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Black Rock

Page 33

by Steve Harris


  Ha­rold nod­ded.

  ‘Then dri­ve us away.’

  ‘I don’t think I can. I’m sha­king.’

  ‘Yo­ur eyes, Ha­rold,’ Mar­tin sa­id, ma­king car­ving mo­ti­ons with the kni­fe.

  Ha­rold dro­ve.

  22 - An Editor Calls

  Du­ring the night things chan­ged for Sa­rah-Jane Dres­den.

  She was awa­re of this when she awo­ke the fol­lo­wing mor­ning with a filthy grin fi­xed to her fa­ce. Things had chan­ged - and for on­ce in her li­fe she felt as if they had do­ne so for the bet­ter.

  S’n’J lay in bed stretc­hing and yaw­ning and fe­eling very ple­ased with her­self in­de­ed. And very horny too.

  She lay in bed for a whi­le re­mem­be­ring last eve­ning and plan­ning what wo­uld ta­ke pla­ce when she drag­ged James back he­re to­night. Du­ring her re­la­ti­ons­hip with Mar­tin she’d de­ve­lo­ped a lengthy list of se­xu­al fan­ta­si­es that’d had to re­ma­in fan­ta­si­es be­ca­use Mar­tin wasn’t re­cep­ti­ve to them. James, she tho­ught, wo­uld be a lot mo­re in­te­res­ted…

  I think you’d bet­ter go and throw yo­ur­self in­to a cold sho­wer, my girl! she told her­self, gig­gling. If you lie he­re pla­ying with yo­ur­self you’re go­ing to be la­te for yo­ur first ap­po­int­ment at the Barns­tap­le Bo­oks­hop and then you’ll be la­te all day.

  Fri­day wasn’t a par­ti­cu­larly ta­xing day - S’n’J had ar­ran­ged it that way be­ca­use in the sum­mer on a Fri­day the traf­fic was nor­mal­ly pretty he­avy. She only had anot­her three calls to ma­ke af­ter Barns­tap­le: the Ilf­ra­com­be Bo­oks­hop, the Mo­le and Hag­gis in Tor­ring­ton and Mac­ken­zie Dye Bo­ok­sel­lers in Bi­de­ford. She was usu­al­ly back he­re by fi­ve-thirty on Fri­days - which was a dis­tinct imp­ro­ve­ment on the six or even se­ven o’clock she got ho­me on ot­her days.

  S’n’J threw the she­ets off her and pad­ded to the bath­ro­om, the big sappy grin still af­fi­xed to her fa­ce. This mor­ning, it didn’t se­em to want to go away.

  You’re smit­ten, she told her­self, grin­ning. You’ve fal­len in lo­ve!

  It wasn’t un­til she was in the sho­wer - un­der a hot jet of wa­ter rat­her than cold be­ca­use she li­ked the warm, randy fe­eling she’d wo­ken up with and didn’t want to kill it off -that she re­mem­be­red Black Rock.

  She tho­ught of it the mo­ment so­me­one out­si­de be­gan to ham­mer on the front do­or as tho­ugh the­ir li­fe de­pen­ded on it. A sti­let­to of fe­ar pric­ked the pit of her sto­mach.

  Don’t let it be a fresh chap­ter! she tho­ught, tur­ning off the sho­wer and step­ping drip­ping on to the bath­ro­om car­pet. I don’t want my day ru­ined this early on.

  She wrap­ped her­self in a big to­wel and pro­mi­sed her­self that if she fo­und anot­her buff A4 en­ve­lo­pe on the mat she wo­uld bin it wit­ho­ut ope­ning it. To­night she in­ten­ded to turn one or two of her fan­ta­si­es in­to re­ality and she wasn’t go­ing to let anyt­hing stop her.

  The­re was no en­ve­lo­pe wa­iting for her, only the key that James had pos­ted back thro­ugh the let­ter box when he’d loc­ked her in last night. Wha­te­ver was wa­iting for her was still on the far si­de of the do­or, but if she didn’t hurry up and open it, this wasn’t go­ing to re­ma­in the ca­se for very long. Who­ever it was out the­re had be­gun to ham­mer on the do­or aga­in and they wan­ted to be let in in a hurry.

  ‘Let me in, Drezy! For Christ’s sa­ke! I’m in big tro­ub­le. Qu­ick, open the do­or!’

  In to­tal dis­be­li­ef, S’n’J un­loc­ked the do­or and sto­od back.

