Dead Man's Gift and Other Stories

by Simon Kernick

  I drew on the cigarette, blowing out smoke towards the ceiling, relieved that I’d finally got it out in the open. It had been weird seeing Charlie last night and not being able to make any mention of our shared time together, however brief and unfulfilling it had been.

  But the reaction I got was nothing like I’d been expecting.

  It was Marla who spoke first, her tone cold. ‘Well, that explains a lot.’

  I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re the one who things keep happening to. It was you’ – she emphasized the ‘you’ – ‘who discovered Louise’s body. It was you who saw Charlie impaled against a tree – no one else – and it was you who got chased by the man with the crossbow but somehow managed to outrun him.’

  I looked at her aghast. ‘What on earth are you insinuating? That Charlie and I are behind all this?’

  ‘It’s definitely a theory.’

  ‘You’ve been keeping very calm today,’ said Luke accusingly, getting to his feet. His cheeks were pink and I noticed he’d been caning the wine. ‘Especially after everything that’s happened. You even fell asleep.’

  ‘That’s because I was fucking exhausted. Just because I had a brief thing with Charlie five years ago, when I was mourning the death of my baby daughter, does not mean that I’m now in cahoots with him, planning to murder you all.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you mention your affair with him?’ demanded Marla.

  ‘Why should I? You didn’t mention that you and Crispin have obviously been seeing plenty of each other.’

  ‘I don’t know what—’

  ‘Oh, please. It’s fucking obvious.’ My voice was loud and I was beginning to sound hysterical, even though I was more in control of my emotions now than I had been all weekend.

  ‘All right, all right, that’s enough.’ It was Crispin speaking now. He was on his feet with his palms stretched outwards in a gesture of calm. ‘Yes, Marla and I have been in contact. We met up again a few years ago and we’ve stayed friends since then, although we don’t see much of each other.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ever stay friends with me, Cris?’ asked Luke, sounding hurt. ‘I tried getting hold of you a couple of times. You never got back to me.’

  Crispin turned towards him but he never got a chance to answer, because a second later the kitchen window exploded and something flew through the room, striking the far wall.

  Instinctively, we all ducked and I felt on the worktop for my knife, holding it close as I stayed low, in case something else came hurtling through the window.

  But nothing did. The curtain flapped wildly in the wind and the room felt cold but there was no further assault.

  Crispin crawled under the kitchen table and retrieved the missile. It was part of a house brick with a note attached by two rubber bands. He tugged the note free and, still sheltering under the table, inspected it.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Marla quietly.

  This time Crispin didn’t try to hide anything. With a resigned sigh, he read out the contents of the note:

  ‘I HAVE TAKEN TWO LIVES NOW

  BUT MY BLOODLUST HAS YET TO BE SATED.

  RACHEL SKINNER DEMANDS ANOTHER KILL,

  ALREADY THE TRAP HAS BEEN BAITED.

  THERE IS NO ESCAPE. IT IS FAR TOO LATE.

  LOOK THROUGH THE WINDOW TO SEE YOUR FATE.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ whispered Marla. ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘Don’t look,’ said Crispin, crumpling up the note and throwing it on the floor. ‘Anyone who puts their face up to that window is going to be an obvious target.’

  ‘We’re all targets in here,’ hissed Luke. ‘He could throw a petrol bomb in here and we’d all be burned alive.’

  ‘Why’s he doing this?’ Marla’s voice was cracking under the pressure now. ‘I didn’t kill Rachel. I never touched her. I never touched her!’ she screamed, her voice filling the room, the words clearly aimed at the killer, wherever he might be.

  The bad voice in my head was shouting at me to panic. To jump up, unlock the door and run for my life. Or just to run the knife I was clutching across my throat and end this whole damned nightmare for ever. I was shaking with fear but I fought to control it. ‘Stay an adult,’ I repeated to myself, using a phrase my therapist always used. Do not let the anxiety consume you.

