by R. S. Higham
"Right let's get you on the bars." James hopped off the table and Julie helped him over to the other side of the room where there were two parallel rails and a walkway in between consisting of various dips and slopes. He clutched the railings with each hand and put as much pressure on his legs as he felt possible. It was a strange feeling being so weak, he felt like a baby taking his first steps except there was no loving mother and father ready to catch him just two cold metal bars. After a half hour of walking back and to aided Julie asked him to try on his own. James hadn't felt himself getting stronger and insisted he couldn't do it but Julie was adamant he try. When he let go of the rails and all of his weight dropped onto his legs he was sure they'd collapse on him but they didn't. He took a step, then another, they were a little unsteady but he was walking almost perfectly again
"See." Julie said. "I knew you could do it."
James was happy, for a brief moment he forgot about Kate and was actually happy. "I feel great!" He said.
"Good! I guess you can go back to your room then?"
"I'd rather go home."
"Soon?" She asked.
"I’m not sure."
"Well I'm sure you'll be home before you know it. And try not to end up here again." She laughed.
"Yeah I will." James left just as the Doctor was walking up the corridor.
"On your feet already?" He asked.
"Yep."
"Ready to see the therapist?"
"I'm having second thoughts to be honest..." James sighed.
“I can’t force you. Do you want to see her or not?”
“I don’t.” James felt like he was back at school. “I just want to go back to my room.” “Go home more like.” He thought.
“Very well.” The Doctor hurried away out of sight before James could say anymore.
31
Back in his room James paced about restlessly, not to train his legs but because he was bored out of his mind. Apart from being a little malnourished he couldn't see why he couldn’t leave today. He decided to sign himself out. He took his clothes out of the wardrobe and closed the door before changing out of his hospital gown and into his jeans. He laid the gown neatly on the bed and casually (hands in his pockets) sauntered over to the reception desk. He didn’t know whether to speak as she was on the phone but when she saw him standing there she quickly hung up.
"Can I help you, sir?" She asked.
"I'm just hoping to check out, please."
"This isn't a hotel." She joked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm pulling your leg. What's your name?"
"Er, James Jones."
“Are you sure you want to leave today? Says here you have therapy later on.” She kept one eye on the computer screen and another on James.
“I already told the Doctor to cancel, it’s fine.”
"Are you sure that’s a good idea?-” It was more the matter of cost that was stopping James- “Alright, sign here please." James scribbled his name on the astrix marked place on the paper. "I'll get you your bill."
James's smile sagged into a bull dog expression, he didn’t even want to guess how much his stay had cost him; luckily he had his credit card in his back pocket. After he paid (and now had his credit card bill on its way) he stepped out into the city he’d escaped from for a week, yet it felt like he’d only walked it yesterday. Now he’d maxed out his credit card he didn’t know quite what to do, he had no money for a taxi and over the days he’d been unconscious a fresh snowfall had covered New Hatton, and it wasn’t a little one, it was at least seven or eight inches deep. He didn’t fancy walking home; it was colder than when he was last out. “When I was last outside.” He thought. “Kate.” He felt a tear well in his left eye and blinked it out where it slid down his cheek making it itch. It was still impossible to believe she was gone. He wanted to see the body but he knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to. “Kate. Why did you leave me?” He cringed with guilt. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Mike had been no help; he didn’t want to contact him again, at least not yet. For now he needed a plan to catch Stacey on his own. “If he thinks I’m in jail he might go back to Red’s, if he’s stupid.” “Which he isn’t” He said aloud. “But it’s worth a shot.” Then it hit him. “Maybe Red knows something about him.” It wasn’t going to be easy to track him down; he had nothing to go on apart from a bar he had visited. “Unless the hospital has records of his stay? No, he would have used a fake name. If only I had Kate with me, she’d make it easier. I wonder if she found anything.” “I’ll never know.” There was a niggling inside him, a pain each time he thought of her, but he couldn’t let the grief cloud his thoughts, when he let that happen he’d ended up in hospital, he needed to a clear mind to outsmart him. Stacey had a clear conscience, James didn’t. He felt guilty for bringing her into his world, it wasn’t fair. “Stacey should be feeling like this, not me.” But it didn’t relieve him of the pain. Whilst he was deep in thought he hadn’t noticed he’d started walking, there was about a mile to his apartment, if that, but his toes were starting to get numb, and his fingers. He shoved his hands in his pockets to warm them up and wiggled his toes to keep the blood flowing. Everything he did he felt guilty about, why should he be warm when Kate’s dead? Why should he complain about being the cold when she’d been murdered? “You can’t keep thinking like this.” He told himself. “It’s not healthy.” But even that caused a twinge in his heart. He passed Red’s but it was closed, which he thought a bit strange but perhaps it was out of respect for Kate, he’d forgotten how strongly Red had reacted, it seemed a little unusual. He paused here and peered in through the window, the glass was cold on his face and hands, it was all dark inside anyway. Then he saw something sat at the bar. He squinted his eyes and looked harder. There was definitely something, someone, at the bar. He used his hands to shield his eyes from the sun to get a clearer look in, it was only his shadow. He let out a sigh and carried on, the snow crunching under his trainers. James turned a corner with his head automatically down at the ground, making sure he didn't step on any patches of ice, or worse, but before he had chance to look up he walked straight into someone, the force knocking him backwards. He opened his mouth to speak and looked up to her face when he nearly fell backwards again. Her blonde hair tied in a ponytail, her pointy, pixie-like jaw and petite forehead with bulging, un-proportioned eyes; she would have been pretty if not for the bruises.
