Dark Angels

by Grace Monroe

  ‘I think you’re wrong, Brodie.’

  ‘Ok, Jack, if I’m wrong I’ll buy you both a pint, will that do you?’ The sarcasm in my voice was unnecessary but it kept the tears away, and at least Jack was heading for the door, with his car keys in his hand.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  In my opinion Hillside Crescent has always been an underrated piece of Edinburgh real estate. Each time I drive past, I find time to admire its elegant sandstone tenements. The windows are long, and narrow wrought iron balconies serve as an attractive safety feature. As we approached Moses’ address, I noted the Doric columns standing like graceful sentries on either side of the heavy black stair door.

  Joe’s voice interrupted my interior design gazing. ‘Crime does pay–this is a helluva lot nicer than that poor bastard Frank Pearson’s flat.’ His voice echoed in the stairwell as we climbed up and up and up. A top floor flat reminds you that Edinburgh tenements were the first skyscrapers–and they don’t have lifts.

  The front door was neatly painted, there was no name on it. A brass laurel leaf door-knocker was just waiting to be rapped. Joe slammed it repeatedly. Even to my ears he sounded like the drug squad. I could hear feet scampering inside; they were talking in hushed voices and an eye peered out at us through the spy hole.

  A decision was finally made to let us in, but it took them at least five minutes to unbolt the various locks on the door; Houdini would have had trouble getting out. One single chain was left on. Joe could have kicked through it in an instant. The door opened five inches; a cherubic face peeked through.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ it squeaked.

  ‘Manners for a start or I’ll skelp your arse–now open the door, we want to see Moses.’ Joe was at his menacing best.

  ‘What if he’s no’ here?’ the foul-mouthed angel replied, undaunted.

  ‘Well then, you’d better get him here or I’ll kick this door in–and when I’m finished with him I’ll come looking for you.’

  A command was issued from within, and the final chain was undone.

  ‘I’m sorry about him–but we’re not too keen on strangers here.’

  Moses himself had come to the door to greet us. He looked resplendent in black evening trousers and a white pin tucked shirt with winged collar. His sleeves were without cuff-links; they were rolled halfway up his forearms and I was surprised to note the thickness and strength of his wrists.

  Like a child playing house, he eagerly led us through the hall into his stylish drawing room. When I say that the house was stylish, I don’t mean that it was decorated tastefully–it just had its own look. If the decorating style of the Dark Angels lair had a name, it would surely be Vampire Chic. The hallway was painted blood red, ornate gilt Napoleonic mirrors hung on the walls lit by candle sconces. In fact, the whole house appeared to be illuminated by candles.

  Two large zebra skin rugs lay on the thick wooden floorboards, the white stripes marked with dirt from careless shoes. The doorway to the drawing room was of generous proportions, floor to ceiling windows could have lit the room had the candles not had such a presence. There were some bizarre design features–velvet cushioned sixteen-foot benches lined the walls. They reminded me of the catacombs in Rome where the benches are stacked like bunk-beds.

  ‘We sit in here for meetings and they double up as beds,’ Moses explained as I stared at them. ‘If the right kind of kid comes to the door I always find them someplace to put their head.’ Moses was answering my questions without me having to ask them.

  ‘Like a latter day Fagin?’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah–something like that.’

  He was laughing at me. Black-eyed androgynous kids sat on their perches. One sat high in the corner eyeing me as if I were carrion. Jack, Joe and I stood in the centre of the room, an unholy trinity.

  ‘We’ve come here to speak to you, Moses. With you,’ I corrected myself.

  ‘About fucking time–what took you so long?’ Moses was derisive, it could have been bravado but somehow I did think he had been expecting the call.

  ‘Sorry to have disappointed you–where do you want to start?’ Joe flexed his muscles behind me; we were obviously going to do a good cop/bad cop routine, and unusually I was getting to play the good cop.

  Moses clapped his hand and shouted.

  ‘Right, you set of radges–fuck off, I want some peace.’

  He obviously went to the same charm management school as Roddie Buchanan. Moses turned his attention to Jack.

