Night is Watching

by Lucy Cameron

  Across the street Kier’s house is dark. The whole street is dark. Too dark. Too silent.

  Rhys opens the front door. The only sound is his heart as it hammers in his chest. He reaches for the switch; the hall is flooded with light. The only thing out of place is the shelf that fell the night before. It’s propped on its side waiting to be fixed.

  Still there’s no sound.

  He turns to the living room. The door’s closed. He slides the knife out of his pocket. He can feel his heartbeat pulse in his throat as he pushes the door slowly open. The image of the charred woman’s body flashes through his mind. Eddie Reynolds twitches, beaten with a hammer. Cathy slowly swings. Alison, the girl without a face. He shakes his head. Screws his eyes up tight. He opens them slowly, flicks the light switch. He wants to scream with terror as he sees… nothing.

  The room is empty.

  He repeats the process. Grows more confident with each room. He quickly covers downstairs, turns on every lamp and light as he goes. Illuminates the house. Upstairs, he does the same. Light after light goes on as he looks in every corner. His heartbeat grows faster every time he pushes a door open, every time he checks inside a wardrobe. His mind races ahead to the horror he could face, yet blocks it out. He needs to concentrate, needs to think. He moves faster as he finds nothing after nothing.

  His mobile shrills in the silence. He jumps, swears.

  ‘Where are you, you bastard?… Hello?… Anna, where the hell are you?… What? Why? With whom?… Stop, no I don’t need to know that… I can tell you later. Where are the kids?… Okay… Listen, I need you to come back here straight away… Back home, of course.’ He heads down the stairs. ‘It’s the kids. He said he’s going to hurt the kids.’

  Anna feels the colour drain from her face as she hangs up. Dan, fork of steak suspended mid air, looks at her.

  ‘He answered. He’s at home,’ she says.

  ‘That’s a good thing, right?’ Dan lowers the fork back to his plate, food untouched.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She doesn’t know.

  Rhys hasn’t called her all day. DCI Jenkins called, said Rhys had left the station ‘prior to the resolution of their session’, whatever the hell that meant. She was to call him as soon as Rhys got in touch. She should’ve stayed at home. DCI Jenkins told her to stay at home.

  ‘I think we should leave.’ Anna reaches for her coat as she speaks. ‘We shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have come here.’ She holds Dan’s eye. ‘Rhys said something about someone being after the kids.’ Dan rises, signals for the bill.

  ‘Not this Kier Finnegan stuff again?’ Anna shrugs.

  ‘I don’t think it’s fair for Elsie to have to deal with it, that’s all.’ Dan nods. ‘I need to be there.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No. Yes. I’ll need a lift.’

  It’s suddenly hard to breathe. What the hell is she going to find when she gets home? A nasty feeling sits in the base of her stomach. ‘If something bad happens Anna Morgan,’ she tells herself as they head to the car, ‘it will be your fault, you should have been there for them all, not here doing this.’

  66.

  Rhys hammers on the front door, then waits. Paces. He knows it’ll take Elsie a while to answer. This is too long. He bangs again.

  ‘Elsie. Harry. Louise?’ No answer.

  Elsie will send one of the kids. They should’ve opened the door by now.

  Is she being cautious, afraid? He cups his hands, presses his face against the front window. Bloody net curtains. All he sees is the glow of the electric fire, a fuzzy orange orb. No movement. He would pick up on that. He steps back, looks at the upstairs windows. A light is on, faint, but there. A lamp, perhaps a nightlight? He hammers on the door again. There’s no time for this. He needs to be in there now. Anna won’t phone Elsie, won’t have told her about Andrews, what happened. Elsie will still be cautious. She knows what lurks out here.

  Rhys studies the front door. Could he kick it in? It’s a lot harder to do than it looks, especially with external doors. This one is new, bought by a lady who likes to feel secure. Rhys heads round the back.

  The side gate is locked but easy to climb as adrenaline hammers through his veins. The garden is neat, completely paved, a few easy to manage flowerpots. Harry earns pocket money pulling the weeds from the cracks in the patio during summer. The kitchen is dark. The light from the fire in the front room seeps through. He tries the back door handle. To his amazement it opens.

