by Cross, Amy
He waited for her to continue.
“Tell me,” he said after a moment, sniffing back more tears. “Please, Caitlin, tell me what it would have been like. Don't leave any details out.”
“He took all of that away,” she replied, “he -”
“Don't talk about him. Talk about us.”
“There's no us,” she continued, her voice suddenly sounding cold and scared. She was watching the door, and the little girl had disappeared, replaced by a patch of darkness and the looming, imminent threat of some other visitor. “Not after that night. Not after he cut me open.”
“I should have stopped him,” Joe sobbed.
A moment later, a figure stepped through the doorway. Tall and dark, he wore a crown of broken antlers, and although the light in the room was low, the side of his face was picked out just enough to see a rough, rippled surface covered in creases and dents, seemingly sewn together from the flesh of some long-dead animal. For eyes, he had nothing but a pair of gaps in the fabric, revealing the faintest glistening whiteness beneath, and his mouth was just a slit with tattered strands hanging down. There was no nose, just a slight bulge with clear, well-defined cheekbones on either side. It was the antlers, though, that struck fear into Joe's soul. Twisted and bone-white, they jutted out from several spots on the top of the figure's head, most of them broken near the base but a few of them reaching up a little further with sharp, jagged edges that could cut a man's flesh, like a crown of death.
“Do you have any idea,” Caitlin whispered, staring wide-eyed at the stag-headed man, “how terrified I was when I died?”
“I'm sorry,” Joe replied, his head bowed low in shame.
“To see that face as the life left my body,” she continued, “was just... It was the most horrifying thing in the world. And the smell, too. When he leaned close to me, he stank of sweat and something animal.” She paused, meeting the stag-headed man's gaze for a moment longer before turning to Joe. “Did they tell you that I peed myself?”
He shook his head.
“My bowels emptied too -”
“Don't,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes tight shut.
“Why not?”
“I don't want to know.”
“You want to remember me as pretty little Caitlin?”
“Please don't tell me the bad things.”
“Look at me, Joe.”
He shook his head again.
“Look at me,” she said firmly. “Respect me enough to look at me. You're one of the few who can now, so look at me.”
Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at her, and this time he saw that she was how she'd been that night, with bloody wounds all over her body and a thick, open hole in her chest where her heart had once been. Reaching down, she took his hand and moved it to her chest, forcing his fingers into the gap.
“Please,” he whimpered, “don't make me...”
“It's your fault,” she told him, her voice trembling a little. “You're the man. You should have found a way to save me.”
He shook his head as tears streamed down his face.
“It's okay, though,” she continued, as the stag-headed man stepped closer. “I came back, see? I was dead, but I found a way back. I had to crawl through the mire. Do you have any idea what that's like, Joe? To crawl from the world of the dead, back to the world of the living? To crawl through the darkness and the pain, to have to keep low in case the angels spot me and drag me back? I made it, though, and now I'm here to make sure that the man who killed me pays for his crimes. He will, you know. He's here, he's in Bowley right now, he's one of you.” Leaning closer, she kissed his forehead. “I'm with you, Joe. Even when you can't see or hear me, I'm with you and I see everything you do.”
“Everything?” he whispered.
She nodded.
Looking up, Joe saw the stag-headed man staring down at him.
“Something's about to happen,” Caitlin whispered, her lips still touching the side of Joe's head. “Listen to the silence of the town, and then listen to it being broken.”
“I don't hear anything,” he replied.
“Come to the window. Ignore him and come to the window.” Getting to her feet, she held Joe's hand until he stood and followed her. When they got to the window, she unfastened the latch and swung it aside. “Get some air in here,” she continued with a faint smile, before turning to him as the stag-headed man stepped up behind them. “Do you hear that? Do you hear the vast silence?”
Staring out at the street, Joe realized she was right. The town was silent, but it was the kind of silence that builds as a kind of buzz, getting stronger and stronger all the time until it has to break.
“And now,” Caitlin continued, with a tear in her eye, “it's all about to happen again. In three... two...” She paused, as a tear ran down her cheek. “One.”
***
“Where is she?” Jane shouted, racing around the corner as she tried to find the source of the scream that had suddenly filled the town square a few minutes earlier.
“Down there,” a woman replied, pointing along the alley. “Oh God, it's awful. It's just the most horrible thing!”
Hurrying past her, Jane reached the door at the back of the old Bailey's warehouse. Stopping, she saw a couple of onlookers consoling Harriet Lucas, who'd obviously been the one who'd made the grim discovery.
“Jesus,” Jane said, stepping forward as she looked down at the bloodied corpse on the concrete floor. There was blood everywhere, spilled across the floor and also smeared on the wall, while the girl's dead eyes stared up and her mouth was open, as if she'd died while calling out. On her chest, above the heart, there was a telltale hole that looked to have been torn through her ribs, and as Jane edged closer she saw that the heart was missing. Knocking something with her foot, she looked down and saw that one of the girl's shoes had come off.