  ‘Took your time bringing them, didn’t you? Took your time bringing her,’ he emphasised.

  Jack ignored him, no doubt now that he had brought us here their business connection was broken; consequently he no longer had to jump to Moses’ command.

  ‘We’ll kick off then.’ Joe rubbed his knuckles theatrically, letting the double meaning of his words sink in. Moses ignored him, and lay on a purple velvet French daybed.

  ‘Sit.’ He gestured expansively with his arm.

  ‘We’ll stand,’ Joe replied for us all.

  I pulled up a small footstool, and sat at Moses’ head. As I had tried to explain to Joe, there was nothing that we could do to Moses that would be as bad as what he had already survived. That in a nutshell was the secret of his success. What had he to fear? Death? I wondered how many nights he had lain awake praying for death, pleading for the comfort of an eternal dreamless sleep.

  ‘Moses–you know what we are here for. I found the photographs in Frank Pearson’s flat.’ My voice was soft and soothing. I let my hand hover just above his skin, so as not to alarm him. I was letting him know that I was there, and then I placed my palm gently on his forehead.

  We all have our personal space. People who live in towns have a narrower personal space than those who live in rural areas. The importance of this area, our breathing space, is that if someone comes into it, and we’re not aware of his or her presence, then we can feel as if we have been assaulted. Criminologists believe that this is one of the reasons for so much inner city violence, and stress.

  ‘Could you move over a bit, Moses?’ I asked him, my voice timed to match the rate of his beating heart.

  ‘Put your feet closer together, drop your hands by your side, and take a deep breath in. Now close your eyes–you’ll feel more comfortable.’

  Moses was clearly humouring me, but he carried out those simple tasks unaware of how the human mind works. Everyone should be warned about this–if you follow someone else’s instructions, and carry out five or more simple commands of theirs, then your conscious mind switches off, and you obey them automatically.

  Psychologists call this the ‘click whirr’ response. It isn’t that humans are stupid, it is simply that our brain has so much information to process that it is always looking for a shortcut. I find it invaluable in my dealings with people. I was taught it in Los Angeles, during a completely different period of my life, and one which I never dreamed would come in useful in a situation like this. The Master Hypnotist who taught me made me pledge always to use it in others’ best interest. What can I say? I’m flawed.

  Following my signing, Jack Deans closed the shutters, and in this darkened room I began to lead Moses back to hell. I knew this was necessary. The only way that Moses had been allowed to live was if his memories had been repressed. It would have been a natural safety device for the brain to ensure survival. Consciously, Moses knew as much as I did, but your subconscious mind never sleeps–every face you have ever seen is recorded there. The conscious mind is the gatekeeper to the subconscious. If it thinks you need to be protected, then hypnosis cannot occur, so the clever hypnotist lulls your mind. I spoke softly into his ear, boring his conscious mind, urging it to switch off. Then, to deepen the trance, I lifted his arm, and threw it fiercely back down on his body. The shock of the force, and my decree, sent him down into unconsciousness ten thousand times deeper than he had been.

  ‘Moses–we’re going to go back now.’ I spoke softly but with authority. I was
the master. Holding his hand, I lead him back to a time when his arms and legs were shorter, when he was younger than he is now. Tapping him on his third eye I directed:

  ‘Now you are six–tell me where you are.’

  I was taking this boy back to the worst period of his life–time to go back to hell.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Moses didn’t answer me. Joe and Jack hovered over the unconscious boy, fascinated by the primeval scene. Shamans have been putting initiates into trances since pre-history–they wouldn’t be bothered by the couple of useless gawpers watching me. I tapped Moses harshly on his forehead. His eyes flickered under the lids as if he were in a dream state.

  ‘Moses–are you inside a room or outside?’

  To get people used to talking in this state you have to start with the most basic questions.

  ‘I’m outside,’ he replies.

  ‘Where are you, Moses? What are you doing?’