  ‘I never touched Rachel!’ shouted Marla again.

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ I hissed, feeling an intense and sudden burst of rage.

  She looked at me, saw something that clearly had the desired effect and shut her mouth immediately.

  ‘Quiet, everyone,’ snapped Luke. ‘He could be standing right outside the window.’ He lowered his voice so that it was barely audible. ‘We’ve got the wet towels in the hall. If he throws anything in, we can put out the flames. Now it’s time to take the fight to him.’ He slipped out from underneath the table and switched off the light, then crawled along the floor until he was between Marla and me. He reached up to the hob and lifted the saucepan of boiling water that was going to be used for the vegetables, before creeping out of the room with it.

  I heard him go upstairs, his footfall quiet, followed by a great splash of water outside the kitchen window as he upended the saucepan.

  A minute later he was back in the kitchen. ‘If there’s anyone out there, then they’re badly scalded now,’ he said quietly.

  ‘The note said to look out of the window,’ said Marla. ‘Did you see what’s out there?’

  ‘He’s just taunting us.’

  ‘Did you see anything?’

  ‘No. Now we need to wet some more towels. Marla, you and Luke do that. As many as you can. I’ll get the beef out of the oven. Karen, can you grab some cutlery and plates? We’re going to eat in the lounge on the floor.’

  I’m not sure how many of us actually had an appetite after what had just happened but I think we were all happy to have someone taking charge of the situation, even though, as I’ve said before, I would never have guessed it would be my Crispin. Within a few seconds, we were all following his instructions.

  ‘Stay in adult. Stay in adult. Stay in adult.’

  My whole body was shaking as I clambered round in the gloom, collecting together the plates and cutlery, but I did it, and it was almost with surprise that I found myself alone in the kitchen. I looked at the curtains flapping in the draught caused by the hole that the brick had made.

  THERE IS NO ESCAPE. IT IS FAR TOO LATE.

  LOOK THROUGH THE WINDOW TO SEE YOUR FATE.

  I knew I shouldn’t look. The killer could be only feet away from me right now, waiting for me. But that voice in my head was insistent. I had to see what fate was in store for me. I had to. Because I knew Crispin was lying. He’d seen something. And it had shaken him. He’d hidden it well but I’d noticed, even if the others hadn’t.

  Just one look.

  It was madness, utter madness. But it was as if I couldn’t help myself. I had to see what new horror awaited and so, with trembling fingers, I inched open the curtain and stared out into the rain-smudged night.

  There they were in the middle of the lawn, nothing more than faint silhouettes in the darkness, but unmistakeable nevertheless.

  Two severed heads sitting atop long stakes.

  Louise and Charlie.

  10

  That night in the lounge we made a plan. Tomorrow morning, just before first light, we would dress in as many layers as possible using clothes from Charlie’s wardrobe, so we were well insulated and at least had some protection against a crossbow bolt. Charlie owned a whole range of outdoor coats, so there would be no shortage. Crispin had also found some bike helmets in the loft, so we would wear them too. As soon as dawn broke we would set fire to the house and, when we were sure that the flames would take hold, we would exit the front door, armed with our knives, make a bolt for the sea along the path, staying together, then wade into the water until we were almost out of our depth and stay there until help arrived. If nothing else, we’d
be able to see the killer coming from a long distance away and it would make his task far harder if he had to wade into the waves to get a shot at us.

  To be fair, we all knew the plan was full of holes but it was the best we could manage, and no one wanted to remain trapped in the house any longer. It was, as Luke said in that slightly hack-neyed way of his, ‘shit or bust’.

  No one mentioned anything more about my affair with Charlie, or Marla and Crispin’s own ‘friendship’. Or even what it was that the killer had wanted us to see outside the window. It was all business, the mood tense yet productive. Together at least we had a chance, and I think we all belatedly realized that.