  The do­or flew open and ban­ged on the wall.

  And Janie San­der­son ran in and threw her­self in­to S’n’J’s arms, sob­bing. Her fa­ce was ba­rely re­cog­ni­zab­le. Both her lips we­re fat and split, her right eye was swol­len shut and one of her ears was inf­la­med and bur­ning traf­fic-light red.

  ‘What hap­pe­ned?’ S’n’J whis­pe­red when Janie’s bre­at­hing had ste­adi­ed a lit­tle. ‘For God’s sa­ke what hap­pe­ned to you?’

  ‘He huh-hurt me, Drezy. He tri­ed to kuh-kill me.’

  ‘Bil­ly-Joe?’

  Janie nod­ded. ‘Last night.’

  ‘Christ,’ S’n’J whis­pe­red.

  ‘He just went buh-ber­serk. He was go­ing to puh-pull my front te­eth out with a pa­ir of pli­ers.’ Janie sob­bed for a whi­le. ‘I fo­ught him. I got a ruh-rol­ling-pin and hit him with it.’

  ‘Go­od for you,’ S’n’J sa­id, ta­king Janie in­to her arms. ‘I ho­pe you hurt him.’

  Janie nod­ded in­to S’n’J’s sho­ul­der. ‘I did huh-hurt him. I hurt him badly but he kept get­ting up aga­in. It was huh-hor­rib­le. It was li­ke suh-so­met­hing out of one of tho­se bo­oks that Mar­tin edits. He wo­uldn’t go un­cons­ci­o­us when I hit him. I had to bash his he­ad right in to ma­ke him stop. I kil­led him. He didn’t ha­ve a pul­se. Then I ran away.’

  ‘And ca­me he­re,’ S’n’J sa­id, not li­king the turn this was ta­king. It wasn’t so much the fact that Janie had hit Bil­ly-Joe over the he­ad, the re­al­ly shoc­king thing was that Bil­ly-Joe had sud­denly go­ne ber­serk. … and kept on get­ting up aga­in li­ke so­met­hing out of one of tho­se bo­oks that Mar­tin edi­ted. The circ­le, ap­pa­rently, was spre­ading. The ar­ri­val of Black Rock was the sto­ne fal­ling in­to the cent­re of the calm wa­ters of a pond and the sub­se­qu­ent rip­ples we­re still flo­wing out­wards.

  ‘What hap­pe­ned next?’ S’n’J as­ked, won­de­ring if this story-addict’s fi­ne was what Pe­ter Per­fect wo­uld ha­ve (or per­haps al­re­ady had) scrip­ted for her.

  ‘I went in­do­ors and pul­led the bent ho­op out of my ear. Then I cle­aned up a bit and went to pho­ne the po­li­ce. The front do­or was open and when I lo­oked out Bil­ly-Joe’s body was go­ne. Drezy, he was de­ad but he’d go­ne.’

  ‘He wasn’t de­ad then.’

  ‘But I’d chec­ked his pul­se and his bre­at­hing and no­ne of it was pre­sent. He was de­ad. I flip­ped. I got in the car and dro­ve away. When I was half-way to the mo­tor­way, I pul­led over to smo­ke a ci­ga­ret­te and calm myself and… and…’

  S’n’J knew exactly what Janie was go­ing to say next. This too fit­ted li­ke a pi­ece of a jig­saw puz­zle. This had to be Pe­ter Per­fect’s work be­ca­use he knew what S’n’J’s in­ner­most fe­ars we­re and her lar­gest one was fin­ding so­me­one wa­iting for her in the back of her car. Not only that but it was al­so a re­al old-fas­hi­oned and hack­ne­yed hor­ror-story clic­he of exactly the type that Black Rock’s aut­hor fa­vo­ured.

  ‘… and Bil­ly-Joe pop­ped up from the back se­at and got me ro­und the neck and put the pli­ers in my mo­uth and, well… I still had the rol­ling-pin. And I ma­de su­re he wasn’t go­ing to wa­ke up aga­in, Drezy. I’m sorry but I co­uldn’t help myself.’

  ‘And then?’ S’n’J as­ked.

  Janie’s reply was omi­no­us. ‘I dro­ve he­re. I don’t know why.’

  No, but I think I might ha­ve a fa­irly go­od idea, S’n’J tho­ught and sa­id, ‘And his body’s still in the car?’

