The train moved off again, grinding and rattling its way along the track, stopping at the next few stations until we finally arrived at Liverpool Street station.
I hopped up, left the train and headed towards the exit as the train began to move again, sinking into the tunnel and dragging behind it the air from the station, causing a warm gust of wind to blow against my face. It was hot on the Tube today and I was glad to be heading out of that hot, musty environment.
Liverpool Street station was big and as I emerged from the underground I found myself in the vast open gallery of the main station. People were milling around everywhere and there were shops and fast food retailers lining the sides. This is as far as my ingenious plan took me; the rest of it was play-it-by-ear.
After wandering around for a while I found myself on Old Broad Street. The streets were quite claustrophobic here, with towers and high buildings on all sides. I stood on the corner and looked around, hoping to see a landmark; something that looked familiar.
Although my last visit to see Ethan was only a few days ago it seemed like forever and nothing gave me a clue as to where to go next.
I’d almost given up hope of finding anything I could recognise when I looked over at a booth selling coffee and sandwiches. I was expecting to see a landmark I would recognise and I certainly wasn’t expecting a walking, talking landmark.
The woman – the one who was with us in the first room with the person Ethan decided didn’t need to be shot in the face. What was her name? I tried to remember, it sounded foreign. Monica? No, Monique.
She was standing near the booth with a coffee in a paper takeaway cup and she was looking at her phone. Suddenly I felt nervous.
I think my plan had called for me to find something I recognised and stand and stare at it for a short while, maybe several years, until I formulated the next stage of my plan or died of old age. I wasn’t expecting to find a landmark that would be able to engage me in conversation and possibly recognise me back.
Monique sipped her coffee and began to slowly walk while reading her phone. I wasn’t sure whether to follow her, talk to her, or hide.
If I followed her she might be going somewhere else and I might be led away from Ethan. If I spoke to her then she might do something that could be worse. If I hid then I’d accomplish nothing.
Choices.
Again.
I wanted it all to be over. I wanted to believe that the last week had never happened; that it was all some weird joke, set up by Ethan to amuse himself and his friends using this poor homeless kid.
I wanted to believe that I could just walk away and it would all stop. And what if it did? Well, then I wanted to believe that I could be the same person that I was before; that I could just forget what I’d seen and heard, forget the questions that I raised about myself and just go back to what it was like before.
Monique stopped again and started typing a message on her phone.
When I was growing up I had limited access to TV and so I’ve never grown an attachment to it as others seem to. However, when I was around six or seven I remember seeing the Penn & Teller show. From that moment I was transfixed. Magic in general didn’t do much for me, but these guys seemed to have something extra and that fascinated me.
They were different; oddball, twisted and extremely talented. As I grew up and found the internet, offered for free in most libraries, my appreciation for them grew. YouTube and Wikipedia showed me more of their exploits and, although they were entertainers, they always seemed to have a profound message. They challenged people about their religion, drugs, their perception on the world around them and pretty much everything, and they did so in such a clever and insightful way that I couldn’t help but be incredibly impressed.
As I was standing here, staring at the side of Monique as she tapped away on her phone, a quote by Penn Jillette popped into my head: “If there’s something you really want to believe, that’s what you should question the most.”
I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. I couldn’t live in a world made up in my head. I needed to accept reality for what it was and embrace it because only by doing that would I really be able to find contentment and satisfaction in my life, no matter what the cost.
Looking both ways, I crossed the street and headed towards Monique. My hands were sweating and I could feel my heart racing as I stepped in front of her. It took her a few seconds to realise that I wasn’t just another passer-by and she looked up. She frowned as if she didn’t recognise me and suddenly I wondered if this was the right person. For someone with a profound talent (apparently) for picking up people’s wants, I’m terrible with faces.
“Monique?” I asked.
“Yes, who are you?” she replied. I’d assumed that with a name like ‘Monique’ that she’d be French but her accent wasn’t French. It sounded Russian or something like it; Eastern European.
“It’s me, Matthew. Matthew Hawk,” I said. She continued to frown but then her face relaxed.
“Ah, yes! You are the one from the other day. The one who can tell what people want. You did experiment with Mr Connelly.”
Why hadn’t she recognised me straight away? Either Ethan has a whole bunch of us involved in these games or she doesn’t know anything about them. I racked my brain trying to remember how much of the events of that first day she witnessed, and it occurred to me that she’d only been in the first room; I’d not seen her afterwards.
“Er… OK, well nice to see you again, Mr Hawk,” she said and I realised I’d just been standing there in front of her like a dummy. She began to turn around.
“No, wait!” I said, reaching out and grabbing her arm.
Her frown returned, deeper than before and she looked at her arm where my hand was. She looked uneasily back at me and I released her arm. “Sorry. I mean, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She held her arm where I’d grabbed her. “Talk? Talk about what?”
