes aside,” Hannah said, her smooth legs brushing across Brian’s. “I worry about you.”
“You shouldn’t worry about me.”
“Don’t say that. It’s a fucking stupid thing to say. Of course I worry about you.”
She leaned over and kissed Brian’s lips. He could taste the wine on her tongue. “I probably shouldn’t be kissing you with all that booze on your lips.”
“I’m sure we can make allowances this once.”
“Maybe I’ll kiss somewhere else instead.”
Brian went to kiss Hannah’s neck but she moved away and turned over.
“Or maybe not,” Brian said.
“It’s late. We should sleep.”
Brian leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Outside, he heard the quiet hum of passing traffic. He was tired, in truth. But sex kept his mind off his guilt. The guilt that gnawed away at him every day increasing his anxiety that he was going to be found out and taken away from his family.
That was another major worry. If he were taken away from his family and arrested for what happened to the chief constable, then he wouldn’t be here to look out for Hannah and Sam. He’d be inside, and anything could happen to them. All because he’d taken justice into his own hands. All because he’d made it personal.
“Did you see the look on Gavin and Alice’s faces?”
“It was magical,” Brian said.
Hannah elbowed Brian between the ribs. “Something tells me they won’t be attending our next dinner party.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
Another elbow hit Brian’s ribs.
After a few moments of silence, where Hannah was twitching around in a way that told Brian she still had something else to say, she finally turned around and put her hand on his chest, right above his pounding heart. “Your heart. It’s racing.”
“It’s always racing when I’m beside you, darling.”
“God. Don’t do soppy.”
“I not pull it off?”
“No. You sound like Alan Partridge.”
Brian smiled. He grabbed Hannah’s hand and moved it away from her chest, holding it tightly.
He looked to his right. She was still staring at him, eyes wide open.
“What?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, shaking her head.
“No go on, Han. What’s up?”
“You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Tell you what?”
“If there’s… if there’s something on your mind. If there’s something bothering you. Even if it’s something absolutely awful. Something you’ve… you’ve done. You would tell me. Right?”
Brian felt his guilt intensifying. His mouth went dry. He wanted to tell Hannah the truth. He wanted to tell her everything from the smallest things, like how he could apply for early retirement and probably get it passed within weeks on medical grounds, but he hadn’t, because he felt like he owed it to the police to bring more criminals to justice; to make up for the bad things he’d done.
He wanted to tell her all about the Children of the Light, and the ritual they’d made him a part of. He wanted to tell her about the murder he’d committed, and how he’d paid someone to clean up his mess. He wanted to tell her all about the real man he was underneath.
But he couldn’t, because he loved her.
He moved closer towards her and kissed her lips.
“There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
Hannah pursed her lips. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
She let Brian approach her lips still, opening her mouth.
Then Sam cried.
“Oh God,” Brian said, rolling onto his back.
“Don’t ‘Oh God’. He’s only a kid.”
“He’s two years old now,” Brian said.
“And you’re telling me you didn’t have nightmares when you were two? Anyway, get that ticker exercised. It’s your turn.”
Brian hobbled out of bed, weary-eyed, and made his way towards Sam’s room. He stepped inside and turned the little nightlight on. Sam was holding on to the railings of his cot dressed in his little blue pyjamas. His nose was runny, and tears filled his innocent little blue eyes. His dark hair was tufted up on his head.
“Scared. Scared.”
Brian felt his heart melt when he saw his son, every time he saw his son.
“Come on, young man,” he said, lifting him from his cot and holding him in his arms. He rocked him gently from side to side. “It’s okay. You don’t have a thing to worry about. Not when Daddy’s here.”
He wanted to tell Sam he’d always be here.
But he wasn’t sure.
He just wasn’t sure.
He kissed Sam’s soft head and held him tighter to his chest.
A tear rolled down his cheek as the memories of what he’d done nagged at his soul once more…
Four
Dan Barson had to admit the water at Baker’s Inn was tasting pretty fucking nasty today.
It was late, but his shift as night manager-cum-caretaker-cum-whatever the fuck he was, was only just starting. He’d only just got back from holiday and already he’d been reeled in by yet another hotel guest about the dodgy tasting water. He didn’t think much of it at first. They were always getting complaints like this. After all, it wasn’t the Ritz he was working at—it was the Baker's Inn. Even though he was one of the night managers, he knew what a shithole this place really was. “Escorts” met up with businessmen. Drug deals went down. There were even talks of murder back in the seventies. Seemed like this place had always had a reputation.
