Harlequin

by Stewart Giles

  Smith’s cheek burned. The blood had dried to form a thick crust. Smith tried to raise his hand to check the damage to his cheek but something stopped him. His arms had been bound tightly to his side. He looked down and saw that his legs were strapped to a metal chair and his feet had been taped together.

  The lights in the room went out. When they came back on a few seconds later, a grotesque figure stood between Smith and the fireplace. The clown makeup was smeared as if Yorick Moreno had been crying at some stage. The jolly Harlequin hat on his head seemed out of place with the macabre paint on his face. Yorick raised his hand in the air. Smith saw that he was holding something black. He closed his eyes.

  This is it, he thought, this is the end.

  Yorick put the alarm clock on the mantelpiece next to the photograph of Nathan Green and his mother.

  “Tick tock, tick tock,” he said, “do you know who I am?”

  Smith opened his eyes. Yorick was smiling.

  “You’re Yorick Moreno,” Smith said.

  His voice was barely a whisper.

  Yorick started to laugh.

  “I knew you’d come,” he said, “I know everything.”

  There was a quick flash of movement in front of Smith’s eyes and Yorick was gone.

  “I’m immortal and you’re not,”

  Smith realized that Yorick was now standing directly behind him.

  “Tick tock, tick tock,” he said

  “What do you want?” Smith said.

  He felt extremely calm, considering the situation he was in.

  “I want what everybody wants in the end,” Yorick said, “peace, tranquility and hope for all mankind. Just kidding”

  He started to laugh again.

  I’m up against a lunatic, Smith thought.

  Yorick appeared before Smith again.

  “You’re going to die,” he wound the alarm clock up and set the alarm to twelve o clock, “but first I’m going to tell you a story. It’s not often one has the pleasure of a captive audience.”

  He took off his hat and made a theatrical bow.

  “Jason,” he said, “you are allowed to laugh when I say something funny.”

  “They’ll catch you,” Smith said, “they’re probably one their way here right now.”

  Yorick’s facial expression changed. His eyes bored into the back of Smith’s head. He took out his knife and held it against Smith’s throat. The knife was sharp; a small trickle of blood flowed out where it had scratched the surface of the skin.

  “This is my story,” Yorick put the knife in his pocket, “you do not speak.”

  The sound of the clock seemed to be getting louder. The alarm was set to go off in less than an hour.

  “Once upon a time,” Yorick began, “many moons ago there lived a clown named Yorick. He was a very happy clown indeed. Then, one day, the clouds came; the dark clouds of the curse came and suffocated poor Yorick. They took over. Inside the cloud was a voice that Yorick had to obey. If he didn’t, he knew there would be trouble.”

  Yorick stopped talking and moved his face closer to Smith’s. His eyes were inches away.

  “Are you listening?”

  Smith nodded.

  “Yorick had two brothers and they both hated him,” he continued, “his mother and father hated him too. Alberto hated him the most though and Alberto wasn’t scared of the clouds. Jimmy was though. Poor Jimmy. Yorick used to have fun with Jimmy. The voice in the clouds made him. He used to make Jimmy bleed every night. Once, Jimmy bled so much that Yorick feared the bleeding wouldn’t stop.”

  Yorick stopped talking and seemed to be contemplating something.

  “Then everything changed,” he said, “I went away and I changed. The clouds were gone. I met Isobel and the clouds left me alone.”

  “Until you killed her,” Smith said.

  Yorick raised his arm and Smith flinched. Yorick took off his hat and placed it on Smith’s head.

  “Now we’re both clowns,” he said, “Isobel knew me but then again she didn’t. She was in the bath tub. She looked so beautiful.”

  Yorick stopped and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

  “My beautiful Isobel,” he said, “I knew right at that moment that she would never be more beautiful than she was right there in that bathtub. I stabbed her over and over. She didn’t even look at me while I killed her.”

  Smith felt sick. He needed to find a way to get out of there.