  Janie nod­ded. ‘What will we do?’ she mo­aned. ‘I mur­de­red him.’

  S’n’J gu­ided her fri­end in­to the lo­un­ge and sat her down on the so­fa. ‘You stay the­re. I’ll get you a drink, put on so­me clot­hes, and go down and lo­ok at Bil­ly-Joe. Then we’ll work out what to do.’

  S’n’J went to the kitc­hen, fo­und a bot­tle of Remy and po­ured stiff slugs in­to two glas­ses. It didn’t lo­ok as if she was go­ing to get any work do­ne on this par­ti­cu­lar Fri­day. It isn’t even eight-thirty yet and the day’s al­re­ady be­en fuc­ked up by that bas­tard down in Black Rock, she told her­self as she car­ri­ed the drinks back. Ho­we­ver, the­re was al­ways a c
han­ce that Bil­ly-Joe wasn’t de­ad, but in a co­ma.

  Janie sip­ped her drink and win­ced. ‘Stings,’ she sa­id sadly.

  ‘Ke­ep at it,’ S’n’J sa­id. ‘It’ll re­lax you. Just stay the­re and rest. You’re sa­fe now. I’ll get so­me duds on and go down and lo­ok in the car.’

  ‘Be ca­re­ful,’ Janie sa­id in a dull vo­ice.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ S’n’J sa­id. ‘I will.’

  23 - Three Missing Men

  Janie had par­ked the VW abo­ut a hund­red yards away in the exact spot whe­re last night S’n’J had pul­led an in­no­cent wo­man from her car and al­most punc­hed her. This ‘co­in­ci­den­ce’ was not lost on her.

  If what Janie had sa­id was true then it lo­oked rat­her li­ke the myste­ri­o­us Pe­ter Per­fect had be­en sta­ge-ma­na­ging Janie and Bil­ly-Joe as well as at­temp­ting to ma­ni­pu­la­te her. And S’n’J tho­ught she knew how the ot­her two had be­en drawn in­to what, af­ter all, was her story and her prob­lem.

  She had met Bil­ly-Joe only on­ce - at Ace’s Christ­mas party at the Gro­uc­ho last ye­ar - and on­ce had be­en eno­ugh. Bil­ly-Joe was drunk and of­fen­si­ve and S’n’J had be­gun to dis­li­ke him. Shortly af­ter­wards Mar­tin as­ked her, ‘How’s Janie’s old man?’ Now she tho­ught abo­ut it she co­uld cle­arly re­call her reply: ‘Abo­ut two drinks away from be­co­ming psycho­pat­hic, I’d say.’

  Until now, she had be­li­eved that Mar­tin was the only per­son who knew she’d sa­id this. But this evi­dently wasn’t true. Pe­ter Per­fect knew it too. Just as he knew everyt­hing el­se abo­ut her. Li­ke an ar­res­ting of­fi­cer, he was bu­sily ta­king down everyt­hing she sa­id so that it co­uld be used aga­inst her.

  If Bil­ly-Joe had go­ne crazy and tri­ed to kill Janie, it hadn’t hap­pe­ned na­tu­ral­ly. It had be­en for­ced on him by the man at Black Rock. It all fit­ted so hor­ribly well. Janie had even kil­led him with a rol­ling-pin, for God’s sa­ke. And if that wasn’t a barb that was sup­po­sed to ho­ok her and tell her what was re­al­ly go­ing on, she didn’t know what was.

  S’n’J wal­ked up to the VW slowly, not re­al­ly wan­ting to see Bil­ly-Joe’s corp­se and half be­li­eving that if she did lay eyes upon it, it wo­uld co­me back to li­fe and co­me af­ter her li­ke Ar­nold Schwar­ze­neg­ger’s Ter­mi­na­tor unit.

  Her he­art got busy in her chest as she drew clo­ser to the car, and her mo­uth sud­denly felt dry. The dri­ver’s do­or was clo­sest to the kerb and it wasn’t qu­ite shut. Which me­ant one of two things: eit­her Janie had neg­lec­ted to lock it in her pa­nic, or that Bil­ly-Joe was co­iled up in the­re li­ke a sna­ke, re­ady to stri­ke the mo­ment she drew le­vel.

  She wal­ked past the car, ke­eping a go­od three fe­et bet­we­en her and the do­or as she went by. The back se­at had a rug thrown over it and the­re was so­met­hing bulky be­ne­ath that rug. As far as S’n’J co­uld ma­ke out, the thing wasn’t mo­ving.

