Ashlee stared past him, at Mum with her chains and her bruises. ‘I want my mummy.’
‘Come on, you need to keep your strength up. You’re going to be a god.’
‘If you let me go … If you let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone. I swear! Just let me go and—’
‘Drink.’
‘You can keep my mum! Let me go and she’ll be completely grateful. Mum’s like utterly dirty and—’ The slap snapped Ashlee’s head to one side. Leaving her face stinging.
‘Shhh …’ He stroked her hair with his free hand. ‘New Mummy isn’t dirty. New Mummy will keep us all safe and warm and loved, with her pretty yellow hair and soft cosy lap. New Mummy loves us.’
‘You’re off your mental nut. We … Just let us go, yeah? Please.’
‘Don’t you want to be a god?’ He held the bottle to her lips.
‘GET OFF ME!’ She flinched back, till the chains yanked tight. ‘You’re completely a psycho! You’re utterly and complete— Ulk.’
He grabbed her face with his other hand, fingers digging into her cheeks, forcing her jaws open. Jamming the sports bottle in and squeezing. Bitter cold water flooded her mouth, full of bits and yuck and no way in hell was she swallowing that crap.
The chains clanged and rattled as she grabbed at his wrists. Sobbing. The whole front of her face burst into flames, burning from the inside out, as that horrible water burst out of her nostrils.
He grabbed her nose and squeezed it shut. Forced more water into her mouth. ‘I know it’s nasty, but it is necessary. You have to drink it.’ Held on tight. ‘You want to be a god, don’t you? You want people to worship you?’
Her fingertips scrabbled at his forearms. ‘Ghhhhhhhaghhh!’
‘Shhhh …’ He dropped the bottle and forced her mouth shut again, keeping everything inside. ‘It’ll all be fine. You just drink up.’
Ashlee bucked and thrashed, sending water slopping over the edge of the tank.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
CAN’T BREATHE.
So she did the only thing she could do: she swallowed the horrible bitter water.
He let go of her face. ‘There’s a good girl.’ Smiled as she coughed and retched. Then scooped the plastic bottle out of the tub. ‘One mouthful down, six more to go.’
Oh God …
The walls pulsed and groaned, twisting round through ninety degrees before snapping back into place and twisting again. And again. And again. Like hammering back a quarter bottle of Marline’s gran’s voddy in one go. No coke or nothing.
Ashlee blinked, screwing her face up tight. Bared her teeth.
Don’t be sick, OK? Not again.
The bits were still floating all around her from last time. Because the manky bathtub water wasn’t bad enough.
His voice came from a long way away, echoing and slow. ‘How are you feeling?’
She could barely turn her head, it weighed so much. ‘Gnffffmmmmnt …’ Why wouldn’t her mouth work?
‘Good.’ His face swam in and out of focus, pulsing in time with the walls. ‘I envy you so much. You’re going to be a god. Isn’t that great?’
‘Plnnnnssss …’ Her chest was full of rats. Rats and seagulls. And bees. Scrabbling and flapping and buzzing deep inside her.
‘They’ll worship you and you’ll save them, because you’ll be a god.’
Rats, seagulls, and bees.
His voice faded away. ‘I have to go to work, but I’ll be back to check on you. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’ Faded away until there was nothing left but the noises in her chest. Scrabbling, flapping, and buzzing.
‘They’ll worship you: you’ll be a god.’
A hole opened up in the base of Ashlee’s skull, and the whole world fell through it …
It’s her eighth birthday, and all she wants is a pretty princess cake and the new Nerf Elite Hail-Fire blaster, cos you can shoot a hundred and forty-four darts seventy-five feet. Which is as long as a swimming pool. And it would be utterly cool, cos Marline’s got an Alpha Trooper CS-18 and that only holds eighteen darts.
But what Ashlee’s got is Mum and Dad screaming at each other downstairs in the living room.
She sits on the edge of her bed, picking at the scabs on her left knee. Peeling away the hard bits of skin, making the shiny pink under it bleed.
Then there’s a thump and a crash and the sound of heavy feet on the stairs.
Dad throws her door open. ‘You. Downstairs. Now.’