  We decided to keep watch through the night in pairs. I think Crispin and Marla wanted to do one shift, but Luke and I both vetoed that one. Luke wanted to go with Crispin, his old uni mate who’d somehow neglected to keep in touch with him, but so did I, and because it was more effective to have a man and a woman in each shift, Luke and Marla took the first one, Crispin and I the second, beginning at 2.30 a.m.

  I slept fitfully on one of the sofas, only feet away from where Louise had died, my knife at my side. When I did dream, it was about my daughter. My poor, long-gone daughter. In the dream, Lily was sitting in my arms, still a baby, just as she’d been on the day I’d discovered her dead in her cot, aged four months and twenty-two days, but now she was talking like an adult, telling me how she was really looking forward to going to university and making new friends and broadening her horizons. Her dad was in the room with us, stroking my hair, and I think Charlie was there too, saying something, but I couldn’t really hear what, and anyway I was only interested in my darling, beautiful Lily, the apple of my eye, my life, my world …

  And then I was being shaken awake by Marla and I had a sudden, vivid memory of that bright, terrible morning all those years ago when Rachel was lying in Luke’s bedroom with her head bashed in.

  Luke. Luke. Still the most likely suspect to have killed Rachel. Don’t forget that.

  ‘It’s two-thirty,’ said Marla. ‘You were dreaming then, weren’t you? You were flapping and shaking about.’

  I grunted something and rubbed my eyes, not bothering to give her a proper answer. Crispin was already up and awake, drinking from a glass of water, while Luke had taken his place on the sofa and was trying to get comfortable. I got up and Marla lay down where I’d been.

  ‘Did anything happen while I was asleep?’ I asked her.

  ‘Nothing. Totally quiet.’ She shut her eyes and was out in seconds, which made me think that, when you’re that tired, you can sleep through pretty much anything.

  Still yawning, I made tea for Crispin and we sat on the floor out of sight of the window and away from the other two. I offered him a cigarette.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ he said, but he took one anyway.

  ‘I think the long-term health risks are pretty irrelevant right now,’ I said, and lit us both up, noticing that my supply was coming to an end. I’d only brought a single pack, as lately I’d cut my intake down to eight a day, but now that there were only four left, I wished I’d brought more, even though they wouldn’t survive the drenching in the sea we were planning for a few hours’ time.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to your daughter,’ he said, and I could tell from the expression in his eyes that he meant it. That was the thing about Crispin. There was a real kindness about him, and it made me wonder how I could ever have suspected his involvement in this.

  I sighed. ‘It was the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole life. Including this, believe it or not. At the time I genuinely didn’t think I could get through it. I just wanted to die. And I felt like that for a long time afterwards, but the thing is, you do get through it. You survive, and you carry on.’

  ‘I’m sorry about Marla and Luke earlier, too. You know, the fact they didn’t believe you about Charlie. I know you were telling the truth.’

  ‘Is that because you saw what was outside the window?’

  He frowned. ‘You looked?’

  I nodded.

  ‘So you saw the heads. I’m glad you didn’t say anything to the others. I don’t think Marla especially can handle much more of this.’ He drew on the cigarette, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? When we were at uni, I always felt that Luke and Marla were the strong ones. And now look at us.’

  ‘You’re strong, Crispin. I don’t know about me.’

  ‘Jesus, Karen, you’ve survived everything that life’s thrown at you, including being the one to discover the murdered bodies of two of your friends in the last twenty-four hours, and you’re still keeping your head. You, my girl, are a strong woman.’

  He smiled at me then and, even in the midst of this nightmare, I felt a warm glow.

  I took his hand, gripping it hard, and I think I would have tried to kiss him but I saw his smile fade a little at the prospect. Whatever I might have liked to think, Crispin was Marla’s man.

  I removed my hand and took a sip from the rapidly cooling tea. ‘So, how did you and Marla meet up again?’

  I could tell he wasn’t keen to talk about it, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily now that I had him alone. I needed to know.

