A waitress came over with a written order and she handed it to Mr Aoki. He grunted and reached for a purple and white octopus tentacle.
‘And if it is a Gaki, how do we go about killing it?’ asked Nightingale.
‘It’s not easy,’ said Mr Aoki, his knife poised in mid air.
‘It never is,’ said Nightingale.
Mr Aoki frowned. ‘I don’t understand.
‘I was just…” Nightingale shrugged. ‘In my experience, there’s always a price to be paid when you take on the spirit world.’
Mr Aoki nodded. ‘Let me do this and we’ll go outside. I need a cigarette.’ He made short work of the octopus, pushed two plates towards the waiting waitress and then nodded at a side door. ‘We can smoke in the alley.’
He took Nightingale through the door, down a corridor and through a fire exit. Nightingale gave him a Marlboro and then lit a cigarette for himself. They blew smoke and the chef smiled over at Nightingale. ‘You always smoke Marlboro?’
‘Since I was a kid. It’s a cowboy thing.’
‘You wanted to be a cowboy?’
‘I wanted to ride a horse. And fire a gun.’ He chuckled. ‘Actually, I got to do the latter.’
‘The latter?’
‘Fire a gun. I used to be an armed police officer. Fired all sorts of guns. Never rode a horse, though.’ He took another long drag on his cigarette and blew smoke up into the night air. ‘So, how do you kill a Gaki?’
Mr Aoki flicked ash away. ‘It’s best to simply keep it away,’ he said. ‘Shinto priests or Buddhist monks can perform the necessary prayers and rituals. You can leaves scrolls with the image of Buddha on by all the doors and windows. And outside your home, you can leave offerings of food so that it feeds outside.’ He shrugged. ‘If you believe in that.’
‘Do you?’
Mr Aoki shook his head. ‘If I had stayed in Japan then maybe. But I have lived in London for more than twenty years. So no, I don’t believe in ghosts.’ He blew smoke up at the ceiling.
‘What else can you tell me, though?’
‘Okay, well they say that when a Gaki attacks it does it in a sort of mindless frenzy. Like a bloodlust. That makes it vulnerable.’
‘To what?’
‘To a sword or a knife, made of silver. But you have to strike when it’s in physical form. It won’t defend itself because it’ll be in a mindless frenzy. But the fact that it’s a frenzy makes it very dangerous indeed.’
‘And when does it take on physical form?’
‘When it is ready to feed.’
Nightingale nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay.’
‘Then, when you have killed it, you have to burn it to ashes and scatter them to the four winds.’
‘That’s easy enough,’ said Nightingale.
The chef flicked his cigarette away. ‘I have to go back to work,’ he said. ‘Kouun wo inorimasu. Good luck.’
*
Jenny frowned at Nightingale. ‘Tell me again why I’m the one who has to be in the bath?’ she said. She was wearing a white hotel bathrobe and had clipped up her blonde hair.
‘Because the Gaki only attacks women.’
‘You could do it in drag.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Jack, this could be dangerous.’
‘I’ll be outside the door, listening. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll be in.’
‘And you’re sure this isn’t just a way of you seeing me with my kit off?’
Nightingale laughed. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Six women have died in that bath, I don’t want to be number seven.’
‘The other six didn’t know what was going on,’ said Nightingale. ‘Forewarned is forearmed.’
Jenny took a silver knife from her pocket. They’d bought it from a stall in Portobello market. The blade was about six inches long and the hand another four. According to the hallmark, it was more than forty years old. ‘Forearmed with a fish knife?’
‘The type of knife doesn’t matter,’ said Nightingale. ‘What matters is that it’s silver.’ He picked up a silver carving knife off the sink cabinet. ‘As soon as the Gaki appears you let me know and I’ll take it from behind.’
‘I’m not closing the door,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to,’ said Nightingale.
‘Jack, are you sure there isn’t another way of doing this?’
‘This is the only permanent way of ending it,’ said Nightingale. ‘And the Gaki only attacks women.’
‘You could dress up.’
Nightingale laughed. ‘In the bath?’ He took out his lighter and lit half a dozen small tealight candles in circular crystal holders, then turned on the taps. Water gushed into the large roll top bath. Steam billowed from the hot tap. ‘Bath salts? Bubble bath.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Jenny. ‘You wait outside. And at the first sign of anything, I want you in here. I don’t want to face it on my own.’
‘I’ll be right outside, I promise.’
‘I’m serious, Jack.’
‘So am I. It’ll be fine. I promise.’ Nightingale took a final look around the bathroom. The mirror above the sink had already clouded over and he drew a smiley face with his finger. ‘For luck,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to rely on luck,’ she said. She slipped the knife under the bath, then frowned. ‘I’m not going to be able to reach it,’ she said.
‘Take it in the bath with you.’
‘You’ll be telling me to run with scissors next.’
Nightingale picked up a white flannel from the sink and gave it to her. ‘Wrap it in this.’ He headed out and pulled the door closed behind him before remembering what she’d said and opened it and left it ajar. He had placed a wooden chair in the hallway and he sat down. He could hear the bath still filling and then a soft splash as Jenny slipped into the water.
