Mesmeris

by K E Coles

  ‘This’ll hurt,’ Jack said. He pulled a piece of broken glass out of the side of my foot, just below my little toe. He pressed on the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, dripped onto the ground. ‘Damn it! – You got anything I can tie round this, Leo?’

  ‘No,’ Leo said. ‘Better leave her here.’

  ‘I’ll leave you here first.’ Jack said.

  Leo rolled his eyes, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’

  Jack held my foot with one hand, pulled the hem of his shirt to his mouth with the other.

  ‘I c-can hold it.’ I bent down, one hand on Jack’s back to steady myself. In a way, the cold was a blessing, it numbed my foot, but my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering and shivers went through my body in waves.

  Jack tore a strip off his shirt and wrapped it around my foot. Blood soaked through immediately. ‘Shit!’ Jack said.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I stood up. ‘Doesn’t-t hurt-t.’

  ‘Doesn’t hurt?’ Jack’s white face looked up at me.

  I shook my head, thought I saw Leo’s lip twitch.

  A red Ford Fiesta covered in playboy stickers drew up alongside us. Leo jumped straight in the front.

  Jack helped me into the back. I slid along the seat. My teeth clanged together. My body shivered, juddered. Jack held my hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Fuckin’ Hell.’ Leo flicked the pink fluffy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. ‘Couldn’t you get something better than this?’

  Art reversed the car off the main street into a side road. He stopped and fiddled about with the dashboard, found the heater, the de-mister, the windscreen wipers. Then he got out and checked the lights and, all the time, Leo was going on. ‘Driving around in this. Pink fluffy dice, for shit’s sake - in a red car!’

  ‘Will you just shut up?’ Jack said.

  Art got back in the car. ‘The idea is not to draw attention to ourselves,’ he said.

  Leo shrugged, stared out of the window. ‘Still crap.’ He turned to look at me, then at Jack. ‘Can’t you stop her doing that fuckin’ . . .’ he imitated my clattering teeth, ‘. . . thing? It’s getting on my tits.’

  ‘She’s cold,’ Jack put his arm over my shoulder, ‘and you’re getting on my tits.’ He looked at me. ‘You okay?’

  I tried to smile but everything seemed to be frozen.

  We drove for an hour or more in silence, my hand in Jack’s. As the car warmed up it started to resemble a smelly sauna. I wiped a patch of the steamed-up window and watched the countryside rush past. I didn’t ask what had happened. I clung onto Jack’s hand and thought of nothing.

  ‘Where we going?’ Jack said, as Art turned into a narrow lane.

  ‘Leo knows somewhere,’ Art said.

  ‘Leo?’ Jack said.

  ‘It’s cool, Jack. Calm down.’

  ‘Calm down?’ Jack said. ‘This little shit has just wrecked our lives and you tell me to calm down?’

  Art shrugged. ‘Or not.’

  The car started to shake and judder as the road became rutted and uneven. We bounced about in the back of the car.

  Leo’s phone buzzed.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Jack said.

  ‘No one,’ Leo said. ‘You’re getting paranoid, mate.’ I saw him smile in the wing mirror.

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ Jack said.

  ‘Tough,’ Art said. ‘We’re already there.’

  In front of us, huge, rusted iron gates appeared out of the gloom. Art stopped the car. Jack and Leo got out, dragged the gates open. They shut behind us with a metallic clang that set my teeth on edge.

  ‘They could do with some oil,’ Leo said, as he got back into the car.

  He laughed. No one else did.

  We drove on, through more trees. The road was so dark, just black with even blacker trees, their branches like long fingers reaching out to snatch at us. The road surface changed to the crunch of gravel as a grey building loomed ahead. It looked huge, like something out of a period drama on TV with stone pillars, small-paned windows, and wide stone steps up to an enormous front door.

  I wanted it to be a hotel, warm and bright, with music and soft, clean beds with feather pillows and duck down quilts. Where I could have a bath, drink tea, eat food, and then later, when I’d warmed up a bit, Champagne, because I knew these boys - they liked their Champagne. I imagined the menu. Maybe they’d have beef broth. I’d never had beef broth, and yet at that moment, I wanted it more than anything.