  ‘Harry?’ No answer. ‘Louise?’ Rhys steps into the small, warm kitchen. Half a Victoria sponge sits on the work surface. Its top slopes, one side significantly lower than the other. Through the doorway, he sees into the front room. There are books all over the floor. The bookcase looks like something has hit it hard, the books like someone has kicked them as they passed through to the kitchen. He steps over them into the room.

  That’s when he sees her, slumped forward on the sofa, her head nearly on her knees.

  ‘Elsie!’ Rhys runs, lifts her upright. Her eyes are wide open, staring, her mouth set in a silent scream. He shakes her hard, shouts her name. Tears choke their way up and out of his eyes. Her skin is cold and grey. She looks different, not like herself at all. Her head lolls back and he sees them. Two small puncture wounds on the side of her neck.

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ Rhys screams. ‘I will kill you.’ Elsie’s head drops forward again, heavy on his shoulder, her hair soft against his cheek. The sob escapes before he can stop it.

  Gently, he lays her down on the sofa. He desperately wants to shut her eyes but knows it will further contaminate a crime scene he’s already destroyed.

  Where are the children?

  Where the fuck are the children?

  He does not think. If he does the fear will paralyse him. Rhys runs up the stairs, shouts their names.

  Elsie’s house is one of the smallest on the street. They have often discussed how every house is different, all thrown together to make a ramshackle kind of place. Rhys likes that, likes that no one else has a house the same as his. No one can sit and wonder where he has placed his furniture in a mirror image of their own home. There are two bedrooms. Both doors are wide open. The smaller back room is where Harry sleeps. A dinosaur battle is well underway, but abandoned. The front bedroom was Elsie’s. Now Louise’s overnight bag lies open on the bed, a magazine showing some boy band open at its side. There’s no sign of them in either room. Rhys pulls out his mobile, dials.

  ‘Hello, ambulance please…’ As he starts to give the address he looks up and out of the window. He can clearly see his own home from up here. It glows in all the light he’s turned on. Something moves in an upstairs window. The phone drops from his hand. The tiny voice still speaks to him from the carpet.

  ‘Harry?’ Rhys steps close to the window. It is Harry. His small face terrified as he stares across at Rhys, his hands press against the glass. It’s not possible. Rhys has just been there, the house was empty. A shadow moves behind Harry. A twisted, smiling face rushes forward, presses its grimace against the glass. The speed of the movement makes Harry cry out. He jumps. The twisted face steps back, straightens himself, waves at Rhys.

  The face of Kier Finnegan.

  67.

  In reality it takes two minutes for Rhys to get from the window in Elsie’s house to his own bedroom door. It feels like hours. Each second drags out, each second his children are alone with the creature. Rhys’s legs pump fast. Not fast enough. His heart feels like it will tear through his chest. The front door to his house is open. Rhys crashes in. The man in the front room catches his eye. Arthur looks up from the sofa. A long, sad look.

  ‘You bastard.’ Rhys breathes as he takes the stairs two at a time.

  Rhys is in his bedroom doorway, gasping for breath, hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat. Kier stands in the middle of the bed, a stance wide and sure.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, all a little melodramatic,’ says Kier, shru
gging. ‘What can I say?’ Rhys doesn’t look at him. He can’t. He can’t take his eyes off Harry. Kier holds Harry tight around the throat, suspending him off the ground at arm’s length. The knife in Kier’s other hand catches the light. Rhys’s eyes flick to it. Kier sneers. ‘Nice isn’t it?’ he nods towards the knife. Rhys chances another look. It’s his flick knife. How’s that possible? ‘That’s the problem with carrying a weapon, Rhys. It can so easily be turned against you. Or those you love.’

  ‘Let him go,’ says Rhys. Kier laughs. Harry pulls futilely against Kier’s fingers, fights to find a way to let oxygen in.

  ‘Oh okay,’ says Kier. Harry’s eyes start to roll as the pressure around his throat becomes too much.

  ‘Please.’ There’s desperation in Rhys’s voice but he doesn’t care. ‘Please, I’m begging you, let him go.’ Rhys steps towards them. Kier does not move, just tightens his grip around Harry’s throat.

