by Cross, Amy
“Seriously?” the stranger asked with a faint smile. “Do I have to be the safe, boring guy who tells you not to drive? You're wasted, man.”
“I'm used to it. I always drive home.” Still, the key wouldn't quite go into its hole.
“Well, I believe you, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea.” He glanced both ways along the street, but there was no sign of anyone else out and about. Just dark buildings and shuttered shops. “Aren't you worried about the local pigs picking you up one night?”
“Me and the cops are like this,” Joe replied, briefly crossing his fingers before trying once again – and failing – to get the key into the lock. “They know me.”
“Is that right?”
“That's right.”
“I guess everyone knows everyone in a small town like this,” the stranger continued, glancing along the street again. Still no sight of anyone. “Must be what made it so hard when that Caitlin girl died.”
At the mention of that name, Joe seemed to freeze.
“It must be hard, man,” the stranger added, “knowing that a friend of yours died and there was nothing you could do about it. Or nothing you did do about it, I don't know if you tried everything. Was she just a friend, or was she your girlfriend? Was she your childhood sweetheart n'all that?”
Slowly, Joe turned to him.
“I'm not trying to pry,” the stranger told him, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just figure... Hell, most people probably try to pussy-foot around you, especially on the anniversary, so I figured I'd try the other approach and really dive right in. I thought maybe you'd find that refreshing.” He paused, waiting for a response. “Or is it just painful?” he added finally. “Does it claw at your guts? All that guilt and rage, the sense that the world isn't fair, that there's no-one up there watching down on us and keeping the good people safe? Or maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Was Caitlin good? Or, hell, did she do something to bring that fate crashing down on her from the stars above?”
“You don't know anything about it,” Joe muttered, focusing on the key again and finally managing to get it into the lock. As he pulled the door open, he realized that he suddenly felt much more sober. He needed more beer, fast.
“Didn't mean to freak you out,” the stranger replied, taking a step back and watching as Joe pulled the door shut and started the engine. “Like I said, I just believe in being direct, even if the subject's a tricky one. Drive safe and -”
Before he could finish, Joe put the truck in gear and hit the pedal, sending it shooting forward and then swerving to the middle of the road before finding the lane and heading off on his way.
“Huh,” the stranger said to himself, watching as the truck's lights disappeared into the distance. “Well hey, Joe, I guess you really didn't recognize me after all these years, did you?”
***
He had to kick the door a couple of times to get it open, but finally Joe managed to get into his apartment. Stumbling a little over the mat, he slammed the door shut and then stopped in the dark hallway, listening to the sound of the silent house.
In the distance, there was a faint creaking sound.
And the rushing of his blood in his ears. Sometimes he could hear that too.
After spitting some phlegm onto the doormat, he made his way through to the front room. He flicked the light-switch a couple of times, hoping that it might have somehow fixed itself, but of course the room remained dark. Muttering some more expletives under his breath, he staggered over to the sofa and crashed down, landing hard and rolling onto his side. The journey home had been slow and difficult, and now it was almost one in the morning. Even though the whole world seemed to be spinning around him, he forced himself to sit up.
Orbit.
Everything was in orbit around his head, all at different speeds.
Again, there was a creak elsewhere in the house. It sounded like it was on the stairs.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and squinted, trying to see the screen properly. He had to try several times to enter his pin-code, before unlocking the damn thing and bringing up the list of contacts. Scrolling through, he found Caitlin's number and stared at it for a moment, before tapping twice and starting the call. He knew this was a mistake, that he'd regret it in the morning, but he figured he'd just have to deal with it in the cold light of day. Right now, the call was the only thing that felt right. As he raised the phone to the side of his face and waited, he felt tears welling in his eyes.
“Hello?” a tired female voice said suddenly, answering the call. She sounded like a teenager.
“Hey,” he replied. “It's me.”
“Oh my God,” she continued, “I told you to stop calling!”
“Caitlin,” he whispered. “Put Caitlin on.”
“My name is not Caitlin,” she said firmly. “Jesus Christ, okay, this number has obviously been reassigned from your friend Caitlin to me. You need to stop calling, creep, or I'll go to the police, do you understand? I will have you fucking arrested for harassment!”
“I just want to talk to Caitlin,” he replied. “Where is she?”
“Go to hell, loser!”
As the call ended, he sighed and tossed the phone onto the cushions. He'd been using burner phones for a while now, since the person with Caitlin's number always ignored his calls if she knew it was him. Glancing at the latest phone, he knew deep down that he was making a mistake, but at the same time he felt he had to keep trying. After a moment, he heard another creak, this time from out in the hall, and a few seconds later he realized that a figure had appeared in the doorway, watching him.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Silence.
“Hey,” Caitlin replied finally.
Turning, he saw her standing there, as beautiful as ever and still the young girl she'd been on that fateful night nine years ago. There were no cuts on her body, and there was no blood on her shirt. Her neck was straight and normal, and she was smiling.