  Jack had to help me out of the car because I was stiff and aching all over. My clothes, heavy and soggy, chafed against my skin when I moved. I didn’t look at Leo.

  The rain had stopped and the moon broke through the clouds, making everything silver and black. It was so cold that as soon as I was out of the car, my teeth started chattering again. The biting wind cut right through my clothes. The worst bit was my head. With wet hair plastered to my head, every gust of wind felt as if someone was pouring iced water over me.

  Of course, it wasn’t a hotel. It was a manor house, deserted and derelict by the look of it. The huge door hung open, swung on its hinges. No light, no warmth, no music. We walked through the doorway into the darkness. Slowly, my eyes adjusted, picked out small patches of grey, then bigger patches and a sweeping staircase. Silvery light filtered through a tiny round window. Water dripped through a hole in the roof, splashed into a puddle on the floor. Something lay piled up in the corner. Art shone a torch at it – a sleeping bag, stained and mildewed. Leo kicked at it. Empty. My foot hit an empty bottle, sent it skittering across the floor.

  ‘How, exactly,’ Jack said, ‘are we meant to get Pearl warm in this shit-hole?’

  Leo shrugged. ‘There must be blankets upstairs. Tell you what. Take her wet clothes off and I’ll warm her up for you.’

  ‘You better watch your mouth,’ Jack said.

  Leo smirked. ‘Let’s see if we can find somewhere dry then, shall we?’ He led the way through a door on our left. It opened onto a long room with huge windows all along one side. Many of the panes of glass were broken. Brambles and ivy twined through the gaps and trailed across the windows and down the walls. Puddles on the floor reflected the pale moonlight from outside. The whole room was empty except for two sofas, their embroidered upholstery moth-eaten and sagging.

  ‘You have to be joking,’ Jack said, pulling me close.

  A door creaked from the far end of the room. Feeble yellow light spilled out. I felt Jack’s arm tense, felt his heartbeat quicken against my shoulder. He stared at Leo. ‘You bastard.’

  ‘Someone had to stop you, mate,’ Leo said.

  Jack turned to Art. ‘You too?’

  Art looked away, at the floor.

  Papa strode towards us, his hand outstretched. ‘Jack!’ he said, as though greeting an old friend, ‘and Pearl – how nice.’

  They shook hands. Papa patted Jack’s back. ‘Do come through. You must be frozen.’ He looked at me and smiled. I didn’t even try to respond. He led the way towards the light and Art and Leo walked behind us, like guards.

  The milky yellow light came from candles - fat, black candles set in sconces around the small, square room. Right in the centre stood an altar, all laid up as if for a Eucharist. No windows. No escape. Art shut the door behind us. Nico sat hunched over a small table in the corner, his back to us, earphones over his head. He turned when we came in and waved a hand, ‘Hi!’, then went back to his task.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Jack said.

  ‘Monitoring police radio,’ Papa said. ‘Can’t be too careful.’

  Jack looked at the altar. ‘This is a sabbat?’

  ‘Well,’ Papa said, ‘since you have yet to induct Pearl, we’ve decided to do it for you.’

  ‘No,’ Jack said.

  ‘I don’t understand your reluctance,’ Papa said. ‘Explain, please.’

  ‘She’s more use to us like this. She knows stuff – about our enemies.’

  ‘She’s your source of information?’ Papa said.
/>
  ‘Yes,’ Jack said.

  Had he been using me, then? All along?

  ‘No, no, no,’ Leo said. ‘Don’t listen to him. He’s gone soft, like I told you.’

  ‘Soft?’ Nico raised his eyebrows. ‘You know what he did to Lill – to Dan?’

  Leo frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘I killed them,’ Jack said.

  I remembered Dan’s face, the blood. ‘I feel faint.’

  No one seemed to hear me.

  ‘Very messy, in Dan’s case,’ Papa said, ‘but inventive.’

  Mist rose through my head, muffling the sound of their voices. I crouched down and concentrated on the mosaic floor tiles, traced the patterns with my finger. I wondered how many people had walked over them without even seeing them, how many ghosts walked over them even now. Maybe they watched us.

  Jack bent down next to me and rubbed my back. ‘Okay?’

  I nodded.

  Gradually, my head cleared and there was Leo’s whining voice. ‘So, that means he gets away with it? But you . . . I mean, Nico said . . .’