  She wal­ked back the ot­her way aga­in.

  The thing un­der the rug sta­yed put.

  On her third pass, she wor­ked up the co­ura­ge to stop.

  The­re was blo­od on the car’s do­or hand­le.

  Janie’s, she told her­self, se­e­ing mo­re blo­od down the ed­ge of the do­or.

  Fe­eling that odd in­ten­si­fi­ed de­ja vu sen­sa­ti­on as tho­ugh the world was shif­ting aro­und her aga­in, S’n’J to­ok hold of the do­or hand­le.

  I will not be fic­ti­ona­li­zed, she tho­ught dis­tantly. You can­not rew­ri­te my li­fe.

  As she pul­led the do­or open she felt the rem­nants of Snow­ball the hams­ter va­nish from her past. A part of her mind’s eye watc­hed the me­mory fold it­self up and di­sap­pe­ar in the sa­me way she’d watc­hed Mr Win­ter va­nish. She was left with only the me­mory that the hams­ter had be­lon­ged to the girl in Black Rock.

  Trying to dis­pel the diz­zi­ness that was spe­eding her to­wards the ed­ge of col­lap­se, S’n’J yan­ked the car do­or open. The­re was blo­od sme­ared down the in­ner do­or pa­nel and down the ed­ge of the dri­ver’s se­at.

  Which ought to me­an so­met­hing very im­por­tant, she tho­ught, not yet kno­wing what. She tip­ped the se­at for­ward and re­ac­hed out for the blan­ket. Bil­ly-Joe didn’t le­ap up and grab her when she pul­led the blan­ket away… be­ca­use Bil­ly-Joe was just abo­ut as de­ad as a do­do.

  ‘Jesus!’ S’n’J whis­pe­red, lo­oking at the se­ri­es of de­ep dents in his he­ad and the way the blo­od had run from tho­se wo­unds. Bil­ly-Joe might ha­ve be­en de­ad, but so­met­hing was still hap­pe­ning to him.

  A few se­conds af­ter S’n’J re­mo­ved the rug, Bil­ly-Joe be­gan to fa­de. As she watc­hed, Bil­ly-Joe be­gan to lo­se what lit­tle co­lo­ur was left in his skin. Af­ter a mo­ment, the co­lo­ur of his clot­hes al­so be­gan to se­ep away.

  You’re hal­lu­ci­na­ting this, she told her­self when he had fa­ded so much he was al­most trans­pa­rent. In­si­de fi­ve se­conds Bil­ly-Joe had be­co­me cle­ar. She co­uld see the ma­te­ri­al the back se­at was ma­de of thro­ugh his body, as if she was lo­oking at it thro­ugh thick glass. In anot­her fi­ve se­conds Bil­ly-Joe had stop­ped lo­oking li­ke glass and star­ted lo­oking li­ke he was no mo­re than a he­at-ha­ze. And fi­ve se­conds af­ter that he’d va­nis­hed comp­le­tely.

  S’n’J sta­red at the spa­ce he’d oc­cu­pi­ed, unab­le to be­li­eve she’d se­en him va­nish. She put out a hand but her fin­gers met no re­sis­tan­ce un­til they to­uc­hed the sta­ined fab­ric of the se­at.

  S’n’J put the blan­ket back and ed­ged out of the car, her mind spin­ning. It lo­oked very much as if Bil­ly-Joe hadn’t be­en the­re at all.

  ‘But I just saw him!’ she comp­la­ined. He was lying the­re un­der that blan­ket, de­ad.

  She was no lon­ger ab­le to dis­tin­gu­ish what was re­al and what was not. For all she knew, Janie might not even be in her lo­un­ge wa­iting for her to co­me back.

  ‘You’d bet­ter le­ave me alo­ne,’ she whis­pe­red, lo­oking to­wards the sky. ‘Snowy Dres­den will no lon­ger stand for this in­ter­fe­ren­ce in her li­fe!’

  Oh Drezy, she mo­aned, sud­denly wan­ting to sit down on the pa­ve­ment and cry, you sa­id ‘Snowy’. You did! Don’t let this hap­pen be­ca­use if it do­es you won’t be ab­le to bring yo­ur­self back. If he gets you, you’ll end up be­ing Snowy for all ti­me!

  S’n’J slam­med the car do­or and hur­ri­ed back to the flat.