I realised that I was coming across at best like an idiot, at worst like some potential attacker. I backed off slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling really awkward about this but I need to see Ethan and I don’t know where he works. I can’t remember which office it was.”
Monique turned towards me again, still looking suspicious but slightly less agitated. “Mr Connelly is very busy. You cannot just go. You need appointment.”
“Yes, I know. Could you help me to see him?” I asked, sounding really desperate.
“No, I do not think so. I tell him that you asked and he will call you if that is his wish.”
“But,” I started but she had had enough of our conversation.
“No, no more. Please leave me,” and she turned and started to walk away.
I watched her go and tried to think of anything that would make her change her mind.
“It’s about Karen Geller!” I called desperately.
This got a reaction. In fact, this got more of a reaction than I was bargaining for. She turned around and walked towards me. More accurately, she walked at me. She threw her coffee on the floor which seemed to explode on contact, sending a flood of coffee across the pavement, narrowly missing a man’s foot. She grabbed my upper arm and leaned in close to my face, her grip like a vice on my bicep. Despite being skinny she was surprisingly strong.
“What you know about Karen? Eh? Karen is my friend. Was my friend. What you know about her and why you talk about her?”
As she spat the words out her anger made her lose control of her accent and it got stronger. She added some words that I was glad I couldn’t understand and stared into my face. “Tell me!”
I was struggling to find my words as she was scaring me. “I… I met her at Ethan’s party.”
“What party? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. Ethan invited me to a party and
Karen was there and we spoke. Look, I’m sorry about Karen. I saw it on the news today and I was upset because I spoke to her last night and she seemed OK and then I saw the news and I realised it was her and I didn’t know what to do so I came to see Ethan but I couldn’t remember where he worked and then I saw you.”
Monique backed out of my face and loosened her grip on my arm, although she didn’t let it go.
I continued, “I wanted to talk to Ethan in case anything we talked about last night was important to him.”
People kept walking past us and I was vaguely aware that some of them looked at us, obviously aware that there was something intense going on.
She frowned and tightened her grip on my arm, shaking me. “What you say to her?” she shouted.
“Nothing really, we just talked.” I could feel myself getting upset and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.
Seeing this, she calmed down. She released my arm and looked at the floor. “Karen was my friend. She was happy person. This is bullshit.”
She looked away from me and I could tell she was crying. I stood there and waited, not knowing what to say.
She reached into a bag on her shoulder and replaced her phone with a handkerchief.
“Fuck!” she said, wiping her eyes carefully to avoid smearing her makeup.
“I’m sorry.”
She sniffed and stared across the road, not wanting to make eye contact with me. I just stood there feeling like a lemon. I tried to think of something to say but everything that popped into my head sounded stupid with the potential of inciting another attack, which I was hoping to avoid at all costs. She scared me.
“Karen was good friend to me,” she said finally, “she helped me when I first got to this country. Helped me get job and find somewhere to live, you know?”
She finally looked at me and her eyes were red and puffy. I nodded. She regarded me for a while and then said, “You homeless boy, yes?”
“Yes, kind of. Although I’m not really a boy.”
“You don’t look like girl.”
“No, I mean I’m not really a young boy. I… I’m a man.”
“Ah, a man. OK.” She looked me up and down as if she didn’t really believe me. “OK, big homeless man, I buy you lunch.”
It wasn’t really lunchtime but it wasn’t so much a question, more like an order which I wasn’t game to argue with. She led me around a few corners until we got to a small pizza restaurant.
We sat in a booth near the window and she ordered for us both. She ordered Cokes and two medium pizzas. I had the impression that she was used to being in charge and when she asked me if I liked mushrooms I immediately said that I did. I didn’t.
As we had lunch she opened up more than I was expecting and I told myself it was probably an Eastern European thing combined with the need to vent over the death of her friend. I listened while carefully trying to edge the mushrooms to the side of my plate without her noticing.
“It was difficult here. There was much paper to write and I did not read English properly. I had job in Pizza Hut and Karen worked there also. She made me friend and helped me to find place to live not smelling of piss. She helped me with money and legal and more things.”
“So you worked together,” I replied. It was an inane reply but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Yes, I just told you. We worked at Pizza Hut for some months but it was shitty job. Small money to try to live in city. When I got job working with Mr Connelly then I had more money but Karen and I still good friends, close like sisters, you know? Before, when my papers came back then I had passport again and we went to Spain to sit in the sun and drink wine. I had nothing at first and Karen paid the money for me to go. It was nice, you know? I never knew stuff like this from Lithuania. It was hard life.”
She paused to eat and finally I found something less inane to say. “So how did you both end up working for Ethan?”