‘But—’
‘NOW!’ He’s bigger than a bear, teeth all shiny, and eyes like burned things. Hands like crushers as he grabs her arm and pulls her out onto the landing. Drags her down the stairs. Shoves her through into the living room.
A blue and red smear is all that’s left of her Princess Merida cake, sagging its way down the wallpaper by the window. The coffee table’s cracked and broken. Mum’s on the carpet next to it, on her hands and knees. Sobbing.
‘Tell her!’ Dad spits on the back of mum’s head. ‘TELL HER WHAT YOU DID!’
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Her pretty yellow dress is all ripped up the side, showing off blotchy purple-and-yellow skin.
Dad drops down to one knee and pulls Ashlee round, so she’s got no choice but to look into those burned-thing eyes. ‘Because of your slut mother, I’m going to have to go away. That’s her fault. She’s making me leave.’
Ashlee doesn’t say anything, just stands very still.
‘I wanted to take you with me, and you could be my little princess, and we’d have adventures all over the world, and we’d be together forever.’ He smiles like broken glass. ‘But your mother’s spoiled it. And I’m going to have to leave you here. With her. And I want you to know, it’s all her fault. You could be happy, but she won’t let you.’
And then he stands and sweeps out of the house like a storm, crackling lightning and thunder, slamming the front door behind him.
Ashlee bites her bottom lip.
All she wanted was a princess cake and a Nerf Elite Hail-Fire blaster.
Mum cries and moans. ‘I’m sorry …’
Then Ashlee blinks away tears, turns, and goes back upstairs to her bedroom.
Slams the door.
Just like her dad.
Marline swallows, shudders, and passes the bottle of voddy. Hisses out a breath. ‘Gaghh …’
Ashlee takes a swig. God, it’s horrible. The stuff makes her teeth itch and her mouth fizz, numbing her tongue before she forces it down. Hot and burning. ‘Ghaaaa …’ She shakes her head from side to side as her eyeballs pop and crackle.
Then it hits her stomach like burning petrol, spreading its fire through her whole body.
Marline pops one shoulder up till it’s pressing against her ear. ‘Smooth.’
The car park’s empty, all the little people headed home for the night. Now there’s nothing left but empty spaces and security lights. All the shutters are down on the shopping centre’s windows.
Ashlee swings her feet back and forward, back and forward, holding onto the railing with her other hand. ‘What you wanna do?’
‘Dunno.’ Marline takes another scoof of voddy. Shudders. ‘Ghaaa …’ Holds the bottle out. ‘Ooh: you know Peter, right? Sits behind me in English?’
Oh yes. Peter with his squinty eye and his funny teeth. Peter with ‘ASSASSIN’S CREED’ printed across his school rucksack in flaky enamel paint.
Ashlee helps herself to another mouthful. ‘Yurrrrgh …’ The warm numbness is getting bigger. Stuff isn’t brilliantly revolting when you get used to it.
‘Well, Peter completely wants to go to Dougie’s party with me.’
‘Pfff …’ She closes her eyes and listens to them crackle. ‘Yeah, that’s how it starts. “Oh, go to the party with me. I love you so much.” Next thing you know he’s trying to finger you in his dad’s shed and if you say no he’ll tell everyone you’re a frigid bit
ch.’
‘Peter?’ Marline’s voice wobbles, that one word catching and tearing like damp toilet paper.
Ashlee puts the bottle down and wraps her arm around Marline. Gives her a hug. ‘No. I’m sure Peter’s not like that.’ Even though he probably is. They all are.
‘Oh, yes, that’s very pretty.’ Uncle Eddie folds his arms and looks her up and down. Smiles like a crocodile. ‘Very pretty indeed.’ He licks his lips. ‘Now, why don’t you try on the red one again?’
The city’s spread out before them like burning jewels in the darkness. It’s not even that cold, perched up here on the edge of the old castle wall, legs dangling over the edge. Way below, the dual carriageway is a ribbon of streetlights, taxis, and the odd bus. Wouldn’t think it was nearly Halloween.
Peter turns to her, with his wonky eye and his funny teeth. ‘Are you sure it’ll be OK?’