  “For months afterwards,” Yorick said, “I lost all memory of that day in the bathroom. They locked me up and I couldn’t understand why. It was only when the car went into the river that it all came back to me. I thought I was going to die and the memories came flooding back. Are your memories coming back to you now? I don’t know what happened but I heard a voice telling me to get out of the car and swim to the shore.”

  “Why did you kill all those children?” Smith said.

  “Jason,” Yorick said, “why are you such a serious clown?”

  He took hold of one of the bells on the Harlequin hat and made it jingle.

  “I walked for miles,” Yorick said and I ended up in a graveyard. I spent hours walking through the graves. You should try it some time; it’s very calming. I stopped by the grave of a man who had died when he was the age I was then. Colin Green was his name. It was a sign; a sign that told me it was time to change. Colin Green. Harlequin.

  “You’re insane,” Smith said.

  “Colin Green,” Yorick ignored him, “Harlequin. I have to go soon. I have one more tedious family union to attend and then I’m done. Do you want to know how you’re going to die?”

  “Why did you kill those children?” Smith asked him again.

  “I saved them from the inevitable,” Yorick sighed.

  He seemed to be lost in thought.

  “They were all doomed from the moment they burst into this world. Do you want to hear something funny? You’re allowed to laugh if you want.”

  Smith did not say anything.

  “That night when I killed Nathan,” Yorick said, “that was the night when I understood. I was invincible; immortal. I carried him through the streets in that blanket to the church. As I was walking, who should I bump into but my dear little brother Jimmy? He didn’t even give me a second glance. I am the Harlequin.”

  “You need help,” Smith said.

  He decided to try a different tack.

  “Where’s your wife?” Smith said.

  “Jessica is with her sister,” Yorick said, “although when you consider her sister died three years ago it doesn’t sound too pleasant does it?”

  Smith was running out of ideas.

  “I asked you if you wanted to know how you are going to die,” Yorick said.

  “No,” Smith looked him directly in the eyes.

  Yorick left the room. He returned a few seconds later. He was carrying a small metal box.

  “Do you know what this is?” He placed the box on the floor under the mantelpiece.

  “In here,” he said, “is enough plastic explosive to blow this house to smithereens.”

  He took something out of his pocket. Smith recognized it as his mobile phone.

  “Let’s see shall we?” Yorick opened up the call history on Smith’s phone, “here we are. Whitton. Who’s Whitton? You seem to have had quite a bit of contact with Whitton. Who is it? Girlfriend?”

  “No,” Smith said, “she’s a colleague.”

  “Tick tock, tick tock,” Yorick typed a message into the phone, “time for me to go.”

  He tied a piece of twine to the top of the metal box, ran the twine through the curtain rail on the other side of the room and tied it loosely round the handle of the living room door.

  “This is how you’re going to die,” he said, “I left your friend Whitton a message telling her to meet you here. As soon as the door opens, I’m sure you know what will happen. I’d better get going. I want to get this family reunion over and done with.”

  He carefu
lly tightened the twine on the door handle and closed the door behind him.

  EIGHTY ONE

  Kaboom

  “What does this mean?” Whitton said.

  Brownhill had told her what they had discovered about the three dead children.

  “It means that Yorick Moreno had three children,” Brownhill said, “not two. Nathan Green was also his son.”

  Whitton’s phone beeped in her pocket. She took it out and read the message. It was from Smith.

  “Smith’s figured it all out,” she said, “he’s just sent me a message telling us to meet him at the house in Meadowgate. That’s where Nathan Green lived.”

  “What else did he say?” Brownhill said.

  “Just that he’s figured it all out and we must meet him at Nathan Greens house.”

  “He can’t help himself can he?” Brownhill said.

  “I think I know what he’s talking about,” Whitton said, “Nathan Green was the odd one out. We didn’t know he was Yorick Moreno’s son until now. I think his father, Colin Green is Yorick Moreno.”

  “Then what the hell is Smith doing there on his own?” Brownhill said.