But there’d been something particularly off about the taste of that water and the many residents complaining about it. Not just the taste, but a weird brown colour, sulphur smell and low pressure. Water was something we relied on, after all. He didn’t want to be the man who poisoned all his guests all because he was too lazy to check on the tanks. And sure, it should be Bobby’s job to see to this, but he’d fucked off somewhere. Creepy fucker.
He’d just have to check himself.
He stepped in the lift and stood under the flickering lights. Looking back at the hotel corridors in the middle of the night always made his skin crawl. It was so quiet, but there was such a sense of life in this place, like nobody was really sleeping. After so many years of so many visitors, it felt like the ghosts of this place were still living between these walls; like a trace of everyone who’d ever visited was still trapped here, somehow.
Their smell most definitely was, that was for sure. This place smelled like shit.
The doors closed, the lights flickered, and the lift sparked in
to action. It moved creakily upwards in a way that made Dan question why he didn’t just use the stairs. Answer? Well, he got his answer when he caught his reflection in the mirror beside him. He was a fat fuck. A dishevelled, hunchback fat fuck with a dodgy bald patch and clothes way too skin-tight for him. He used to be a looker. He used to have ambition. Where did it all go wrong?
He ignored the stench of his own sweat and stepped out of the lift doors. It didn’t quite take him to the roof—he needed to make his own way to the roof. They’d put security measures on getting to the roof a while back after some nutty foreigner threatened to jump. It wasn’t ideal, it required effort, but if it stopped people using his hotel as a diving board into the next life, then it was worth the trade-off.
He went to the first set of doors and unlocked them with his key code. 6-5-2-4-6-3. Headache to remember, especially when it changed on a monthly basis.
The door bleeped red, refusing to let him enter.
He smiled a little at that and entered the code again. They’d found a way to make it so that even when the key code was correct first and second time, it’d send an error warning. Just a way of putting uncertainty into anyone’s minds, even if they thought they had got the code. There were warnings of an alarm that’d go off if the code was wrong a third time.
But Dan didn’t have the wrong code.
He entered it again, and the door clicked open.
He walked into the musty-smelling staircase area and took a few deep breaths before ascending. The climb was a challenge that reminded him just how morbidly obese he was. The higher he got, the more his self-hate grew. When he reached the top of the stairs, he went over the next code in his mind and lamented this advanced security all over again.
9-4-3-5-2-5.
Red bleep.
Enter again.
Red bleep.
One more time.
In.
He pushed the door aside and stepped out onto the roof. He heard the traffic down on the Preston streets. The smell of takeaway food drifted up onto the rooftop. Somewhere to his right, he heard some dickhead shouting, some kind of argument taking place. When he looked at the buildings beside him, he saw there were a few nob heads on the roof of a nearby hotel. That’s why he had the security measures like this in this place. Didn’t want to attract any tossers.
He walked over to the water tank. There were three of them, all stationed beside one another.
He pulled out a ladder and climbed to the top of the first tank. When he reached the top, he saw right away what the problem was.
There was bird shit all over the place. Fucking hell. How’d a bird managed to find its way into the system? Dan hoped it hadn’t been dead in there long. There’d be an absolute inquest.
But as he mopped away some of the bird shit with his sleeve, he couldn’t help feeling weird about all this. How’d a bird got under a lid like this?
He tucked his fingers underneath the water tank lid and pulled it up as hard as he could.
It took some effort. Some real shitting effort. It barely budged. Eventually, he felt it shifting. Damnit. A bird had not only got inside this tank, but it’d managed to pull the tank lid back over itself? Not possible. Not possible at all.
He started to think maybe it was the caretaker messing around playing some kind of prank. He knew Bobby was angry he hadn’t got a pay rise recently. Maybe this was his way of revenge.
But then, Bobby didn’t know the code. How’d he got up here without a code?
And then Dan caught a whiff of the smell. He had no doubt then that this was something dead. Fucking hell. This was going to be a nightmare. Environmental Health would shut this place down if they knew the truth.
It was at that moment that Dan saw something. Something bobbing around in the water below. He couldn’t work out what it was, so he held out his torch.
When he saw it, he nearly slipped inside the tank.
He backed away and puked, luckily not inside the tank, or that’d put him in even more shit. Fuck. Had he just seen what he thought he’d seen? No. This couldn’t be true. His mind was playing tricks. Or some fucker was playing tricks.
He steadied himself then looked back inside the water tank.
When he saw it again, goosebumps spread up his arms and more vomit crept up his throat.
Lying in the water tank around six inches from his face, there was a woman.
Her eyes were wide and bloodshot.
Her skin was turning green.
She was naked.
Dead.
Five
All these damned years in this job and news of a dead body still made the hairs on Brian’s arms stand on end.