Ashlee swaps the half bottle of Smirnoff to her other hand, then reaches over and cups her hand around the crotch of his trousers. What’s inside is hard like a spanner. ‘You chicken?’
‘But Marline—’
‘Marline’s an utter munter.’ She parts her lips and leans in. ‘And I’m mint.’
Off in the distance, an airplane roars into the October sky.
The ground rushes up, closer and faster and she’s screaming a broken-bottle scream and—
Ashlee fights her way up through the duvet, till she’s sitting up, dripping with sweat. Shivering and shaking. Mouth hanging open so she can haul in deep juddery breaths.
Gah …
Just a nightmare. Nothing to worry … about.
There’s someone in her room!
She grabs the bedclothes and pulls them up to her chin, scrambling backwards till she thumps into the headboard.
It’s Uncle Eddie. Smiling. Her old manky teddy bear sitting in his lap. Covering things while he zips himself up. ‘Sweetheart.’ He leans forward. ‘It’s OK, you were having a bad dream. I wanted to make sure you were all right. You’re all right, right?’
Ashlee nods.
‘Good. Now, you lie down and go back to sleep and I’ll stay here to make sure no monsters get you.’
Too late.
‘’Snot … ’snot fair …’ Marline’s back heaves as she spatters out this massive flood of Bacardi, all mushed up with a shared poke of chips. ‘Hurrrrrgkkk …’
Ashlee rolls her eyes, both hands full of her best friend’s hair. Keeping it out of the way as she chucks away perfectly good rum. ‘You’re too good for him, Marly. He’s completely a wanker.’
‘How could he … could he … With her! Hurrrrrrrgkkkk …’
Because he was a man and that’s what men did.
And he wasn’t even all that good at it.
‘I’m not eating this slop!’ Ashlee grabs the plate in front of her and flips it up and off the table, sending it spinning till it clatters against the kitchen floor and shatters into three jagged chunks, spraying disgusting spaghetti bolognese everywhere.
Like she’s going to eat that?
Spaghetti bolognese? How much fat and carbs are in that? Millions, that’s how much.
One hundred and ten percent revolting.
Mum just sits there, bottom lip trembling. Look at the lardy cow cry: big fat tears rolling down her big fat cheeks.
Ashlee stands. ‘No wonder no one loves you.’
Little waves lapped the walls of the tub, sloshing the filthy water around as Ashlee sobbed.
The man with blue eyes lied: she wasn’t going to be a god. She couldn’t be. She was a monster. And no amount of bitter water was going to change that.
Why did she have to be so horrible to Marline?
Why did she have to be so horrible to Mum?
To Peter. To everyone …
Spoiled and vile and horrible.
And now she was alone. In a rusty metal tank, in a manky smoky room, with nothing but the darkness and the cold and the itchy feeling in the pit of her stomach for company.
The seagulls and bees were gone – no more buzzing, no more flapping, leaving her innards full of rats.
Any minute they’d wake up and gnaw their way out of her, turning the dirty water a nasty shade of scarlet.
When did she eat the rats?
Why did she eat them?
Ashlee craned her neck round again.
Mum hadn’t moved: still slumped against her chains, arms hanging loose at her sides, bruises ripe and dark.
‘Mummy?’ Ashlee kept her voice down so the rats wouldn’t wake up. ‘Mummy? Don’t let them kill me …’
But Mum didn’t answer, because Mum was probably dead.
Selfish cow.
31
‘So?’ Watt stared at him from the passenger seat.
‘So what?’
The pool car thrummed over the cobbles, lurched across a disused set of railway lines, windscreen wipers making a squealing harmony with the screeching gulls.
‘You know very well what: what was on that flash drive?’
Callum shuddered. ‘I’d rather not think about it.’
The Logansferry docks probably didn’t feature in Oldcastle’s tourist brochures. It wasn’t quaint and old-fashioned like the Kettle Docks across the river – with its gaily coloured wee boats and fishermen’s huts – instead it was a rigid grid of huge grey slab-fronted warehouses and chandlers’ yards ringed with chain-link fences and barbed wire. Hordes of camera-toting tourists didn’t come here, even if they’d managed to get past the security gates they’d end up squashed beneath a forklift truck, articulated lorry, or shipping container.