“It's Hayley Maitland,” said one of the women nearby. “The poor girl, who's going to tell her parents?”
“Who found her?” Jane asked, making her way around to take a closer look at the dead body. Her heart was pounding, but she knew there'd be time to panic later; she'd immediately slipped into the cold, detached mode that always fell upon her whenever she was faced with something awful.
“I came to put some supplies on the shelf,” Harriet replied, staring in shock at the bloody scene. “We don't normally use this part of the building, but we needed some extra space today. So I came through and... and...”
“It's okay,” one of the men said, putting an arm around her as she began to sob.
“Have you touched her?” Jane asked.
“No.”
“Have you moved anything at all?”
“No, I just...” Harriet paused, before breaking down again.
Crouching next to the body, Jane looked at Hayley's blood-smeared face. Leaning close, she realized she could almost see the fingerprint patterns caked into the blood. The girl's front teeth had been partially smashed, and her nose was damaged, most likely broken. There was a cut on her right eyebrow, too, consistent with her head having been slammed against a hard surface. Looking up, she spotted a telltale patch of smeared blood on the wall. Already, she was starting to put the sequence of events together.
“Jane,” Alex's voice said suddenly, crackling from the radio on her belt. “Where are you? Have you found anything?”
She grabbed the radio and hit a button on the side.
“We've got a body,” she replied. “It's Hayley Maitland, Donald and Ruth's daughter. She's in the Bailey's building, adjacent to the alley, it's...” She stared at the gap where the girl's heart had been removed. “It's like the others.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred per cent.”
“Don't look, Jane. I'm on my way.”
“Don't look?”
“It'll give you nightmares. I'll look when I get there.”
“I'll be fine,” she replied with a faint sigh. “Hurry, and get Doctor Tomlin down here.�
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“Doctor Tomlin? Why? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she snapped, “it's a goddamn murder scene, we need a doctor here.” She sighed, realizing she needed to be more patient with him. “Just call him. Tell him to meet us here.”
Setting the radio down, she spotted something glinting on the floor nearby. Leaning over to take a look, she realized that it was part of one of Hayley's ribs, which had evidently been pulled away with enough force to send it flying away from the body. There were some other pieces nearby, as well as a couple of almost intact teeth.
“Why don't you catch this bastard?” Harriet asked suddenly, with a new sense of anger in her voice. “He's been doing this for years!”
“I -” Jane began to reply.
“Seriously,” Harriet continued, “what are you and Alex Gordon being paid for? It's your job to keep up safe, and you're not doing it! You're not doing anything! I saw it in the Herald this morning, you've not made any progress at all!”
“We're going to find the person who did this,” Jane stammered, trying to keep calm. “We are, I promise. Please don't believe everything you read in the paper.”
“Sure you're going to catch him,” Harriet added, clearly not believing her. “When he faints due to sheer exhaustion, maybe. But how many more people are going to have to die first?”
“She has a point,” Caitlin whispered suddenly, leaning down to Jane. “You're doing a spectacularly bad job here. Is the killer a certified genius, or are you and Alex just not up to the task?”
“We're working on it,” Jane replied under her breath. “I think there are fingerprints this time.”
“I'll throw you a bone,” Caitlin continued, “although in the current circumstances, maybe that's not the best way to phrase it. Still...” She leaned closer. “The person who killed Hayley isn't the same person who killed me.”
Jane turned to her.
“This one,” Caitlin said with a faint smile, “hits a little closer to home for you. You need to check her purse, and you need to do it before Alex gets here.”
V
Checking her phone again, Katie saw that there was still no returned message or call from Hayley.
“Fine,” she muttered, setting the phone onto the sink, “be that way. It's your turn.”
She headed across the bathroom and turned the shower on, before starting to slip out of her clothes. Her whole body was aching, and once she was naked she went to the mirror and felt a shiver in her chest as she saw all the cuts and bruises she'd sustained during her most recent shift at the Border. Most of the cuts had begun to heal, but one or two were still leaking a little, and the bruises clearly hadn't finished blossoming beneath her skin. Still, she figured the injuries would sort themselves out sooner rather than later, and she certainly had no intention of going to see a doctor.
“Katie?” her mother called out, knocking on the door. “Are you going to be long in there?”
“I'm taking a shower.”
“Well I need to use the toilet.”
“So? Hold it in.”
“How long are you going to be?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Well, be quick. We've got to share that bathroom, you know.”
Sighing as she heard her mother heading back downstairs, Katie turned and made her way over to the shower. With all the aches and pains she was feeling, there was no way she could be quick, so she figured the old woman would just have to cross her legs. As she slid the cubicle's door open, she found herself fantasizing about how good it would feel when she finally had enough money to get out of Bowley, to get out of her mother's control. That day couldn't come fast enough, and the money she was making from the Border was really starting to mount up now.
