by Alex Smith
“Here we go,” said Julia. “Hometime, buster.”
Blake turned his attention to their house. Its windows were also mysteries, the interior too dark to make out. He wished he had his phone, or his laptop, something he could access the CCTV with. What was the point of buying it if he couldn’t use it to check that the house was clear?
Julia popped her door, but he grabbed her arm and shook his head. He exited the car as quietly as he could—which wasn’t very quietly—groaning his way up the path towards the front door. He walked past it and cupped his hand against the living room window, trying to see inside. It looked empty. He walked back to the door and unlocked it, pausing for a moment to look at the mark there. He ran his finger over it, wondering why it was making him so anxious—not just the horror of what it meant but something else, something he couldn’t quite make sense of. Then he stepped inside.
The alarm known as Doof rang out as soon as he entered, the dog on his hind legs and dancing against the stairgate. Blake put a finger to his lips, only serving to unleash a flurry of soft barks. He looked in the living room first, behind the sofa and the chair. Then he limped through the kitchen, checking the utility room and the back door. It took him an age to walk upstairs, but it was deserted too.
By the time he was down again, blood was leaking from one of his shoulder wounds. Julia and Connor were standing outside the front door and he waved them inside.
“Nice going, Blake,” Julia said when she saw the blood. “Go sit down.”
He did as she commanded, hobbling into the living room and lowering himself to the sofa like an octogenarian. He took a moment to recover his breath then pulled the laptop out from behind a cushion, opening it up. The CCTV software was still running and he accessed the recorded footage of the hallway camera, scrolling through the morning. He saw the delivery guy’s shadow at the door, then himself appearing, moving at 20x speed. Getting the knife, receiving the package. Shortly after that, he left. There were a few seconds of Julia tearing through the house, sorting Connor, grabbing their coats and legging it from the door. Then nothing.
The devil man hadn’t been here.
Blake switched to the live feed of the living room and saw himself sitting on the sofa. Not that he looked anything like Blake Barton anymore. He was a smudge of pale skin crumpled into the cushions, two black eyes punched into his face. He closed the laptop and laid it gently beside him.
Here, in the quiet warmth of their house, he found himself drifting. Sleep was a phantom that hovered behind him, that sought to wrap him up in darkness and pull him under. It wasn’t alone, either, because in that suffocating shadow was Adam, his face so swollen that he might have had all nine pints of blood inside it, a balloon that could pop at any moment. His eyes bulged, his fleshy lips trying to shape words, his black tongue poking out at Blake like an accusing finger.
Blake’s body jolted, pain clamping his entire torso. Had he fallen asleep? The living room lay quiet and still. He sat up, blinking.
“You okay?”
Julia was walking through the door, Connor in her arms. She put the kid down in the middle of the room and flicked on the TV.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding at the set. “Turn it up loud.”
She did, sitting next to Blake and pulling his hoodie away from his wound. She studied it for a moment.
“Stitches are fine, just a tiny bit of blood,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by the TV. She leant in and whispered. “You think it’s safe to talk like this?”
He nodded, then shook his head, pointing to the corner of the room.
“There’s a camera over there, in our selfie pic. It’s one of mine, but just in case he hacked in or something.”
Julia walked over and turned the photo and the camera to the wall. Then she thought better of it and pulled the cable out of the back.
“We should lock up the house,” she said quietly when she’d sat back down. “Secure it. We could move everything upstairs, keep watch from the landing. They’d have to come up the stairs, it would be our best chance of defence.”
And do what? Blake thought. Throw burning oil on them?
“Couple of paint cans on a string,” she said, reading his mind. “Worked in Home Alone, didn’t it?”
She tried to smile, but it was just a shadow of one.
“There’s a pickaxe in the garage, isn’t there?” she said. “From last summer.”
The thought of it, of leaning over the railing and sinking a pickaxe into somebody’s head—even into the devil man’s head—made Blake feel sick.
“They know the house,” he said, whispering into her ear. “They’ve been here, they know the layout, they know how to get in. They’ve got keys for the doors, they probably know that if you climb onto the garage roof you can get into the spare room. If they all come at once, if they come from different directions, we could be swarmed.”
Connor had used the TV table to stand and had his face pressed against the glass. Julia scooped him up and deposited him further back, returning to Blake’s side.
“You’re saying we should go somewhere else?” she said. “Where?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Somewhere busy,” she said. “A hotel or something.”
“No,” he said. “They wouldn’t come. They’d just wait, I think. Get us when we came home. I don’t even know if they’ll let us leave.”
“Not if we keep it quiet,” she said. “We could sneak out.”
Like Elizabeth, he thought, remembering what Daniel had told him. They’d tried to run in the middle of the night, but the man had known. Elizabeth hadn’t realised he was spying on her, though. She’d probably made calls, told somebody she was coming to stay. He had known exactly what she was going to do. Maybe that’s how he’d known where the kids were hiding too. If he’d been listening in on her for those few days, using her phone as a remote mic, then he might have heard her.