“I went out,” he told her, trying not to slur his words too much. “I was thinking about you the whole time.”
“I know,” she replied with a smile. “You think about me a lot, don't you?”
“It's been nine years,” he whispered, thinking back to that night when he'd followed her through the darkness and then found her in the nook of the oak tree.
“Nine long years,” she replied.
“I thought maybe...” Pausing, he looked down at his belly and then pulled his t-shirt up to expose the thick scars that criss-crossed his flesh. “They're still there,” he continued, squinting again as he tried to make them out properly in the darkness. Running his hands over the skin, he felt the thick, rumbled grooves of scar tissue. “Fuck. Sometimes I think they're ugly, but sometimes I think they're pretty. Tonight I think they're pretty.”
“I think they're pretty too.”
“You do?”
“Of course. They're part of you.”
After a moment, he heard her stepping closer, and finally she sat on the sofa next to him. He turned and saw that she was looking down at the scars.
“They're beautiful,” she told him.
“Do you wanna touch them?” he asked.
“Can I?”
“Please. Please, Caitlin, I want you to, more than anything. More than anything in the whole world.”
He watched in breathless anticipation as she reached out. Her hand seemed to carry its own light, just a faint hint of a glow, as it moved closer to his belly. Finally, when she placed her cold fingertips against his scars, he felt a shiver burst through his skin and up to his head, and he leaned back as he let out a faint gasp. He hadn't expected to be able to feel her touch.
“I hope no-one's ever told you that these are ugly,” Caitlin whispered. “They're not. They're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of things.”
He let out another gasp as he felt her freezing fingertips move slowly across his belly, tracing the lines of the sc
ars as if they were things of wonder, as if they were worthy of her attention. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at her for a moment, and he saw true wonder in her eyes, as if she was mesmerized by the sight of his body.
“I love you,” he whimpered, close to tears.
“I love you too,” she replied, still examining his scars. “I always have, and I always will.”
Leaning over, he tried to kiss her, but at that moment the light from a passing car briefly filled the room, and when it was gone there was no sign of Caitlin next to him on the sofa, so he started sobbing instead.
***
A few miles out of town, near the twisted old oak tree, a dark figure stood watching the distant lights. Arranged around the crown of his head were several sharp little sticks, like broken antlers.
IV
“He's your brother,” Jane replied, following Jack across the kitchen. She watched as he opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. “Can't you just put up with him for a week or two?”
“You'd think,” he muttered, taking a swig.
“I swear,” she continued, “sometimes you and Beth act like Ben's the devil. It's been ages since you last saw him, maybe he's changed in that time, maybe he's mellowed just a little.” She paused for a moment, hoping against hope that he'd agree with her. “I know you've changed over the past nine years.”
“I'm sexier and smarter,” he replied, offering her some milk before setting the carton back in the fridge. “A little slimmer too.”
“You're older and wiser,” she told him, “and more emotionally mature. You're better at dealing with things, so if he's better too, the pair of you could actually have a better relationship. Hell, maybe you could sit down and have a conversation with the guy instead of questioning him and acting like you think he's up to something. Stop treating him like he's a suspect in a story you're writing for the paper, and start treating him like he's your brother.”
“You really think it's that easy?”
“I think it could be, if you work at it.”
He paused. “Well he'll most likely be staying here,” he told her finally. “Better get the spare room ready.”
“What?”
“Where else do you think he's gonna stay? With my mother? With Beth?” He smiled. “With my delightful father?”
“Well, he...” She paused, clearly caught off-guard. “I don't know if him staying here is the best thing -”
“Because of the kids?”
“Because of...” Another pause, and it was clear she was struggling to come up with an answer that wouldn't demolish her little speech about the importance of family. “Your mother could clear out her office and let him crash there,” she pointed out. “It might be more fun for her, she's the one who really looks forward to his visits.”
“Ha,” Jack replied, stepping past her and heading to the door. “You were fine with him coming until you realized he'd be around the house, and now suddenly you're worried.”
“I'm not worried, I just...”
He turned to her. “You don't want him here.”
“I -”
“Good. 'Cause neither do I.”
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“He's not coming 'til Monday. I've got time to figure something out.”
“An excuse?”
He nodded.
“And you think he won't see through it?”
“All that matters is that he doesn't stick around. It's better for everyone that way. It's better for the whole goddamn town.”
She stared at him for a moment, seeing the sense of deep unease in his eyes. “Jack, you don't still think...” She paused. “I mean, you and Beth, I know you don't talk about it much, but you don't still think...” Her voice trailed off. “You can't, Jack.”
He sighed.
“Jack?”
“I don't know. I honestly don't know.”
“He's not a monster.”
“You know the facts, Jane. You know how it all fits together.”
“I've also met Ben. A few times. He might be a little odd, but some people just are odd. It doesn't mean he's capable of doing something terrible.”