  ‘The snot’s dripping down from my nose. I’m trying to lick it all away but it’s really salty and slithery and there’s only so much I can get rid of. My tongue’s spreading it all over my top lip, it’s giving me a moustache of bogies. That would be ok on any other day, it might be funny, but today I want to look my best because the lady is coming to get me.’

  ‘Where is the lady taking you, Moses?’

  ‘I think she’s going to take me to meet my new family. I hope she comes in a Volvo. Volvos are my favourite cars, because mummies drive them. Mummies who love their children and take them to the zoo. I love to watch Volvos especially the ones with dogs in them, and children’s stories in the cassettes. And I love zoos, because the animals can look all fierce and wild but they can’t get you, they’re all locked up and it doesn’t matter if they’re roaring or howling or scratching–you’re safe.’

  Moses was rambling–but he was only six. It was important that I let him talk in a way and at a speed that he was comfortable with–especially given the horrors that I knew I was taking him to.

  ‘Snot’s still dripping down my nose. I’m lifting my arm, and wiping it on my anorak sleeve. It leaves a slimy trail like a slug. I try to rub it away on my shorts–I usually only wear them to school, but I’ve got to look my best for the lady. It’s lonely standing here, I wish she would come.’

  ‘Does she come, Moses? Does the lady come?’

  ‘Yes! She does, here she is! Maybe this lady will be my new mummy. She’s a bit old, not like granny, but still pretty old. The car she’s driving isn’t a Volvo. “Don’t put your muddy feet on the seats,” she says so as I don’t dirty them. She says we’re going for a long drive, but she won’t tell me where. Maybe she wants to surprise me–maybe there will be a whole new family waiting there; maybe I’m just what she’s been looking for to make them complete.’

  ‘What’s her car like, Moses?’

  ‘It’s all stuffy and dry inside but at least my nose has stopped dripping. The lady is playing some music on the radio–she says it is someone important but I don’t understand what she is talking about and the look on her face makes me think I maybe shouldn’t tell her I prefer The Singing Kettle. I don’t want to upset the lady. Are we there yet? I ask, and the lady tells me to be quiet she’ll tell me when I’m there. My new family must live in the country because we are leaving Edinburgh. I’m lying on my back, and watching the clouds move across the sky. I feel like an angel and I wish that I could fly. If I could fly I would be there already with my new mummy. My old mummy’s gone. Granny says she’s with the angels, and she’ll be happy now because there’s no smack in heaven. But I don’t remember her smacking me, I remember her being lovely and don’t think of the times when she was cross or looking for money or going out in the middle of the night or lying on the sofa all woozy from the medicine she said she had to take. When Mummy had to go to the angels, Granny wanted to keep me but she’s got something that makes her bones sore.’

  This child had so much to say. I looked over to Jack and Joe–the former was listening intently, but Joe could hardly bear to. His head was down and he was staring at something incredibly interesting on the floor.

  ‘Maybe my new family will have a daddy; I’d really love a daddy, I’ve never had one of those. We’ve turned off the motorway now, and there are cows. Real cows in the fields. I can see the bridges–maybe we will have a boat. We’ve turned again, into a driveway. I’m nearly there! The tyres are crunching on the sparkly granite and I can see a castle. My new family live in a castle! It’s a little castle but that doesn’t matter. It looks over the river and the bridges.’

  I keep asking questions–I have to.

  ‘What does the lady do when you get there, Moses?’

  ‘She’s pulling me roughly out the car but she must have made a mistake because she’s hurting my arm. She’s never hurt me before, so it must be an accident. I want to stamp my feet and see the red lights come on in the heels of my new trainers, but she’s dragging me along the ground. She must be in an awful hurry but I bet she would like the lights in my trainers if she had time to look at them. The front door is huge and scarred, as if it would protect the people inside from any invader. There are holes in the door and I wonder if they were made with arrows. Will I get to play cowboys and Indians here, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know, Moses. What do you think? Is there someone else there who might play games with you? Good games?’