Through the pizza, Monique said, “I was working for Mr Connelly and Karen was then learning project manager in…” she muttered something in her own language and then said, “big school. How it called? University! So I spoke to Mr Connelly and told him that Karen was good hard worker and very smart. Smart in the head, you know?”
She tapped her head with her finger and I nodded as she continued, “So he spoke to her and she got job. Much better than Pizza Hut. So I helped her, you know? She helped me. I helped her. Like sisters more.”
I nodded again. I did know. I knew that Monique had nothing to do with what Ethan was doing to me and I also knew that I had to tread very carefully. How would Monique react when she found out that Karen’s death was caused by Ethan? And by me.
“I only met her once,” I said. “I think she thought I was an idiot.”
“An easy mistake in your case,” she said but I saw a small glimmer in her eye like she was teasing me.
“What do you do for Ethan?”
“I’m personal assistant and coordinator. It sounds like big job but really it’s bringing things and sorting things out. Is hard sometimes with paper and email but it’s getting better, you know? Like I learn more and it is more easy.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Few months now.” She regarded me. “You ask many questions.”
“I guess so. Sorry.”
“You always sorry. Sorry this, sorry that. Stop saying sorry. Big men don’t keep to say sorry. Questions are good. You know that Karen has small boy. Child?”
I thought quickly; was it mentioned in the news?
“Yes, they said on the news she had a child.”
Monique nodded. “Oliver. Poor boy with no mother now.”
I nodded, not sure of what else to do.
“So,” continued Monique, “why you want to see Mr Connelly? He was Karen’s boss but not her friend. I do not think he will be too sad.”
I hadn’t thought this through and I was beginning to panic, thinking that this might go bad at any point. Monique was not stupid and would pick up on any inconsistency in my story.
“Ethan, Mr Connelly, introduced me to Karen last night and said that I might be able to help with some work.”
“Ah, so now you worry that there will be no chance of finding some work here now Karen is gone. Huh.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. When I saw the news I was stunned and thought that I needed to see Ethan and I still do. I don’t know why, it makes no sense to me.”
Monique regarded me with a blank expression that made me more nervous than her shouting in my face.
She relaxed and said, “No. It makes no sense. Karen did not kill herself. She too happy person. She knows what wants and has plans. Had plans. I keep talking like she still here as it makes no sense that she gone.”
She was getting agitated and her accent was getting stronger again.
“Sorry,” was all I could think of to say.
“Sorry again. Huh,” then she softened. “Anyway, you seem like good person. OK, I will help you see Mr Connelly but you must not say it was me.”
Monique paid the bill and we left. Outside she retrieved a pack of cigarettes from her bag and offered one to me.
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
“Hmm, good idea. Don’t smoke.” She slid one out of the packet and lit it with a lighter. Blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth she said, “OK, Mr Connelly is on fourteenth floor over there. I will check you in and send you up.”
We walked together around a few corners to where we had met. She led me through a glass revolving door leading into the foyer of a tower where she told me to wait next to some weird sculpture as she went over to the desk to check me through. I watched her talk with the girl behind the desk and then she called me over.
Quietly she said to me, �
��They not too careful here. Anyone can bring anyone in, you know?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t need to sign you in; I can just send you to the right place.”
She led me to a glass barrier and the girl behind the desk pressed a button and it swung open. Monique went across to a station and swiped her card. The number ‘14’ appeared on the display and beneath it ‘Lift B’.
She indicated lift B to me and said, “There. It will take you up.”
I noticed that there were no call buttons on the outside of the lifts and as I stepped in there were no floor buttons either. It made me a little anxious. No, it made me more anxious. As the door began to shut, Monique put her hand in and the doors opened again. “Wait!”
She shuffled in her bag and took out a pen and a small notepad, scribbled something into it, ripped off the page and handed it to me.
“Here,” she said. “My number. If you find something out call me, you know?”
“OK,” I said, “but I don’t know if I’ll find anything.”
She looked at me and I could see the hurt on her face. “You might.”
I said nothing and just looked at her as the door slid shut. I slipped the note into my pocket as the lift started to rise with a faint hum.
The inside of the lift felt extremely claustrophobic and I wasn’t sure if this was due to my growing anxiety or the construction of the lift offering little control to the occupant. I watched the numbers ascending and all too soon we arrived at the fourteenth floor and the lift jerked to a halt with a ping.
The doors opened and I stepped out into the wide foyer of the fourteenth floor.
Ahead of me was the same view I had before: limited furniture and a huge expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass. No one was here. I walked further into the foyer and looked around.
I had a brief moment of panic when the thought entered my head that the lift might not have a call button but when I turned I saw one in the centre of the bank of four silver doors.
Hawk's Cross Page 7