  ‘What did Nico say?’ Jack helped me to my feet and hugged me, his arm around my shoulders.

  He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t love me, would he?

  Nico shrugged. ‘I merely said there was a possibility there’d be a vacancy for an new Elite. At no point did I suggest Leo would be a candidate. Far be it from me to pre-empt Papa’s decisions.’

  ‘Oh, fuck this,’ Leo pointed a shaking finger at Jack, his face a picture of fury. ‘He failed - and failures are punished, aren’t they? Why the fuck would I have gone to all this trouble if he was going to get away with it? He failed - to recruit - that slag, for fuck’s sake.’

  Papa winced. ‘You see, it’s that kind of gutter language that marks you out as a foot soldier.’

  Leo’s mouth fell open.

  ‘That doesn’t mean,’ Papa said, ‘we’re not grateful, does it, Nico?’

  ‘No, Papa. We’re most grateful.’ Nico turned back to his table, put his earphones back on.

  Papa patted Leo’s back. ‘We have plans for you – never fear.’

  ‘Plans? Right.’ Leo said. ‘Right. So, what about the sl . . . her?’ He pointed at me.

  ‘Ah, now, that’s how we’ll punish Jack for his disobedience,’ Papa said.

  Leo smirked and terror cut through my numbness. They weren’t just going to kill me or even try to recruit me. They were going to torture me.

  ‘You’ll have to kill me first,’ Jack said.

  Papa shrugged. ‘If need be. I’m sure you’d expect no less, Jack. You know the way these things work.’

  Nico looked up, removed his headphones. ‘They must’ve put a trace on the car.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Art said. ‘I nicked it.’

  Nico shrugged. ‘Then it’s on one of them.’ He nodded in our direction.

  Jack stared at me. ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Get her phone,’ Nico said.

  ‘It’s in my coat – I left it in the . . .’

  ‘Here.’ Leo handed it over. ‘Thought it might be useful.’

  Nico prised the back off. ‘It’s bugged, you fuckwit.’

  Everyone stared at me. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t.’ I tried to think how anyone could have done it – then remembered Dad giving it to me the previous morning. ‘You must have been drunk,’ he’d said, ‘to leave this lying around.’

  Papa clenched his fists. ‘How long have we got?’

  ‘Five minutes – ten maybe, for the helicopter. Longer for the armed units.’

  Police – to save me, but what about Jack? They’d arrest him, take him away from me.

  Papa’s eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath. ‘Okay. No time.’

  ‘What?’ Leo said. ‘You’re going to let her go?’

  ‘No,’ Papa said. ‘We’re going to kill her, idiot.’ He turned to Art. ‘Did you bring it?’

  ‘Don’t touch her.’ Jack nudged me backwards until he stood between the others and me.

  Art came forward, a hypodermic in one hand, gun in the other. ‘Don’t be stupid, Jack.’

  ‘We’ll leave you to say your goodbyes,’ Papa said. ‘Make sure he does it himself, Art.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Shame. Not quite the punishment I had in mind, but it’ll have to do. If he refuses, just shoot them both.’

  ‘Of course, Papa,’ Art said.

  ‘Oh, and Jack,’ Papa said, as he reached the door, ‘we’ve just recruited a rather pretty young thing. Be just your type, I imagine. You’ll soon forget this one.’

  ‘Papa.’ Jack closed his eyes.

  Nico followed Papa out, closing the door behind them. Art held the hypodermic out to Jack.

  ‘No!’ Jack pushed it back.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ Art said. ‘Not what Papa thinks either. I swopped the drug. It’ll wipe her memory but it won’t kill her.’

  Jack hesitated. ‘You’re lying.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘You’re my brother,’ Art said. ‘If she can’t remember, she can’t talk. Otherwise, I’ll have to kill her. Either way’s fine by me.’

  ‘She’ll forget everything – me?’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Art said. He glanced at his watch. ‘Better make your mind up or I’ll do it for you.’

  Jack removed his arm from my waist and took the syringe.

  ‘No!’ I ran for the door, yanked at the handle.

  It opened a little, but Art pushed it shut again. He held me, one arm clamped around my chest, the other holding the gun to my head, and turned me to face Jack.

  I screamed. ‘No!’