If I tell you to run then you run, you run and you hide. Somewhere safe. Alice, use your wardrobe, get right under those clothes. Boys, get beneath your beds, pull the spare blankets over you. Stay quiet, as quiet as mice, you hear? You stay quiet and you stay hidden until mummy comes to get you.
And the thought of it almost broke him. He wiped his eyes with a trembling hand until the tears had burned themselves dry.
“We could sneak out,” he said, nodding. “But we have to make him think we’re staying. He has to believe that I’ve given up. We can make a call—”
He remembered his old phone, stuffed down the side of the sofa, and his heart felt like it had ruptured—a physical pain that ripped through his entire body. He leant over and dug it out, staring at it like he’d found a poisonous snake. Had the man heard? Had they been speaking loud enough for it to carry?
He pressed the Home button and nothing happened. When he realised the battery had died he spluttered out a breath.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Julia took it and carried it out of the room. She walked back in, repositioned Connor again, and sat down.
“So we make it seem like we’re staying,” she said.
“Yeah, and that I’m taking some time off work, that I’ll be here by myself on Thursday. He’ll think he can come and kill me without a problem.”
That didn’t feel right, though. He didn’t think the man wanted Blake alone. He was pretty sure that he wanted Blake to watch Julia die, and Connor. Then what? He might kill Blake too, or he might frame him for their deaths the way he’d framed Luis Nevill. He might force Blake to endure weeks of madness before getting one of his boys to shank him inside prison.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just think we need to go, the sooner the better. Can you get some stuff together?”
Julia nodded.
“But where?”
“We’ll think of somewhere,” he said. “Charge my phone and call your folks, tell them I had an accident, tell them I told you I got hit by a car or something. At least he’
ll think I’m playing along.”
“Okay,” she said. “Stay down here, watch Connor. I’ll start packing.”
She kissed him on the cheek and held his hand tight. Then she stood up. He called to her as she crossed the room.
“Julia, lock the door. And put something heavy in front of it.”
Fifty-One
Thump.
Blake jolted. He thought for a moment that the car he was driving had tipped over the cliff-edge into the churning ocean below. He was suddenly drowning, clawing at the thundering surf, at a darkness that covered his mouth, that choked him.
Thump-thump.
Somebody was punching him, a grinning face. Other hands were pushing him back below the surface. Somebody had a hacksaw in his shoulder, working it back and forth, the blade grating against bone.
He wrenched his eyes open, the dream blasting into shreds and the living room rushing into the space it had vacated. The whole world seemed to wobble and he clutched at the sofa, then at the pounding agony in his arm. He leant forward, spit dribbling from his drooping mouth.
Thump.
The noise was real, and it was coming from upstairs.
Blake swore, standing too quickly. He clutched at his side, limping into the hall. How could he have let himself fall asleep? The stairgate was open, nobody in the kitchen, a chair wedged tight against the front door. He started up the stairs, wanting to call out to Julia but not wanting to give himself away.
He was sweating by the time he got to the top, panting for breath.
Thump.
Connor cried out, a squeal of distress. It was coming from his son’s room and Blake moved towards it, expecting to see Connor hanging from the light fitting, his face as swollen as Adam’s—
He pushed through the door, hard enough to bang it against the side of the dresser. Connor lay on top of it, on a changing mat, Julia standing next to him with a nappy in her hand. She looked at Blake like he was nuts, and Connor crashed his feet down, producing another hollow thump. The kid laughed as he wiggled his hips, his arse jiggling. Doof was sitting on the carpet looking dozy. He blinked at Blake but didn’t move.
“You okay?” Julia asked, giving him a once over.
He nodded, sitting on the open front of the cot before he fell.
“Was asleep,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. I’m not surprised, given your injuries and how many painkillers you’ve taken. It’s good for you, you need it.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Coming up for one,” she said.
“One? Shit, Jules, you should have woken me.”
“It’s been quiet,” she said, flashing him a warning look. They might be listening. “Just me and Connor, hanging out.”
She secured Connor’s nappy and vest and tugged up his leggings, lifting him into his playpen.
“How’s it feeling?” she asked.
“Oh, great,” he said, hissing a laugh. “I think I’m healed. Hallelujah.”
She shook her head and walked out of the room, beckoning him into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him while she turned on the shower and the taps, flushing the toilet too. Outside, Doof scratched on the door, whining.
“I’ve packed everything we need,” she whispered, pulling herself close to him, her hands on his arms. Her words were soft breaths against his ear, barely audible behind the roar of water. “I’ve got some food too, some bottled water, medicine. Enough to last a few days.”
Blake nodded. The room was filling with steam, beading on his wife’s skin, dampening her white shirt.
“I’ve packed knives,” she said. “From the kitchen. Plus the stuff I took from work. I haven’t been out to the garage yet.”
