by Maggie James
Adam turns round to see him still looking down the side road.
‘Hey, arse-dragger! What the fuck are you doing, standing there gawping at nothing?’ He strides back to Joshua, grabbing his arm. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Get your butt in gear, can’t you?’
Joshua complies. It’s plain Adam didn’t spot either the car, his father or the woman, so intent is he on getting to their destination. Jon Campbell obviously has a girlfriend on the side. Not an unusual occurrence, from what Adam’s already let slip. Apparently, his father changes women almost as frequently as he does his socks, despite still being married to Adam’s mother.
Joshua shrugs. None of his business. He dismisses the incident from his mind.
They walk until they come to a row of ageing nineteen-thirties semis. Adam stops at the end house. It has an air of neglect about it, beige paint peeling from the windowsills, the plastic gutters sagging. Most of the garden’s not visible from the other houses, wrapping as it does around the house at the front, back and side. Mostly grass, with a few token flowerbeds bordering the edges. A low wooden fence, over which Joshua can easily see, surrounds the garden.
It’s then he gets his first glimpse of Abby Morgan.
One of the most important moments of his life, but at the time he thinks nothing of it. He’s an eleven-year-old boy, with no interest in girls of any age, let alone toddlers, who, if he considers them at all, he imagines to be whiny creatures, prone to tantrums. So his gaze merely skims over Abby as she plays on the grass in the side part of the garden. It comes back to rest on Adam, who’s staring down at the child. He risks a question.
‘You know this kid?’
Adam’s answer is dismissive. ‘Nope. Seen her once or twice out playing, that’s all. When I come with Mum and Dad. My cousins live nearby.’
The child is sitting on a play mat spread on the grass, her attention absorbed in her toys. The green hippopotamus, the one Adam later steals as a trophy, lies beside her. She’s busy playing interior designer with a large plastic doll’s house, her bottom lip pushed forward with her concentration. A tinkling tune sings forth from the Fisher-Price CD player by her side, a high-pitched female voice delivering the words of One, Two, Buckle My Shoe with determined enthusiasm.
She’s obviously a girly kind of girl, this child before him whose name he’s ignorant of for now. Blonde, with soft curls reaching to her shoulders; pretty in a way that will stretch the nation’s heartstrings when they learn of her murder. She’s dressed completely in pink; a fuchsia-coloured jacket with the slogan ‘Pretty Princess’ slashed across the back, pink T-shirt and trousers, the theme extending to her carnation-hued trainers, with matching Velcro fastenings. The pink beads of a bracelet circle one of her tiny wrists. A white plastic Alice band provides the only relief in a sea of Barbie tones.
Years later, as an adult, the former Joshua Barker wonders if the child’s fragile beauty intensifies the national loathing for him and Adam. Whether it’s worse to kill a Pretty Princess, someone like Abby Morgan. Would the death of a plainer child have aroused less public wrath? He suspects so. Looks matter, whatever political correctness likes to assert.
Adam’s still staring down at the child. Joshua’s not interested in her after his initial appraisal. He glances past her towards the side entrance to the house, and that’s when he gets his first glimpse of Rachel Morgan. A little younger than him and Adam. Her pale red hair is tied in a loose ponytail, her attention focused on the book she’s holding in one hand. With the other, she’s stroking a black kitten nestling on her lap. Earphones are clamped to her head, blocking out the world around her. She doesn’t glance up towards the two boys, partly concealed by the fence at the other end of the garden.
Joshua becomes aware of Adam leaning over towards the child.
‘Hey, Barbie girl,’ he calls. Her eyes flick up, then back to her dolls’ house. Adam stretches further down. He reaches an arm out, clutching something in his palm.
‘Psst,’ he whistles softly. She looks up again, this time keeping her gaze on him. ‘Barbie girl. Princess in Pink. Want some choccy?’
He unfurls his fingers to reveal a packet of Smarties, flicking the top off, easing an orange one onto his palm. Without taking his eyes off the girl, he brings his hand to his mouth to eat the chocolate. ‘Mmm. Tastes good. Want one?’
She nods slowly but doesn’t move. Adam extends his hand back down. ‘Gotta come and get it, little girl. They won’t come to you. Here.’ He selects a red one, balancing it on a fingertip. ‘Just for you.’