"Kate...?" James gasped.
"I'm sorry?" The woman asked, confusedly trying to slip away before engaging in conversation. James gripped her arm to pull her back.
“What are you doing? Let go!” She shouted, pulling at her arm to try and get him off her. James looked again at her face as she turned round, her hair was brown and short, and her face clear of any ruptured blood vessels.
“I… I’m so sorry…” He said as he let go, his hands trembling. The woman called him some vulgarity and sped off leaving him standing there, dumbfounded. His head started to spin and he leaned back on a brick wall behind him. “What is going on?” He asked himself. “It’s just the grief, that’s all. You need to remember she’s dead.” He was usually good at convincing himself everything was fine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t. James’s stomach suddenly lurched and growled, he hadn’t noticed how hungry he was. All the food at his apartment would probably be out of date but he’d rather starve than go shopping right now, he just wanted to flop onto his bed, curl up and cry. When he finally did make it home, finger tips blue and toes completely numb he jumped into a boiling hot shower that stung his feet awfully at first but after adjusting the temperature ten or more times he slid down and sat at the bottom letting it wash over his back and chest. His body stunk after days of not washing and his hair was sticking to him, he made his sponge all soapy with shower gel and washed both his body and hair with it, too exhausted to do a proper job. His big brown house coat teased him suggestively on the coat hook and he threw it around him like a luxury stole, burying it into his fac
e. He turned the heating up to max and sat in a ball on the couch flipping his laptop lid up to check for any emails. As it was starting up he tied the dressing gown cord tightly around his waist and, slippers on his feet, trudged into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. He poured a spoonful of cocoa into his mug and added a splash of milk. As he did it he quickly sniffed the milk and reeled dramatically at the smell. He poured it all away and made it up again using instant hot chocolate and added a spoonful of sugar instead. After mixing the boiled water into the chocolaty powder he brought it over to the coffee table and climbed back onto the couch. He was about to click on Chrome when– yet again – he spotted a minimised Microsoft Word document on his taskbar. He paused, not wanting to open it. He definitely didn’t remember opening Microsoft Word last time he was on, in fact the last time he was on his laptop he’d sent that terrible story to Audrey. “What was I thinking?” He said allowed as he recalled it. “This is just that story, it’s got to be.” But he wasn’t sure. He placed the cursor over it, there were a lot of words but no title, he was sure he’d titled the other one. James's hand hovered over the touch pad. He took a swig of his hot chocolate even though it burned his tongue and clonked it back on the table. His finger dropped and brought up the unknown document. At first he couldn't make sense of it, it was sloppily written and some words he couldn't even decipher but the more he read the more it started to take shape. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of eerily detailed accounts of Kate's death. James didn't think it was real, not at least until he read over it three or four times. His stomached flipped, he wanted to slam the lid down and throw his laptop in the trash but he couldn't even tear his eyes from the screen. It scared him but also intrigued him. Stacey knew where he lived, could he have broken in and wrote it? The spare key had gone missing since Stacey was here but James thought he had just misplaced it, it wouldn’t be the first time. He let his head drop into his arms and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. “And what if I wrote it, how could I know how she died?” He frightened himself with the thought. “Maybe she didn’t die this way, maybe I made it up.” He felt sick. James’s head was swimming with questions; “Did I even have time to write this?” His memory of the last week was fractured at best and soon he became dizzy. He tried to stand up but the room began to spin. Round and round until he didn’t know where he was and then the ground came up fast. James blacked out. Twenty minutes later he woke face down on the floor in front of the couch, his laptop lay with him and his phone in hand. His hot chocolate was lukewarm and his face (he caught his reflection in the glass table standing up) was white. Crippled with excruciating stomach cramps he scrambled to the bathroom as fast as his bent-over body would allow him and coughed up a watery yellow pint of acid. The cramps subsided but now his head started to pound, he filled a cup of water from the sink and downed it with two paracetamols just as the phone rang.
"Hello?" He answered. His voice weak an hoarse.
"James, it's Audrey."
"Oh! This is a bit of a surprise, what's up?" he asked.
"A surprise? James what are you talking about? You emailed me that crazy story less than an hour ago, I've been phoning you since why haven't you answered?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. What story?”
"What story? The one you just sent to me, with the girl killed in the forest. Are you alright?"
"Yeah... I... I just forgot... I've had a weird few days, I didn't mean to send it to you, it’s meant to be private."
"Private?-" she liked to repeat things. James was used to it by now. "Why on earth would you keep it private? I love it! It’s so… unlike anything you’ve written before. Are you sure you’re alright? Would you like me to come and see you?”