“Any ideas about where to go?” he asked, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her close. Her body against his was like gravity, inescapable. His heart was pounding, and for once it had nothing to do with fear for his life. She shook her head and pressed herself against him, leaning up. Her lips parted and it was all he could do to stay conscious, his pulse echoing inside his hollow skull. He kissed her, hard, desperate, and she kissed him back like she was trying to consume him. Their lips butted together, their teeth knocking, their tongues pushing deep, tasting each other. They kissed until there was no air left in Blake’s lungs and he tilted his head back, gasping.
She pushed her face into his neck and he held her close. Everything ached, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. She ground her hips against his, then she laughed.
“Only you, Blake,” she said, pulling away, her smile in the steam like the glimpse of the moon through clouds, blindingly bright.
“What?” he protested, letting her go.
“That,” she said, prodding his trousers. “You’ve lost all that blood, you were stabbed, you’ve got killers after you and you still can’t think of anything else.”
“What can I say? He’s got a one-track mind.”
“Maybe we should leave him here, then,” Julia said. “I’ve got my surgical tools. It would be a quick operation.”
“Ouch,” he said, cupping himself. His excitement was ebbing, less to do with Julia’s words and more to do with the fact that he was struggling to find enough oxygen in the humid air.
“Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “Before the three millilitres of blood you’ve got left gets wasted beneath your belt.”
She turned off the shower and the taps.
“Watch Conn, yeah?” she said. “I’ll call mum.”
She walked out, Doof scrambling in for a second to investigate before turning tail and bolting. Blake moved to follow, stopping only when he caught sight of himself in the steamed-up mirror. He still looked like death, sure, but something had changed. He was less of a stranger now. Something of himself had returned to his eyes, pushing out the shadows.
You can’t have me, you fucker, he said. Not now, not ever. I am Blake Barton, Blake Barton.
He followed Julia into the bedroom, watching her pull the charger from his phone and make a call. She blew him a kiss as she waited for it to connect.
“Hey, no, it’s me, mum,” she said after a moment. “I’m on Blake’s phone. I still haven’t got my new one. Yeah, yeah things are okay. Well, not okay, not really. Blake was in an accident.”
Blake left the room but hovered in the hallway, listening. He wondered if the devil would be listening too, in whatever hovel he called home. Doof waddled over and sat on his foot, peering up with those big, sad eyes.
“He says he was hit by a car, crossing the street. I know, I thought so too, but it’s Blake we’re talking about… He’s got some scrapes, some bad puncture wounds. I haven’t seen it, he got bandaged up there and then by some paramedics… Yeah, he’ll live. I think he’s putting it on a bit, to be honest, you know what he’s like.” She laughed pretty convincingly. “Yeah, hypochondriac doesn’t really do it justice. Look, I just wanted to let you know. Conn’s home too, he’s picked up some bug. I’ll bring him over tomorrow afternoon if you like, give him something to do? No, Blake won’t make it. He’ll be sitting in front of the TV for the next few days feeling sorry for himself.”
She giggled again, and despite everything Blake couldn’t stop the anger rumbling in his gut.
Screw you, Hermione.
“Yeah, we’ll be in all night, nothing exciting planned. Not like I can go out anywhere with two sick children in the house. Yeah you too, mum, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She ended the call and walked out of the bedroom.
“Two sick children?” Blake said softly. She just smiled, leaning in.
“What? You wanted me to make it realistic, didn’t you?”
He followed her into Connor’s room. She tossed his phone into the duffel bag on the floor. There was a carry-on case next to it. Say one thing for Julia, she was efficient.
“I’ll sort it,” she said. “Go downstairs, take another pill if you need one. I’ll get dinner on in a bit.”
He nodded,
feeling useless as he walked gingerly back down the steps. Doof kept time with him, doing his damnedest to trip him up. They’d need to find a way of getting everything into the car without being spotted. They’d need to get themselves in too, get off the street without any of the devil man’s disciples seeing them. And they still didn’t have anywhere to go.
He stopped for breath in the hallway, leaning on the chair that Julia had dragged in front of the door. He turned the handle, making sure it was locked. As he did so, something flitted across the surface of his mind, barely there. He grabbed for it, but it had evaporated before he got close. An idea, something to do with the door.
Something important.
He moved the chair and unlocked the heavy mortice. As soon as he opened the door Doof made a break for it and he slammed it shut just in time, lifting the little dog—who now seemed to weigh the same as a Great Dane—and putting him behind the stairgate. He tried again, opening the door and staring into the deserted street.
Nothing.
He studied the mark that had been carved into the wood, those three infernal sixes, and he knew that he was missing something, that there was something right there that he had got wrong.
“What?” he asked himself, scouring his memories, searching his brain. But the tiredness was making it impossible, the drugs were clouding his thoughts. He stood there for a moment longer before closing the door.
“Everything good?” Julia asked as she walked down the stairs, Connor cradled in her arms. The kid played with her hair, looking sleepy.
“Yeah,” he said, frowning.
“You sure?”
She was still smiling, but there was an edge of alarm beneath it.
“There’s just…” And he almost had it again, something that Daniel had said back in the farmhouse. He tapped his forehead, thinking back. Julia started to speak again and he shushed her, turning away, diving for the thought like a fisherman looking for pearls.