After reaching in to check that the water was hot, she winced slightly as she stepped into the shower cubicle, and then she let out a gasp of pain as she felt the water stinging all her cuts. Forcing herself to stay in the stream, she pulled the door shut and then looked up at the shower-head, closing her eyes as she felt the water running down her body, and wincing again as she felt the pain from a hundred little slices in her skin. She ran a few mental calculations, trying to work out how long it would take her to earn enough to leave town.
Six months, she figured finally. Six months of this.
***
“So how are you finding it down there?” Simon asked, looking up from the papers on his desk as Katie shoved her bag into a locker. “You dealing okay with level two?”
“It's fine,” she replied, determined not to show that she felt any pain. “I mean, it's a little rougher than level one, but I don't mind that at all. The extra money comes in handy.” She slipped out of the last of her clothes and placed them in the locker, before closing the door. In just the short amount of time she'd been at the Border, she'd already lost all her reticence when it came to being naked in front of complete strangers. “Have you heard from Hayley today?”
“She's not scheduled tonight.”
“I think she's got some kind of bee in her bonnet about me going down to the next level,” Katie told him. “She was telling me not to do it.”
“Figures.” He grabbed another folder and opened it. “She's probably still sore about getting bounced back up.”
“What do you mean?”
“She tried one night down at level two and freaked out completely,” he explained. “Couldn't handle it, almost quit entirely before I talked her out of it. Eventually she settled back on level one. If you ask me, that's where she belongs. She's a nice, polite level one kinda girl.”
“She never told me about any of that.”
“Probably ashamed.”
“So she went down to level two?”
“It's not a big thing,” he continued. “Some girls can handle it, some can't. It's like life in general, everyone has areas where they excel and areas where they don't. You've just got to work out your strengths and go with them. She only managed a few hours of level two before she freaked out.” He watched as she made her way to the door in the corner. “I'm hearing very good things about you, Katie. You might be the first girl in a long time who even makes it to -”
He stopped, as if he was worried about saying too much.
“Makes it to where?” she asked, opening the door and then turning to him. Loud music could be heard thumping up from the level below.
“Just focus on the second level for now,” he told her. “You can think about the third level some other time.”
“The third level?” She paused. “There's a third level? Like, even further down than the second?”
He nodded.
“What's it like there?” she asked.
“You know how level two is more extreme than level one?”
She nodded.
“Well, level three is more extreme than level two.” He looked at the cuts and bruises on her body for a moment. “It takes a while to be ready for level three. There are certain physical challenges.”
“How many levels are there to this place?”
“Oh, a few,” he replied, making a note in the folder. “A few.”
“And level three pays more than level two?”
“Well... Yes, obviously. Each level pays more than the last as you go further and further down.”
She stared at him for a moment, watching as he made more notes.
“I think I could handle level three,” she said finally.
“I think you could too,” he replied. “In time.” Hearing his phone ringing, he took a look at the screen before answering. “What do you want?” He paused. “Now?” Another pause, and it was clear that he was irritated. “Okay, but not in here. I'll meet you at the back door.” Cutting the call, he got to his feet, wincing slightly as his knees cracked. “I have to go and speak to someone about an important matter. Just focus on level two tonight, and trust me to move you on to level three when I think you're ready.”
“You make it sound like a video game.”
“It's absolutely nothing like a video game,” he replied as he headed to the door. “Level three is more... residential, if you catch my drift.”
“Residential?”
“It means you stay down there for long than one shift.” He grabbed his coat from the hook on the wall. “It's a bigger deal, and the pay packet is way, way bigger, but... You have to give things up in return for that pay packet.”
“Like what?”
“We'll talk about it some other time.” Opening the door, he stepped out into the corridor. “Concentrate on level two right now, and trust me, you'll get to level three when the time is right. I've got my eye on you.” With that, he shut the door and began to make his way toward the foyer. Stopping for a moment, he rooted through his pocket and then took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and then he blew smoke toward the No Smoking sign before heading along another corridor and using a key to open the back door. Finally, he stepped out into the parking lot and saw a car parked nearby in the shadows, with a figure leaning on the bonnet and typing something on a phone.
With a faint smile, Simon took another drag from his cigarette, before making his way over.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked. “It must be, what, three months since your last call?”
“Hang on,” Jane replied, taking a moment to send the message before slipping her phone away and turning to him. “We have a problem.”
He took another drag. “Such is life.”
“There's been another murder.”
“Huh.” He paused. “I thought I heard a scream earlier.”
“This time it's closer to home,” she continued. “It's someone who worked at the Border.”
“Who?”
She held up a silver key. “I found this in her purse. Don't worry, I took it before Alex spotted it, so there are no immediate leads that tie her to this place, but...” She paused, watching Simon's face, waiting for some trace of emotion. “Her name's Hayley Maitland.”
“Oh,” he replied flatly, “yeah, Hayley. Nice girl.”
“Nice dead girl,” Jane replied. “She's on a slab right now, and there's going to be an autopsy in the morning. Not that one's really necessary, it's pretty obvious what killed her. There's a hole where her heart should be.”