  ‘He’s go­ne, isn’t he?’ Janie sa­id when S’n’J en­te­red the ro­om. ‘How did you know?’ Janie sho­ok her he­ad. ‘It’s li­ke a bad joke,’ she sa­id. ‘It’s that story. It’s ali­ve in so­me way. Li­ke a di­se­ase. On­ce you catch it, it ta­kes you over. You don’t even ne­ed to re­ad it. Ever sin­ce I he­ard abo­ut it my li­fe’s got cra­zi­er and cra­zi­er. As if the story’s dra­wing me in, or wri­ting it­self aro­und me. I ke­ep se­e­ing pic­tu­res in my he­ad of that ha­un­ted ho­use. Black Rock. It just hangs the­re in my mind cal­ling to me, and it won’t gi­ve up un­til I go to it. I sup­po­se that’s how I fo­und myself he­re this mor­ning. It’s yo­ur story, isn’t it, Drezy?’

  S’n’J sat down be­si­de Janie and put her arm aro­und her sho­ul­der. ‘How do you me­an?’

  Janie sig­hed. ‘At first, when Mar­tin told me abo­ut it, I tho­ught you’d writ­ten it. Then I tho­ught he had. But it’s big­ger than that. It’s as if it’s God’s work. As if he’s wri­ting a new draft of the Drezy story. And he’s in a bad mo­od. And as he do­es it, he al­ters all the sur­ro­un­ding cha­rac­ters, too. That’s the only exp­la­na­ti­on I can think of. Af­ter Mar­tin re­ad it, he co­uld see ima­ges from it in his he­ad. He saw you fal­ling over the si­de of a ste­ep drop.’

  ‘Mar­tin saw me fall?
’ S’n’J as­ked.

  Janie nod­ded. ‘We both knew you’d fal­len. And i hadn’t even re­ad any of the story. Then he pho­ned you and you told him to ring off be­ca­use you ne­eded an am­bu­lan­ce. I co­uld ac­tu­al­ly pic­tu­re yo­ur fall, Drezy. And at the sa­me ti­me, I was ha­ving to think abo­ut Bil­ly-Joe be­ca­use the night be­fo­re he’d be­aten me up re­al­ly badly and I was in the thro­es of de­ci­ding to le­ave him. So what hap­pe­ned was that everyt­hing star­ted to get all mang­led up to­get­her. All the whi­le the bo­ok was se­eping in­to me, and the bits I knew abo­ut it we­re eating in­to my li­fe. And all the stuff abo­ut Bil­ly-Joe got en­tang­led with this Black Rock stuff and

  ‘What?’

  Janie be­gan to cry.

  ‘Oh Drezy, I knew what wo­uld hap­pen,’ Janie mo­aned. ‘When you’ve be­en in con­tact with Black Rock, it gets in­to you, and all the bad things you ima­gi­ne co­me true. It sho­uld ha­ve be­en easy for me to le­ave Bil­ly-Joe. He’s usu­al­ly sle­eping at the ti­me I got ho­me and even if he wasn’t I didn’t ex­pect him to flip out and try to kill me. I may ha­ve let myself think it on­ce du­ring the day - y’know, worst-ca­se sce­na­rio - but the aut­hor of Black Rock lat­c­hed on to the tho­ught and ma­de it hap­pen. Next thing I knew I was in a bad hor­ror story. It was so clic­hedl I kept hit­ting Billy and he kept on get­ting up aga­in. It was li­ke it had be­en fi­xed to hap­pen that way. Li­ke it had be­en fic­ti­ona­li­zed. Bil­ly-Joe wasn’t a go­od man. He was a grim bas­tard most of the ti­me, but he wasn’t a ho­mi­ci­dal ma­ni­ac. If I’d re­al­ly be­li­eved that, I wo­uldn’t ha­ve go­ne ho­me at all. Black Rock did that for him. Li­ke I say, it grabs the worst things you can ima­gi­ne and ma­kes them re­al. That’s how I knew Billy wo­uld be go­ne when you lo­oked for him… be­ca­use the worst thing I can ima­gi­ne is his co­ming back from the de­ad to pay me back. And now he’s out the­re so­mew­he­re, stal­king me. This story’s wal­king and tal­king, Drezy. It’s not yo­ur nor­mal sa­fe-as-ho­uses hor­ror-romp. It’s ali­ve and it’s wri­ting it­self aro­und us. Wri­ting us in­to it.’

 

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