  Five minutes later, Brownhill, Whitton, Bridge, Thompson and PC Yang Chu were on their way to Meadowgate. Rain was falling from the sky in buckets and they had to keep their speed down.

  Smith looked at the metal box on the floor. The loop on the top was like the pin of a hand grenade. The twine was tied tightly to it. Smith knew that if somebody opened the living room door it would be all over. He had to find a way to free himself from the chair. He needed to get his arms loose first. He tried to wriggle them loose but they were tied too tightly. His phone started to ring on the carpet but he could not reach it. He tried to rock the chair from side to side; maybe he could loosen the straps that way but the chair would not budge. It was as if it was fixed to the floor. He looked at the alarm clock on the mantelpiece. It was half an hour before midnight.

  With all his strength, Smith yanked his arm in the straps. A stinging pain shot through his whole body and Smith winced. The strap was pressing against the wound from the knife. He felt something give; he had loosened the strap slightly. He yanked the arm again and screamed. The pain was unbearable. The strap loosened even more. Smith thought that with a few more tries he would be able to get his arm free. He managed to get the arm out of the strap and started work on the other arm.

  Yang Chu parked his car outside the house. Thompson parked behind him. Brownhill and Bridge arrived a few minutes later. Brownhill walked over to Chu’s Ford Focus.

  “What’s the plan?” Whitton asked her.

  “Where’s Smith?” Brownhill said.

  “His car is here,” Whitton pointed to the old Ford Sierra parked outside the house, “he must be inside.”

  “Phone him,” Brownhill said, “find out where he is.”

  “I tried to phone him,” Whitton said, “but he didn’t answer.”

  “I don’t like this,” Brownhill said, “something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that Smith sent you a message telling us to meet him here and now he’s nowhere to be seen?”

  “Let’s go inside,” Yang Chu said.

  “I agree,” Whitton said, “let’s go.”

  Smith could not get the straps holding his legs to the chair undone. The straps were on a ratchet and the more he tugged at them, the tighter they became. He heard a noise outside in the street. It sounded like a car door being slammed. He looked at the iron box on the floor and glanced up at the mantelpiece. The minute hand on the ticking clock had almost reached the twelve. He pulled at the straps again with all his strength but they would not budge. There was somebody outside the house. Smith could hear voices. He heard the knock on the door.

  The front door was opened and Smith shivered. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. It was beating in time with the ticking from the clock.

  “Smith,” a voice shouted.

  It was Whitton.

  “Whitton,” Smith said, “listen to me. I’m in the living room. Don’t…”

  The shrill alarm on the clock sounded. It drilled into Smith’s ears. At the same time, the door to the living room was swung open. Whitton and Brownhill stood in the doorway. Smith gasped. The twine tensed around the curtain pole and the loop on the top of the iron box flew off.

  “No,” Smith shouted.

  The alarm clock was all he could hear. Smith watched as the box exploded and a cloud of glitter filled the room. A flag popped out of the top. On it in black letters was written the word ‘Kaboom’.

  EIGHTY TWO

  Yorick’s joke

  Smith sat on the chair and stared at what was left of the metal box. The glitter had scattered all over the room. The ringing of the clock had stopped.

  “What happened?” Whitton stared at Smith sitting strapped to the chair.

  He was still wearing the Harlequin hat.

  “Yorick Moreno is Colin Green,” Smith said, “help me out of these straps.”

  “How did you know?” Whitton took out a pocket knife and cut the straps on Smith’s legs.

  She then freed his feet. Smith felt relieved as the blood started to flow again.

  “I didn’t know,” Smith tried to stand up but his feet were numb, “I was going crazy just sitting at home. I had to do something. I decided to go back to the beginning and then all of this happened.”

  He pointed to the metal box.

  “What is that thing?” Whitton said.

  “Yorick’s joke,” Smith said, “his sick sense of humour. I thought I was going to be blown to pieces.”

  “Right place at the wrong time?” Brownhill stepped inside the room, “or is it the other way round?”