Watt folded his arms even tighter. ‘Don’t tell me then.’
‘Imagine the most horrible porn you’ve ever heard of, double it, and add a collection of dogs and farmyard animals. Gah …’ The shudder worked its way from the back of one hand, all the way across his shoulders and down the other side. ‘I’m never singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” ever again.’
‘So absolutely no help on the case.’
‘Thanks for making it sound as if that’s my fault.’ Callum took the next turning, along a narrow strip of cobbles. On the left, a waist-high wall separated the road from the river, nothing on the other side of it until the grey lump of Kingsmeath reared up the hill. Ancient stone buildings lined the right-hand side of the road, squat and solid, with rust-reddened corrugated iron roofs and heavy steel doors. He pulled up outside one, two thirds of the way down. ‘This is us.’
It had the standard barn-style sliding door, painted a faded blue with ‘MEARNS FINE FISH PRODUCTS LTD’ in chipped white paint the width of the building.
Watt undid his seatbelt. ‘I’m only going to say this once: you are not going to cock this up, do you understand? I will lead the questioning, you will keep your mouth shut and don’t touch anything.’
Callum turned in his seat. ‘Tell me, Constable, exactly who the hell do you think you are, ordering me about?’
‘I’m the police officer who doesn’t take bribes to let murderers go free.’ He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut.
Oh no you don’t.
Callum clambered out and slammed his own door. The air was heavy with the oily reek of raw diesel and rotting fish. Rain bounced off the pool car’s roof and bonnet. ‘You know what, you gingery-pube-bearded sack of wank? I’ve never taken a bribe in my life!’ He marched around the car, closing the distance. Balling his hands into fists. ‘And I am sick and tired of snide sneery comments from arseholes like you.’
Watt looked him up and down. Then stepped back. ‘Big Johnny Simpson walked, because of you.’
‘IT WAS A SODDING MISTAKE, OK?’ He thrust his arms out. ‘Have you never cocked anything up in your life? Are you so buggering perfect?’
The bleep-bleep-bleep of a vehicle reversing cut through the gulls’ lament.
Behind Watt, the Kings River was a twisted swathe of pewter, dull grey in the ra
in. Cars on the other side had their headlights on. And up above the sky was the colour of ash.
‘Well?’
A shrug. ‘You expect me to believe that you didn’t take any money from Big Johnny Simpson?’
Callum turned his back. ‘Go screw yourself.’
The cobbles were slippery, so he picked his way across them to the big steel door, grabbed the cold metal handle and hauled it back far enough to let out the deep smoky tang of burning wood. Stepped into the gloom.
‘Hello?’
The room was easily big enough to park a couple of buses in. Racks along the walls, pallets of boxes in the middle, what looked like a large walk-in cold room on one side with another one beside it. Puddles dotted the damp concrete floor.
‘ANYONE IN?’
He worked his way through the boxes to a small office with a grubby window overlooking the warehouse. A thickset woman was behind the desk, wearing a hairnet, heavy-duty white plastic apron, and a bright red fleece. She waved at him and pointed to the phone in her other hand.
Fair enough.
The door rumbled shut, then Watt appeared at his elbow. ‘You’re a bit touchy, aren’t you?’
Callum kept his eyes on the woman. ‘You can talk. All you’ve done since you got here is moan.’
No reply.
Then Watt puffed out a breath. ‘I did the right thing, and I got shafted for it. Half my team were on the take and when I went to Professional Standards do you know what happened? Suddenly I was the bad guy.’ He folded his arms, tight. ‘How is that fair?’
‘Yeah, that’s pretty crappy.’
‘Oh, crappy doesn’t even begin to cover it.’
The woman in the office threw back her head and laughed, setting quite a lot of things wobbling.
Watt shifted his feet. ‘And just in case you’re thinking this is some sort of bonding moment, it isn’t. I’m telling you what happened to make it perfectly clear: I don’t like bent cops. I hate them.’
‘How many times do I have to say this? Eh? How can I make it any clearer? I – didn’t – take – any—’
A Dark So Deadly Page 24