“Of course not. It's just a coincidence. Or rather, lots and lots of coincidences, all piling up.” He stared at her for a moment. “Seventeen years ago, my brother left home abruptly just after a woman was found strangled on the edge of town. Fifteen years ago, he came back for a little while, and while he was here two more women were murdered. And then nine years ago, he showed up for a short visit and, hey, what do you know? Caitlin Somers was killed and Joe O'Brien spent a month in intensive care. And then -”
“Jack -”
“And then,” he continued, “no more murders, not since then. Not while Ben has been out of town. And yet those four murders that did happen were conclusively linked to one another through forensic tests. That's an awfully specific serial killer, don't you think? And one whose activities just happen to coincide with Ben's visits.”
“He's your brother,” she reminded him. “You can't say things like that about your brother.”
“So I should just think them and keep everything to myself?” he asked. “You're always telling me to be more open about my feelings. Well, here I am. This is something I think about every day. Is my brother...”
She shook her head.
“You don't know that for sure,” he pointed out.
“I've met him, he -”
“But you don't know him!”
“So tell me what I'm missing!”
“You didn't know him when we were kids.” He took a sip from his glass. “There's always been something a little off with him.”
“Is there something you're not telling me?” she asked.
“It's complicated.”
“You're in danger of doing the same thing your father did,” she replied, trying to keep a lid on her frustration. “Whatever else you think about Ben, he's not a murderer.”
“Then who is?” he asked. “Who killed those four women?”
“I don't know, but Alex and I keep the file open. We talk about it.”
“You talk about it? Great, cops of the year, right there.”
She sighed.
“And what if someone dies this time?” he continued. “What if, after Ben comes to town, there's another murder?”
“There won't be.”
“But what if there is?”
“Then we'd investigate it, the way the others were investigated.”
“Badly and without any hope of catching the killer?”
“That's not fair,” she replied. “You know Alex is good at his job.”
“He's getting old,” Jack pointed out. “You've said it yourself often enough. He makes mistakes now, you have to carry his screw-ups half the time.”
“Ben isn't a killer,” she said, stepping over to him. “I know you don't have a great history with him, I know stuff happened when you were kids that you won't or can't tell me about, but you and Beth are taking your demonization of your brother too far.”
“We're just recognizing a pattern.”
“There's no pattern,” she replied, putting her arms around him. “Let it go. Try to appreciate the fact that your brother is coming home for a visit, and...” She paused. “And I think it's great if he stays here in our spare room. It'd give you two a chance to hang out, and it'd be good for the whole family. I want him to stay.”
“You don't mean that.”
“I do,” she said, checking her watch, “and now it's almost three in the morning. I don't know about you, but I have a job to get to later and unfortunately, unlike you, I'm not the boss where I work, so I'd appreciate a few hours' shut-eye. Alex won't be happy with me if I'm falling asleep on my shift.” She waited for a response, for him to say something, anything, that might show he was finally listening to her. She could see, however, that he was already lost in though. “Don't,” she said finally.
“Don't what?”
“Do
n't wind yourself up over this.” She patted his chest before slipping past him. “I'm a good judge of these things, remember? I'm a cop, for God's sake. Trust me, your brother is harmless.” She made her way into the bedroom, before leaning back through the doorway to look at him again. “Mostly harmless,” she added, before going inside for the night.
“Yeah,” he muttered, looking over at the window and seeing that there was a small crack in one corner. “Well, you didn't know him when we were kids. You didn't see what Beth and I saw.”
***
She didn't say anything when the front door opened. She just sat in the darkness and waited, listening to the sound of Bob dropping his briefcase on the chair in the hallway, and then to the sound of him sighing as he hung his coat on a hook, and then to the sound of him making his way through to the kitchen. As he headed to the sink, he even didn't notice her, until some sixth sense seemed to flick the back of his ear and he spun around.
“Beth? Jesus, what the hell are you doing up?”
“I couldn't sleep,” she replied, keeping her eyes fixed on him. “How was work?”
He hit the light-switch. “Is Lucy okay?”
“She's fine. I've got to get her up in a minute for school.” She watched as he hit the button on the side of the kettle. “You didn't answer my question.”
“Um, what question was that?” He grabbed a teabag and dropped it into a clean cup.
“How was work?”
He glanced at her, and for a moment he seemed a little wary of the question, as if he was worried it might be a trap. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
He nodded. “Yeah, fine. Why?”
“So what did you do all night?”
“What did I do?” He paused. “The same thing I do on every night-shift. Talked to the guys, filed some paperwork, watched a few cameras and made sure I was ready in case the phone rang. Which it didn't, by the way. It was a really dead night, but I guess that's how things go sometimes when you're just keeping things ticking over for the man upstairs.”
She watched as he took a box of cereal from one of the cupboards.
“Oh,” he added with a smile, turning to her, “but you'll never guess what happened.” He chuckled to himself. “You know Aaron? Aaron Giles? I think you met him once, he's kinda new to the place.”