  “He turned off the lights in the house,” Smith said, “I’ve never experienced such darkness before. He kept on slashing at me with a knife. Then he injected me with something and I woke up strapped to the chair. He’s like a bloody ghost. He can see in the dark and he moves like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

  “You need to go to the hospital,” Brownhill pointed to the deep cut on Smith’s cheek, “you’ll need stitches on that and will you please take off that ridiculous hat.”

  Smith took off the Harlequin hat and threw it across the room.

  “There’s nobody here,” Yang Chu walked in, “I’ve checked the whole house.”

  “Who are you?” Smith asked him.

  “PC Yang Chu sir,” Chu said, “it’s an honour to meet you.”

  Smith stood up. His circulation was returning to normal.

  “Where’s Yorick now?” Brownhill said.

  “I don’t know,” Smith said, “I thought I was going to die. He told me the box was a bomb. We need to find that sick bastard.”

  “Did he tell you anything?” Whitton said.

  “He told me everything,” Smith said, “and it was quite disturbing. He really believed he was doing the children a favour. He kept talking about the dark clouds and the voice inside them. He’s a bona fide lunatic.”

  “I know,” Brownhill said, “all three of the dead children were fathered by him. He murdered his own children.”

  “I know where he is,” Smith said suddenly, “he said something about a tedious family reunion.”

  “Alberto Moreno,” Brownhill said.

  “Family reunion,” Smith said, “he’s going to kill his brother.”

  EIGHTY THREE

  Only child

  Smith sat in the back seat of Yang Chu’s car. His head was spinning and he felt cold. Yang Chu was driving at a crazy speed to the circus grounds. Metallica was booming out of the car speakers. It was one of Smith’s favourite songs, ‘The Unforgiven.’

  “I like your music,” Smith said.

  “It helps me think,” Chu said.

  Smith was starting to like this new member of the team. He sat back and listened to the words of the song. ‘Never free, never me so I dub thee un
forgiven.’

  “Are you alright?” Whitton turned round and looked at Smith from the passenger seat, “you look very pale. Brownhill was right. You should really go to the hospital.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Smith said although he was not sure he would be, “I thought I was going to die. I was sure I was going to die. I woke up in the chair and the first words I heard were ‘you’re going to die’.”

  Whitton did not know what to say. Smith had been close to death many times but he always seemed to bounce back. She was not sure he would this time.

  “Brownhill called for backup,” Chu said, “she said we should hold back until they arrive. I don’t see why, there are six of us and only one of him.”

  “You haven’t met him,” Smith said, “he moves like a leopard; I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think he’s human. He kept coming at me again and again. He’s pure evil.”

  Yang Chu parked some distance away from the caravans and turned off his headlights.

  “What now?” He said.

  “We do what Brownhill said,” Smith said, “we wait for reinforcements. This man is extremely dangerous.”

  Thompson parked next to Chu’s car.

  “Where the hell is that backup?” Smith said.

  His hands were shaking.

  Brownhill arrived. She got out of her car, walked over to Chu’s car and rapped on the window. Whitton opened the door and got out.

  “Backup is going to be a while,” Brownhill said, “there’s been a huge fight at one of the nightclubs in town and half of the police force is there.”

  “On a Monday night?” Whitton said, “Who goes to a nightclub on a Monday night?”

  “We’ll have to wait anyway,” Brownhill said.

  “We haven’t got time to wait,” Smith got out of the car.

  The rain had stopped and stars were now visible in the sky.

  “I agree with Smith,” Yang Chu said, “we need to get him now.”

  Brownhill thought hard.

  “Ok,” she said, “we’ll go in pairs. Thompson and Bridge, Whitton and Chu and Smith, I’ll go with you. How are you feeling? Do you think you’re up to it?”

  “I’m fine,” Smith said, “I’ve been worse. We’ll go in first. I’ve seen how this guy moves. Be very careful, he has a very effective knife. I think we’ll go straight to the front of Alberto’s caravan and the rest of you can approach from behind.”