  ‘Then ask,’ says Kier and for a moment Rhys is in the dream. His stomach drops. He feels like he is falling. The dream and reality spliced hurriedly together like a bad piece of film. ‘Ask to join me and all of this will be over.’ Kier’s voice sounds in his ear and miles away. Rhys looks at Harry. His face is turning a shade of purple. What choice does he have? Is it really going to end like this?

  ‘Can I join you?’ It’s barely a whisper. No ceremony. No grand gesture. It’s enough. Kier’s eyes lock with his. Rhys steps towards them. This time Kier’s move is to begin to lower Harry. Rhys steps up onto the bed. The ground falls away around them. The edges of colour start to fade. Rhys is inches away now. Not for one second does he break eye contact with Kier. He feels the creature drop Harry. Feels Harry’s small hands as they grasp his leg. Kier face starts to change, to ripple as a thousand tiny creatures scurry under his skin. He pulls back his top lip to reveal his long white incisors. The grimace grows from within. Kier closes his eyes, throws back his head ready to strike. It’s a split second but it’s all Rhys needs. All he’s been waiting for. He pulls the hunting knife out of his pocket, lifts it to strike.

  Something somewhere crashes.

  Kier’s eyes fly open.

  They pull up outside the house. Anna didn’t want Dan here, but had no other way to get home. Arthur limps out of the front door, the look on his face tells her she will be glad Dan is with her.

  ‘Please come quickly,’ says Arthur. He’s not the calm, composed man she has previously met. Every step seems to cause him great pain. ‘I was with Elsie. She felt unwell so I said I would bring the children home. We were in the front room playing when he crashes in ranting like a madman and drags them upstairs. I can’t get up there you see.’ He gestures to his foot. ‘But there was banging and shouting and now it’s gone terribly quiet.’

  ‘Who?’ asks Dan. They both know the answer.

  ‘Rhys,’ says Arthur. Dan pulls out his phone. Anna runs up the stairs.

  She reaches the bedroom door, shoves it open – the handle hits the wall with a loud crack. Her heart freezes, drops through the floor.

  Rhys stands in the middle of the bed, a hunting knife held fist down in a plunging motion. Rhys’s words from the previous night ring in her mind – ‘He killed Andrews, right in front of me, with a hunting knife straight through his heart’. The sound of the bedroom door hitting the wall pulls Rhys’s attention to her. He snaps out of a trance. Blinks his eyes rapidly. Searches the room. His head flicks back to look for something that he thinks is in front of him.

  What glues her to the spot is Harry. He clings to his father’s leg in the direct line of where the plunging motion would’ve ended had she been a second later and Rhys had begun.

  ‘No!’ Rhys roars, primal, animal. He swerves from the bed to the window and back again. The blade of the knife jabs and waves in the air. Harry flows behind him like a piece of ribbon blown loose at the fair.

  ‘Harry, come to me!’ Anna cries. She crouches down, arms wide. Harry shakes his head, clings tight to his father’s legs. His father, motionless once more in the centre of the bed.

  ‘No!’ Rhys roars again. Drives the knife down to his side and back again. Swift, sharp movements, each time the blade inches from Harry’s face.

  ‘Please!’ Anna is screaming too. ‘Harry, please come to me!’ Harry shakes his head again, buries his face in his father’s leg.

  ‘You.’ Rhys turns his wrath on her. ‘What have you done?’ His eyes are cold and hard. Nothing there of the man she knows. ‘I was this close.’ He lifts his empty hand, gestures millilitres. ‘This close and it would all have been over. What have you done?’

  He screams then. Loud and wild, Anna brings her hands up to her ears. She watches as Rhys falls to his knees, hugs Harry, his small body behind the fisted knife. He clings to his father just as tight.

  Then Rhys starts to cry. And laugh.

  ‘You think you’ve won?’ Rhys screams. ‘No chance. Never. I will kill you.’ To her over Harry’s shoulder. ‘What have you done?’ Distant sirens sound. This makes Rhys laugh harder, between his wretched sobs. ‘Too late!’ He screams. ‘Far too late.’

  Anna is frozen in the doorway. She flicks her eyes left, sees Louise. Louise stands with her back pressed flat against the wall, a small pool of urine at her feet. Anna gestures urgently for her to come over. Anna doesn’t take her eyes from Rhys. From the knife so near her baby. Louise doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t make a sound.