It was a beautiful day. Well, that’s what the weather reporters said anyway. In truth, it was a sweaty-as-shit day. Brian had tried to dress lighter than usual in a thinner shirt, but he’d started sweating the moment he put it on. He shouldn’t complain, really. Britain was lucky to get weather like this, never mind the north of Britain. At least he wasn’t a fat bastard anymore. He had that in his favour.
He stood outside the Baker’s Inn hotel right in the centre of Preston. There’d been a call in the early hours, and the hotel had been put on lockdown ever since DS Finch arrived at the scene. Apparently, it was a weird case of something being where it shouldn’t be.
That something being a dead body.
“We gonna stand here all day gawping at this hotel or are we actually heading inside?”
Brian looked to his left. DC Annie Sanders stood there beside him. She was short, with dark hair and a smug smile on her face. “I was thinking I’d stay here a little longer.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not too fond of that idea. Let’s get in there and get this seen to.”
Brian and Annie made their way inside Baker’s Inn. He liked Annie. She’d always been a good cop. She hadn’t been working here a long time, but he was confident she was going to go very far. He teased her sometimes and told her he was leaving his boots for her to fill. She didn’t seem too keen on filling a “sweaty old man’s” boots.
They walked into the reception area. Right away, Brian got the vibe that this place was seedy. It was a strange place, really. It was a hotel he and the majority of Preston saw every day, towering right above the bus station. Something of a landmark, in all truth. But Brian couldn’t ever remember going inside, which was weird considering just how long he’d been in the police, and just how often he got reports of seediness in this place.
A bald man looked up from reception. He squinted at Brian and Annie. “You booked?”
“Something like that,” Brian said. “We’re with the police.”
The man didn’t seem to react to Brian’s revelation that he was with the police. He lifted a thumb and pointed to his right. “Lift or stairs. Lift’s a bit creaky sometimes.”
“I think we can cope with the creakiness.”
The man shrugged. “Whatever.”
Brian looked at Annie and raised his eyebrows. The way she looked back at him said it all.
They made their way across the sticky floors and into the lift. There was a musty smell in the air, like too much aftershave had been sprayed to try and cover up the real smell of this place.
The doors of the lift closed and the lift rattled its way towards the roof. “Well, he was nice,” Annie said.
“Who?”
“Creepy fella at the desk. If he’s the kind of staff working here then no wonder someone’s killing themselves.”
“We don’t know anyone’s killed themselves yet.”
“You heard what Finch had to say. Pretty standard looking suicide.”
“He said there were inconsistencies.”
“There’s always inconsistencies. Suicide is suicide. You just watch.”
The lift door opened up, and Brian jumped when he saw a man standing there waiting for them.
He was short, barely five foot eight. His back was hunched over. Dark hair clung to the sides of his head, but there
was a massive bald patch in the centre. He glared at Brian and Annie through narrowed eyes. “Officers?”
“Is, um—”
“I’m Dan,” he said. “I’m the night manager. The guy who found the body. I’m—”
“When the fuck are you gonna tell us what’s going on?”
A woman’s voice screamed out from behind Dan. She stormed down the corridor, redness to her cheeks. Behind her, Brian heard the sounds of puking.
Dan raised his hands. “I’m not on shift right now. Speak with reception if you want compensation.”
“I drank a dead girl,” the woman said. “I—I drank that manky water and you’re telling me it’s none of your business.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you.”
Annie walked over to guide the woman back to her room. She nodded at Brian to get on with his side of the investigation, clearly not that drawn by what had happened, and clearly very eager to get everything wrapped up.
“You say your name’s Dave?” Brian said.
“Dan. Dan Barson.” He led the way through the corridor towards a dark room. Brian could see light peeking through from a door at the top of some stairs through that dark room.
“And you were the one who found the body, right?”
Dan nodded as he guided Brian up the stairs to the roof. “I was getting a loada complaints about dodgy water, but I didn’t think much of it, y’know. The water’s shit here at the best of times.”
“Sounds like you’re a fan of this place.”
“It pays my bills. I don’t owe it anything. Come on, this way.”
Brian followed Dan out onto the roof. At first, he caught a whiff of the cool city air and took a lungful.
And then he smelled the damp awfulness of a decaying corpse.
Over by the tank, Brian saw the striking ginger hair of DS Finch. For a DS, he looked awfully queasy, holding a tissue over his nostrils. He nodded at Brian, and Brian nodded back.
“Anyway, I came up here with a ladder. Thought I’d check one of the tanks because I gotta admit, even my water was bad, and so too was the shit from the coffee machines.” He pointed at the ladder. By the side of the tank, Brian saw the photographer and the rest of the first officers on the scene.