  ‘It was pure coincidence really. I was at a bar in the West End – I can’t even remember which one now – with some mates, and Marla walked in with a bunch of her friends. We spotted each other, got talking and stayed in touch afterwards.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  He looked at me sadly. ‘A long time. Maybe fifteen years.’

  I worked hard to suppress the hurt. ‘And you’ve kept in contact ever since?’

  ‘No.’ He paused for a moment, presumably wondering how much to tell me. ‘I’ll be honest. We hit it off and, even though we were both in relationships, we started seeing each other. I finished with the girl I was with but Marla was married at the time, so it was harder for her.’

  ‘You had an affair.’

  ‘Don’t judge, Karen. I’m not that kind of man, you know that, but things … things just went out of control, like they did with you and Charlie. Eventually, after about a year, Marla left her husband and we moved in together.’

  He waited for me to say something. But I didn’t. I let him talk.

  ‘We lived together for about a year. It might even have been longer. We were going to get married, too, once her divorce came through, but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be, because things didn’t work out and we finally split up. We stayed friends, but I moved to France after that, so we hardly saw each other. Last night was the first I’d seen of her in a couple of years.’

  ‘But the spark’s still there, eh?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘And did you … did you ever sleep together while we were seeing each other?’ I asked, wondering why I always had to be so masochistic.

  ‘Of course I didn’t,’ he said, but I spotted the lie in his eyes. He had.

  The bitch. I hated Marla then. Always thinking she could get any man. Messing with people’s feelings. Just like Rachel had, when she was alive. What was it about these bloody women?

  We talked some more – mainly about him and his travels; a little about my life too – and smoked the rest of the cigarettes. But to be honest, I’d lost the appetite for the conversation. Too much water had passed under the bridge between us. We were no longer two former lovers reminiscing. We were just two individuals trying to take our minds off the bloody reality of our situation.

  And at some point during the night I made a terrible mistake.

  I closed my eyes.

  11

  I opened my eyes slowly and the first thing I noticed was daylight behind the drawn curtains.

  I frowned. Our plan was to get ready half an hour before dawn at 5.30 a.m. I looked at my watch. It was now almost 7.30.

  I’d fallen asleep sitting against a wall and my body was at an uncomfortable angle, so I propped myself up an
d looked around. Luke and Marla were still asleep on opposite sofas but there was no sign of Crispin and I couldn’t hear him anywhere.

  I noticed something else too.

  My knife was gone.

  Slowly I got to my feet and checked on Luke and Marla. Luke was snoring lightly, so there was nothing wrong with him, and Marla was breathing softly, a peaceful expression on her face. I couldn’t see their knives, either.

  I thought about waking them up but instead I crept into the hallway, listening out for Crispin. I wasn’t unduly worried. No one could get into the house and, even if by some mischance they’d managed to, they would have killed us by now. We were safe. We were fine. We’d just overslept.

  But where was Crispin? The house was totally silent, the doors still locked. Nothing moved. There was no sign of him.

  Yawning, I realized I needed to pee. I needed coffee as well, if I was going to function, but peeing came first.

  As soon as I started to open the downstairs toilet door, the odour hit me like a slap. My heart leaped and I began shaking as the full realization of what lay beyond the door dawned on me. I didn’t want to look. Oh God, I didn’t want to look. But it was as if my body was operating independently of my brain and, almost in spite of myself, I put my head round the door, inch by bitter inch.

  The killer had sat Crispin on the toilet in a final act of humiliation, with his head propped back against the windowsill. A clear plastic bag had been forced over his head, sticking to his face like a second skin as he’d sucked the air out of it, and his mouth was wide open, as were his eyes, in a classic expression of desperation. It was debatable whether asphyxiation had killed him, though, because his throat had been torn right open along its entire length, emptying its contents all over his shirt, which was now almost entirely crimson. Protruding from his groin, like a thin metallic dick, was my knife.