  The sirens grow louder. Anna holds her breath, prays a silent mantra, wills them to hurry.

  ‘Too late!’ Rhys shouts again and again and again. A single tear rolls down Anna’s cheek. He is right. They are far too late.

  68.

  The woman is still there somewhere, under the piles of ash that blow gently on the breeze. More than that, he can still feel the love for her, the love that she represents. There is nothing here now. Nothing more than black dust that dances on the wind. Light, almost magical around the base of the great tree.

  He’s alone. He knows he won’t be for long.

  He stands high up on what he suspects is a hillside, looks down at the land below. There’s a strange feeling of calm in him today, a quiet resignation of what’s to come. Resignation and sadness. Not acceptance. There will never be acceptance.

  He appears from nowhere, the creature with his fiery blond hair and pale complexion. He’s untouched by the dark, burnt surroundings. The dust that settles on everything doesn’t touch him, would not dare. Rhys knew he would come as soon as the sky started to darken, deep grey swirls, like a black and white photocopy of a Van Gogh masterpiece. The temperature drops. The lightning strobes begin. Rhys blinks and holds up his arm as a shield. Black, white, then black again.

  The creature is silent as he steps towards Rhys, his hand outstretched. Rhys knows this is how it has to be. The creature’s hand is cold as he takes it, but the embrace is strong. Everything around them starts to shake, violent and angry. The vast black pillars that have torn through the once-beautiful landscape vibrate in rage. Are they trying to shake off this creature, this thing?

  Rhys closes his eyes tight but he can still see their faces, Anna, Louise, Harry, Elsie, Jenny. They overlap, distort. They mould together and become the woman in the garden. The woman who’s suffered because of him and is now at peace. They will all be at peace. It doesn’t matter what happens to him as long as they are at peace.

  The creature is amused by this. It silently mocks him, laughs deep down.

  Rhys is cold to his core. Has he made a terrible mistake? Perhaps they are not safe at all only he’s no longer able to protect them.

  Rhys realises then that they’re moving. They shoot upward through the sky, scream towards the intense bright light. Rhys screws his eyes tight shut. Pain explodes in his head. Pain of the situation. Pain of the speed of movement. The creature’s laughter vibrates through them both.

  Rhys dares a glance down. The land beneath them is black. How green and luscious it used to be catches in his mind’s eye fo
r just a moment. Then it’s gone. Was it ever there?

  The landscape starts to burn. Intense fire destroying everything that is left. Rhys cannot remember if the fire has just started or has always been there. He cannot remember their faces or whose faces it is he’s trying to remember. He can’t remember ever feeling afraid. Rhys is laughing before he realises it. He looks up into the creature’s bright blue eyes.

  They laugh together and Rhys feels complete.

  69.

  He really is a naughty little boy.

  It’s easy to move amongst them with all the commotion. It doesn’t take the crowds long to gather. Voyeurs of someone else’s misery. Blue flashing lights pull them out into the night. Too many people too close together. But he needs to get near, needs to see. He pulls his cap down low, sneaks as close as he dares.

  What’s happening in the house? What she’s done to him? Mother. Anna. Mother? He giggles. Someone looks. He pushes the naughty little thought away. They’re not the same. Anna is much better than Mother could hope to be. Yet they are the same. They are exactly the same.

  He sees Anna through the open front door, a brief glimpse of her in the hallway. She talks with a policewoman, tries to push her way past. Mustn’t let the policewoman see him. He takes a step back, knocks into a fat man in a tracksuit.

  Inside the house someone is screaming. Rhys is screaming.

  He giggles. The fat man looks.

  ‘What?’ he says without thinking. The anger. It’s always the anger. Too many people. Naughty little boy. He should leave. He wants to look at her for a moment longer. The policewoman’s looking. Time to leave.

  Further down the street an old lady is brought out of her house. She’s very still and pale. She’s rushed away in an ambulance. The crowd move like a wave in her direction. He steps back. People, people everywhere. Too many people. He retreats back to his hiding place.

  70.

  The ambulance felt like it took forever to arrive. Rhys’s screaming feels like it could last a lifetime.

  The police arrived first. Anna was removed from the bedroom. The authority of the police in their uniforms gave her something to hold onto.