“Er, no, you don’t have to do that.” James said.
“I want to.” She said, which mean t I am whether you like it or not. “How about Tuesday?”
James didn’t know what day it was. He ran to the calendar quick and tried to work it out but he couldn’t, he felt dumb asking.
“What day is it today, exactly…?”
“Saturday, genius.” She laughed.
“Right, right. I knew that, I was just checking you knew. Er, Tuesday’s fine.”
“Alright, see you Tuesday, then.”
“Yeah, see you.” James shook off his forced smile, not knowing why he’d painted it on when she couldn’t see it, and went back to his laptop. He dared not look at the Word document again, not right now anyway. He scrolled through some emails, none of any importance, and made some Google searches. He was tired, even though he’d been asleep for days. It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t drank his cocoa or he’d be flat out right now. Temptation got the better of him and James went back to the document and read over it once more. It was possible he wrote it after he was back from the hospital during one of the 'episodes' he was having lately. “I did say I wanted to know what happened perhaps I made this up to...satiate me.” But it was still hard to convince himself, he thought it best not to tell Audrey about Kate. “If she thinks she's just a character then that’s fine by me, besides I don’t want her to end up like Kate either.” He thought. “Maybe mike? Hm maybe not, he already thinks I'm crazy.” He wished so hard that he could speak to Kate. Ask her what he should do, or just be consoled by her. He even considered a Ouija board or going to see a psychic, but he’d never believed in that stuff, even though right now he could see why some people were comforted by it.
32
After a quick dinner James slept from nine til seven, it was just about getting light when he rolled out of bed. He brushed his teeth, they were yellow after a week of neglect, and gelled his shaggy hair which hadn't been cut in over a month. He looked awful. He usually considered himself fairly attractive but definitely not today. There was no hiding the dark rings under his eyes, or his sickly pale skin. He cupped his hands under the tap and splashed water over his face hoping that it by some miracle it would make him look human again, it didn’t. He didn’t feel like eating breakfast, his stomach was still sensitive, so he dressed into his clothes (clean ones, finally) and grabbed his coat. He would go and speak to Red about Stacey.
After walking for seven or eight minutes he saw the bar come into view and from here he could already see it was closed. He jogged across the road and peered in, it was pitch black inside.
“Alright there?” A voice asked from his right. James cracked his head around.
“Red, I was looking for you.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Red asked. James for the first time noticed the faded Irish twinge to his accent.
“I have some things I need to ask you.”
“Is that right?”
“I need to know what happened to Kate. I’ve been in the hospital for a week, it’s a long story, but I’m behind on the news, did they arrest Manny?”
“Who? Oh… her boyfriend, no. He had a solid alibi. They still don’t know who killed my… who killed Kate. It might have been a random attack, can you believe that? Sick bastard.”
James considered telling him about Stacey but Red was so affected by her death, more so than James could have imagined, he felt it would be best not to bring it up.
“Do you know anything? Do they know what happened to her that night?” James pressed, he could see it was making Red more uncomfortable but he couldn’t rest until he knew that what he wrote was only fiction.
“James, the funeral is on Monday.” Red said.
“That soon?” James asked, his words trailing off. His mind flashed to Audrey, could he really face her the next day?
“It would have been this week but they still needed to collect evidence.” Each word he spoke seemed to stab him in the stomach. He cleared his throat. “I’m having the wake at the bar, it’s not good enough for Kate but it’s all I got.”
James was lost for words; an awkward silence fell between them. “I’m just about to clean it up actually.” He continued.
“Can I help?” James asked befor
e he had time to realise what he was saying.
“Help me clean the bar?”
“Sure, it’s the least I can do.” He put a hand on Red’s shoulder which at first felt weird considering he barely knew him, but James knew it was right. With tears appearing in his eyes again Red accepted his offer and unlocked the doors letting James go in first. In the light of the open doors James could see the swirling dust they’d kicked up off the floor, it was clear it hadn’t been cleaned in sometime. “Why now?” Red could read James’s expression easily.
“For the wake, you know?” He said.
“Hm?” James asked,.
“It’s gotta be clean for the wake, it’s only respectful, right?”
“Oh, yeah, of course. Where should we start then?”
Red flicked on the lights and one by one they slowly burst into life. He handed James a big wooden brush. “You can start by sweeping the floor.” James readily took the brush and propped the doors open before sweeping the dirt out onto the street, being careful when anyone walked by. The dark mahogany underneath started to show itself, it looked expensive, the place was already starting to look better than the festering pit it was. Red was busy wiping the crumbs off the seats and washing the plastic topped tables, the usual smell of strong beer was replaced by bleach, the strong smell and the dust were making James’s head hurt but he was glad to help, it was a this point he realised he hadn’t drank anything all morning.
“Could I get a glass of water, Red?” He asked. Red rinsed a glass and poured him one out. "Who paid for the funeral?" James couldn't hold it in any longer.
"I did." Red answered, not looking up from cleaning the tables.