  Jack came towards me, his eyes focused on the needle. He wouldn’t do it to me. He wouldn’t.

  ‘Don’t.’ I willed him to look at me. ‘Don’t do this, Jack.’

  He avoided my gaze. His jaw was set in that way I knew so well.

  ‘Jack, please. You swore – you promised me.’ I tried to free myself, writhed in Art’s arms.

  Jack lifted my hand and pushed my sleeve up. I kicked back at Art’s shins, but he didn’t flinch, pushed the gun harder into my temple. Jack tapped the inside of my arm, lifted the syringe to the light and pressed until a drop appeared and ran down the needle. Then he turned back to me, as cold and impersonal as an executioner. He pierced my skin with the needle, drew back a small amount of blood, then emptied the whole thing into me. As he pulled the needle out, I saw him swallow, saw his mouth turn down. The numbness began in my arm. It spread through my limbs, my head and then my legs collapsed. Jack opened the door and Art picked me up in his arms and carried me to the moth-eaten sofa. He laid me on it, gently, and I thought, perhaps he’d lied after all, and knew I was dying, and felt guilty.

  Jack pulled his sopping coat off me, then lifted my dress over my head, nothing like last time, all in a rush with kisses and hands everywhere. I hoped he’d kiss me like last time but no. This time it was impersonal, business-like. He peeled off my wet tights and looked away, disgusted by my legs probably. They looked horrible, sticks of waxy lard with yellowy-grey blotches. I didn’t like them either, so looked at my slip instead. My beautiful, blue-silk slip. It was dark and wet. I tried to feel the silk but my fingers didn’t work.

  ‘I bought it for you.’ The words sounded strange, slurred.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Jack said, with a funny catch in his voice. Then he turned away and sat on the end of the sofa, his back to me. I felt weird, dizzy.

  I wondered why we’d come to such a filthy place. Perhaps this was where Jack and I were going to live. We must have run away already. Maybe I’d slept through the journey. Had I been home, then, and forgotten it? But then where was my bag - the bag with my things in it, the bag I’d packed? And why was Art here? Was he running away with us, too? I didn’t mind, but I wondered where he was going to sleep.

  Art left the room and came back with the stinking sleeping bag from the hallway. He threw it on top of me.
‘Jack,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  Jack didn’t move.

  ‘Jack!’

  He still didn’t move.

  ‘John!’ Art said.

  It worked. Jack flinched as if someone had hit him, and turned around. He didn’t look at me.

  ‘You have ten seconds – or I’ll have to finish her.’ Art went out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Something was wrong with our plan, our running-away plan, but my fuzzy brain couldn’t work out what. And then Jack looked at me with those blue eyes, the sad ones, and I knew.

  I reached out to touch him. He jumped to his feet and moved towards the door.

  Suddenly, I was wide awake. I knew exactly what was happening. Dread swamped me. ‘No!’ I tried to get off the sofa. My legs wouldn’t work so I slid them over the side and let my body flop out after them. My head hit the wooden arm. It didn’t hurt but there was blood. I tried to crawl to the door, to stop him going out.

  ‘Don’t, Pearl.’ He picked me up in his arms and put me gently back onto the sofa. ‘Don’t do this to me. Please.’

  I tried to hold on to him with my useless, senseless fingers. I couldn’t see him because my eyes were full of tears, because he was going to leave me. ‘You promised.’

  He pushed my arms away.

  ‘I lied,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I closed my eyes and the door clicked and when I looked, there was nothing there, just an empty space.

  I didn’t cry. I stared at the door, but I knew he wasn’t coming back. He was never coming back.

  So, I sat, and stared, and waited. I don’t know how long it was before the noise started, the banging and the shouting, but I was still staring when they burst through the door, yelling and waving their guns about and pointing them at me. And I was still staring when they stopped shouting, and other people came in, wearing paper overalls, and paramedics came in and wrapped me in tinfoil and put a mask over my face. They lay me on a stretcher and carried me outside. My dad was there, with his hand over his mouth. They wouldn’t let him touch me. I closed my eyes and kept them closed while they loaded me into an ambulance because, every time I opened them, there would be somebody’s face talking at me. What they said didn’t make any sense. Their mouths moved, they made a noise, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.