The child peels herself slowly from the plastic mat, with her eyes fixed on the chocolate a couple of feet from her face. She extends a hand, uncertainty apparent in her dilatory response. Then her fingers move rapidly to seize the prize, throwing it quickly into her mouth, before taking a step back, her gaze never leaving Adam’s face.
Adam laughs. ‘Want another?’
Her confidence growing, the child toddles forward to snatch a couple of Smarties, smearing chocolate around her mouth and on her fingers, all thought of her dolls’ house clearly forgotten. Beyond her, lost in her world of music, book and kitten, the girl on the doorstep reads on, unaware of the insidious seduction taking place at the other end of the garden.
‘You want to go on an adventure with us, Pretty Princess?’ Joshua is startled, confused, rattled. Adam, like him, has never shown the slightest interest in small girls. He’s imagined the other boy intends to steal something today, but he hasn’t pictured a tiny child as the booty. What Adam has in mind, Joshua has no idea. Certainly it never occurs to him - why would it? - that Adam is contemplating committing a violent murder. How he’s planned this, enjoying having the ever-obedient Joshua as his sidekick. So he says nothing, waiting to see how this curious new development will unfold, although unease is uncoiling itself deep within him.
‘Gonna go look for buried treasure. Wanna come?’ The child nods, her eyes fixed on the Smartie tube. Adam unlatches the gate, slowly and stealthily. Joshua glances back at the girl on the doorstep. She hasn’t moved. Behind Abby, the Fisher-Price CD player loops back to start again. ‘One, two, buckle my shoe…’ Adam eases the gate open, beckoning to the child, his hand still extending the Smarties towards her. He’s Abby Morgan’s Pied Piper, his tune promising chocolate heaven, and she’s hooked on the bait.
She reaches out for another Smartie and Adam bypasses her hand to pop it into her mouth. Her laugh sounds out, high and happy, unable to penetrate the earphones her sister is wearing, and she moves towards the open gate. Then she stops, reconsidering. She goes back to fetch the green hippopotamus, tucks it under one arm, and edges back towards Adam.
Joshua’s about to take a risk, he’s aware of that, but this is all too weird. He’s got to say something, find out what the hell’s going on. Afraid though he is of the other boy’s innate violence, he’s none too keen on spending the afternoon with a small child in tow. Besides which, he knows how this is wrong on all kinds of levels. The child belongs here, in the garden of what Joshua assumes is her home, safe with her toys, not wandering the streets with two strange boys. Joshua wills the girl on the doorstep to look up, see them, challenge what they’re doing, but she doesn’t. One hand continues to stroke the black kitten whilst the other holds the book. Whatever world she’s lost in, she won’t be returning for some time.
Joshua opens his mouth, forcing the words out.
‘Adam, what the...?’ He doesn’t get any further than three words before Adam’s head twists round to transfix him with a look, only this time his stare is angrier and more intimidating than ever before. Whatever the other boy has planned, Joshua can’t imagine it’ll be for the girl’s benefit. He most likely wants to tease her, make her cry, give her a bit of a scare, the child’s fright feeding his inner bully. Adam gives her another Smartie as she walks past him, her chocolate-coated hand smearing brown streaks on the plush material of the green hippo. He pulls the gate closed behind him with the same care and stealth he us
ed to open it. He places his hand on the child’s back, steering her towards the small lane nearby. Beyond it, Joshua sees what appears to be farmland.
‘Come on,’ Adam says. ‘This way.’
They walk for a couple of minutes, heading away from the town. Eventually the lane opens onto the outskirts of a farm. Joshua sees a wooden shack, in bad repair, to one side of them. They turn right across the field towards it, the child starting to grizzle, tiredness clearly biting at her.
‘No,’ she whines, as Adam drags her forward.
The three of them enter the shack. Joshua sees it’s been used for storing various implements and tools, although it doesn’t look as though anyone’s needed what’s here for a long time. Everything is filthy, rusting, covered in grime and spiders’ webs. Joshua’s not even sure what some of it is. It’s approaching late afternoon now, the weak March sunshine filtering through the gaps in the wooden slats of the shack, highlighting the mess within. Next to Joshua, the child upends the Smarties tube, shaking it, convinced if she jiggles hard enough she’ll get more chocolate treasures. She shoots a pleading look at Adam.