  ‘Well, a girl answers the door; she’s wearing her school uniform. Is she daft? It’s Saturday–she doesn’t need to dress like that. She’s quite old, maybe fourteen, but she has her hair in bunches. She looks a daftie, I think I was right first time. Just above her white ankle socks I can see a tattoo. It’s a butterfly, and it’s lovely. If she’s my new big sister, it’s fine–I don’t mind her being daft, she looks friendly but a bit sad. The lady has gone now and it’s just me with the girl, and the girl tells me her name and smiles at me and asks if it’s my first time here. I nod my head, and she starts to cry, softly, a tear just running down her cheek. Now she’s hugging me–she smells nice and clean. We’re going along a stone corridor; it must be terrible cold on your feet in the wintertime.’

  ‘What else do you see, Moses?’ I ask.

  ‘Big tin men with axes line the hall, and there are paintings from the olden days of cross-looking people. They’re staring at me so I keep my head down, and follow the girl upstairs. We’ve stopped outside a huge pair of doors and she’s sat me down on a chair to wait. She’s giving me some peppermint chewing gum into my hand, she’s making me promise not to look through the keyhole. Just wait, and someone else will come for you, she says.’

  Moses’ jaw moved up and down like a cow chewing the cud. To him it was as if he had time travelled. Moses was back outside that room waiting to go in. I cannot pretend that I didn’t know what I was doing, the possible consequences of where I was taking him, but in that instant I felt the outcome justified it. The result being that I would live. I have already admitted that I am imperfect. I’m selfish too.

  ‘Now, Moses, I want you to go and look through the keyhole and tell me what you see.’

  He shook his head from side to side.

  ‘Moses.’ My voice was deep and harsh. ‘Nothing can hurt you–look through the keyhole. I’m with you holding your hand.’

  ‘I promised Laura I wouldn’t look.’ My eyes locked with Joe’s. The tension was high, we breathed in unison. Forgetting to blink, we stared at Moses.

  ‘To the keyhole,’ I urged, and squeezed his hand.

  ‘Lots of old people are seated round the walls. The lady who has brought me here is laughing and handing out drinks. It’s hard to see, because it’s such a small hole, but I can see the girl–it looks like a party–she’s handing out drinks–it’s like one of my granny’s dos ’cos they’re all old. I’m getting sore kneeling down–one of the old men is getting my friend to take off her clothes. She’s being really rude–they’re making her be really naughty–she’s touching her bottom in front of th
em.’

  Moses looked distressed. His head was waving from side to side, as if he was possessed. Joe and Jack were scared for him. Moses’ breathing was laboured, he was literally panicking. The mind cannot tell the difference between the truth and a lie. To him it was very real but I could not allow myself to feel his pain; he had to be pushed through it.

  ‘My new friend with the tattoo is there, and another girl. They’re sitting on men’s knees and they’ve got no knickers on. I swear, their knickers are on the floor. The men are touching them and everyone is looking. This doesn’t look like my new family–there are too many grown-ups and they are doing bad things. My friend starts to touch the man’s bottom and she is still crying, but everyone ignores her. The door’s opening now and the lady’s coming for me. I hate her.’

  ‘Tell me what the room is like, Moses,’ I urged, trying to calm him down. His heart was racing at an alarming rate, and in an older person it would have led to an attack. Sweat had broken out on his top lip. I could see that his shirt was sticking to his skin. I could have taken him slower, calmed him down, but I needed to know. My impatience was my undoing again.

  ‘I don’t like the room. It’s got a big picture of the devil in it and he’s looking at me. His eyes are following me. The lady is takin’ ma hand and we’re going out of the room now–maybe she’s takin’ me back to ma granny.’ A sense of comfort came into his body as he recalled his grandmother.

  ‘What are you doing, Moses?’ I had to ask because he was pulling his hand away from me.

  ‘I’m trying to get away from the lady.’

  ‘Can you get away from her?’

  ‘No–she’s too strong. She’s pulling me downstairs to…to a…a dungeon. It’s where the devil lives and he’s in there and he’s got a big fire going and it’s horrible–but it’s not cold outside so why has he got the fire going and what is he doing? I don’t like it. I don’t like it.’