‘All gone,’ she says. ‘Want more.’
Adam shakes his head. Joshua doesn’t like the smile playing around the other boy’s lips. His unease is growing by the second. This is all too weird. What are they doing here, in the middle of nowhere, in this filthy shed, with a child who doesn’t seem to have any connection to Adam, one who should be back in her garden, playing with her dolls’ house? The green hippo falls from the child’s hand, unnoticed, onto the mucky floor, as she renews her pleas for more chocolate. Adam shakes his head again. Something lurking in the other boy, the darkness Joshua can’t put a name to, the evil coiled deep within, is about to unfurl. He summons whatever grains of courage he possesses where Adam’s concerned in order to speak.
‘Shouldn’t we be getting back?’
Adam ignores him. Joshua tries appealing to the shoplifter within him.
‘If we hurry, we can check out the shops before they close.’
‘Shut it.’ Adam’s voice is terse. Whatever is uncoiling inside him is doing it rapidly. He turns back to the child. ‘Would you like to play a game, Pretty Princess?’
The child’s head bobs up and down. She smiles, her trust complete in this unknown benefactor who provides chocolate and fun.
Adam grins back at the child, but nothing benign warms his expression. He pulls the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands, before reaching behind him to pick something off the floor. Joshua sees it’s a rake handle, with a metal casing on the end, which originally held the prongs. The two have become detached at some point, so now all Adam holds in his hand is the part with the rusty casing. He’s grasping the other end, so the brown erosion of the rust is highlighted in the stream of sunlight.
‘Ready to play?’ Adam asks the child. She nods again.
Everything that happens next imprints itself on Joshua’s mind forever. Adam raises the rake handle, swinging it through the air to crack it down against the child’s body. She screams, a thin high-pitched keening sound, slumping to the ground, as Adam hits her repeatedly. Joshua’s horror and disbelief freeze him. The metal casing bites into the child all over; head, legs, arms, torso. Blood runs from her wounds, soaking her pink clothes, dyeing them red. She carries on screaming, but then stops; Joshua realise she’s not moving anymore. The child’s inertia unfreezes him; he finds his voice, not caring about Adam’s reaction, yelling at him to stop, for fuck’s sake stop, what the hell do you think you’re doing, she’s just a little girl. His words come out a chaotic, desperate jumble. They seem to reach their mark, though, because Adam ceases whacking the child.
He drops the rake handle to face Joshua. Tension sparks through the air.
Adam takes a step forward.
Never has his size been so intimidating.
Never has Joshua seen such darkness in the other boy’s eyes.
Adam pushes himself right into his face.
‘Told you before.’ Joshua’s feet instinctively shuffle backwards, away from the dark something in Adam that’s now completely uncoiled and in full strike.
‘Shut the fuck up. Or I’ll give you some of what she’s getting.’
Joshua is silent, finished. Adam bends over the child. ‘Still alive, the little bitch.’ He reaches into his pocket. Joshua realises what he’s going to bring out. The flick knife. As well as what he intends to do with it.
Another pivotal moment in Joshua’s life. When, despite the threats, regardless of the hold Adam has on him, he has the chance to save Abby Morgan’s life. He’s smaller than Adam is, not as strong as the other boy, but he can take some action, surely? Grab something. The rake handle, maybe. Clobber Adam and spare the life of the child who lies unconscious and bleeding on the filthy floor of the shack.
He doesn’t, though. The fear of Adam is too ingrained, his dread of the flick knife too potent. He does nothing, thereby sealing Abby Morgan’s fate. Adam bends over the child, plunging the blade into her, again and again, doubling, trebling the amount of blood that’s everywhere.
The child is motionless. No way can she still be alive, thinks Joshua, not after so many blows, several aimed at her throat and heart. The rake handle lies, bloodied and spent, beside her body.
Adam stands up and walks outside the shack. He plunges the knife repeatedly into the earth to clean it, in a grotesque parody of what he’s just done to the child. Then he retracts the blade and wipes the handle before replacing it in his pocket.
‘Gonna sling it on the way back.’ Such calm in his voice. Whatever uncoiled itself in Adam has retreated, although Joshua senses it’s not as deeply hidden as before.
‘I’ll kill you if you tell anyone.’ No emotion in Adam’s voice or expression. Just a bald statement of how it is. Joshua doesn’t even consider the possibility the other boy’s fooling around. How can he, when the corpse of a child lies at his feet, the bloody evidence sprayed over his jeans? Of course Adam will kill him if he talks.
Moreover, being found out seems inevitable. How the hell can they hope to get away with it? The knife will be discovered, despite Adam’s plans to ditch it. Joshua’s watched enough crime dramas on TV over the years to picture police officers raking through waste bins, combing the surrounding countryside, when they don’t find a murder weapon at the scene to explain the stab wounds. Something, Joshua doesn’t know what, will inevitably lead back to them.
Being found out means the distinct possibility of being sentenced to the same punishment unit as Adam, giving the other boy every chance to carry out his threat. His only option is to shut up and stay that way, no matter what happens. It’ll be his word against Adam’s anyway, without fingerprints on either the rake handle or the knife.
Adam’s laugh startles Joshua from his thoughts. ‘Seen our Pretty Princess a couple of times before today. Decided to find out how much fun it would be to stick a knife in her. Make her bleed. Hear her scream.’
The murder’s been premeditated, then, but Joshua’s not surprised. The child’s killing lacked the ferocity of a sudden loss of control, vicious though it was. No, the blows rained down on Abby Morgan were brutal, sure, but they bore the hallmark of someone with iron self-command, who understood - and enjoyed - what he did. Joshua’s not certain how he knows this - perhaps he’s absorbed more than he’s realised from those crime dramas - but he believes Adam planned this, in every detail, before they came here today. Adam’s next words confirm this.
‘Found this place a couple of weeks ago when I was last over here. Saw its potential straight away.’ He laughs again. ‘A ready-made toolkit on hand as well, although I brought the knife along for a bit of extra fun.’
He pulls the weapon from his pocket, his fingers wrapped carefully in his sleeve. ‘Be a shame to ditch it. Easy enough to get another, though. A bigger one next time.’
He thrusts the knife towards Joshua. ‘Unless you’d like to keep it? Be a great souvenir of a good day out. N
ah, didn’t think so,’ as Joshua recoils. ‘Fucking wuss, same as ever. No idea why I bother with you.’
He slides the knife back into his pocket. ‘Did it too quickly, though. She died too easily.’ Regret sounds in his voice. Adam has clearly enjoyed every single blow and scream of killing the child. How such a thing is possible, Joshua can’t fathom; he experienced nothing but revulsion on watching Abby Morgan’s life being beaten and stabbed out of her. When Adam’s next words filter through the fog in his brain, they’re so terrible he thrusts them away, refusing to believe the boy in front of him, dark and twisted though he is, can mean them.
‘Next time, I’ll do it more slowly, have more fun.’
The unspeakable horror of next time pounds through Joshua’s brain. He looks at the child’s corpse. She’s laying all crooked, blood matting her hair. One small trainer has come away from her right foot. Joshua registers the pink plastic of the shoe with its Velcro fastening. He hears again the tinny female voice singing ‘One, Two, Buckle My Shoe,’ and it becomes imprinted on his brain forever. Strange how the silly song associated with the worst day of his life comes to represent comfort when he’s stressed, but the human psyche can be anything but rational. The song tinkles its happy tune in his brain, and as he sees the bloodied rake handle the words ‘five, six, pick up sticks’ echo in his head.
‘Time we were getting back.’ Adam reaches down to pick up the green hippo, smoothing the soft material, the fabric browned with blood and chocolate. ‘Think I’ll take this, have myself something to remember the fun we’ve had together.’ He grabs Joshua by the arm. ‘Let’s go. We’re done here.’
13
SILENT SCREAM
Mark and Rachel carry their plates into her living room, her offer of coffee forgotten. They sit on her sofa, Rachel’s fingers playing with her fork. Flipping it through her fingers, back and forth, the rhythm strangely soothing. The idea of lemon cheesecake, so tempting a few minutes before, now revolts her. Beside her, Mark is eating his slice, making neat incisions with his fork, tackling the cheese filling and biscuit base with precision. A thick wall of tension separates them, even though her arms, having betrayed her shame, are now safely hidden beneath her sleeves. She’s silent, allowing him to eat his cheesecake, before she decides to risk broaching the subject.