*
Jenny wiggled her toes and sighed. The bath was the perfect size for her, and the bath salts were doing their job, relaxing her muscles and filling the air with the scent of flowers. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was being used as bait for a blood-sucking Japanese vampire creature she’d have been relishing the experience. She reached down into the water with her right hand to reassure herself that the knife was still there. She looked over at the smiley face that Nightingale had drawn on the mirror. It made her smile and she took a deep breath and sighed again. There were worse places to be than a lovely warm bath. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the warm water. There was a quiet plop as water dripped from the hot top. She reached up with her right foot and ran her big toe around the top, but withdrew it when she realised it was hot to the touch. She shrugged her shoulders. There was another plop from the big tap. And another. The plopping sound was almost hypnotic. She sighed again, but realised she was close to sleeping and opened her eyes. The room was filled with steam now, and as she looked over at the mirror she realised that the smiley face had gone. She reached for the knife and her fingers tightened on the handle.
*
Nightingale looked at his watch. Jenny had been in the bath for more than half an hour and he hadn’t heard anything for at least five minutes. He stood up and carefully put his ear against the door. He frowned as he realised the bathroom was in total silence. He pushed open the door a few inches and peered through the gap. He could see the shower and the medicine cabinet but that was all. He pushed the door a bit more, bracing himself for a torrent of abuse from Jenny if she thought he was spying on her. He took a step forward and moved his head to the side. He could just about see the mirror above the sink and as he moved his head a bit further he saw Jenny, lying in the bath with her eyes closed. He smiled as he realised that she had fallen asleep. But the smile froze when he saw the knife in her right hand. She was holding the blade against her left wrist and his eyes widened in horror as he saw her draw it across her skin. Blood flowed around the blade and Nightingale screamed. He threw open the door and stepped into the room and only then did he realise tha
t Jenny wasn’t alone. There was a figure crouched at the end of the bath, looming over her, part human, part, animal, part fog. Most of it was black but there were streaks of red and gold, there was what looked like a hand with talons and a bulge that might have been a folded wing.
Jenny’s left arm flopped over the side of the bath and blood dripped down her palm and began to plop onto the floor. The creature had legs that were covered in glistening scales and feet with hooked claws that clicked against the tiles as it shuffled around the bath towards the pooling blood. Nightingale groped in his pocket for the knife. The creature was so focussed on the dripping blood that it didn’t appear to have noticed that Nightingale was in the room.
Nightingale gripped the knife tightly and thrust it into the closest thing the creature had to a neck. It was like stabbing rubber. The blade slid off the creature’s skin. Nightingale cursed and lunged again, harder this time. The blade went in and yellow fluid gushed over his hand.
Something lashed out. A wing, or an arm. Whatever it was, it caught Nightingale under the chin and sent him spinning against the wall. The knife fell from his hand and clattered onto the floor. The creature moved towards him. A mouth opened and Nightingale’s stomach heaved at the stench of sulphur. Something whirled towards Nightingale’s head and he ducked. Tiles shattered behind him and fragments dropped down all around him. He fell to his knees and groped around for the knife but he couldn’t find it.
Something smashed against the back of his neck, almost stunning him. He shook his head and then scrambled towards the bath. His eyes were watering from the stench emanating from the creature’s mouth, making it difficult to see. The creature hit him again. A talon tore into his jacket, ripping the fabric apart. He felt a searing pain along his back and realised that the creature had drawn blood.
His head banged against the bath and he grunted in pain. He reached up and groped for Jenny’s arm. His fingers touched her flesh and he ran them down to her hand and grabbed her knife. Talons raked his back again and he screamed. He fell to the floor, the knife in his right hand. He heard a hellish roar and as he rolled onto his back he saw the creature rearing up, more solid now. He saw a gaping maw and yellow cat-like eyes and then he was enveloped with a foul stench as it breathed over him. He could barely see through his tear-filled eyes but he saw movement as the creature lunged at him and he brought the knife up and plunged it into the left eye. The creature roared and the tiles vibrated beneath Nightingale. He gripped his right hand with his left and thrust the knife further into the eye socket. Something wet and warm gushed over his hands as the creature began to shake and shudder. It reared up and Nightingale pushed up to keep the pressure on the knife and then the creature shuddered a final time and fell onto him like a dead weight. Nightingale let go of the knife and lay where he was, gasping for breath, his throat and nose burning from the noxious last breaths of the creature he’d killed. He tried to push the body off him but it was just too heavy. Something acrid dripped across Nightingale’s face and his stomach heaved. He pushed up with all his strength and used his heels to push himself from under the dead weight. He managed to get his upper body out, then freed his left leg and used his foot to push the creature away.
He staggered to his feet and leaned over the bath. Jenny’s eyes were closed and blood was trickling from her wrist and dripping onto the floor. He pulled out the plug so that the water would run away and then lifted her left hand and examined the cuts. There were two, about an inch apart, and they didn’t appear to be too deep. He kept her hand above her head as he looked around for something to bind her wound. He could just about reach the medicine cabinet and he pulled it open. There was a pack of plaster and a crepe bandage on one of the shelves. He knew that the crepe bandage was better suited for sprains but figured it was better than nothing so he unwrapped it and wound it around the injured wrist before he lifted her out of the bath. ‘Jenny, can you hear me?’ he asked, but her eyes stayed closed.
He pulled the door open with his foot and carried Jenny down the stairs. Mr and Mrs Stokes were waiting in the hall.
‘What happened?’ asked Mrs Stokes.
‘I need to get her to the hospital,’ said Nightingale.
‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ said Mr Stokes, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket.
‘No, we’ll drive her,’ said Nightingale. ‘Have you got a car?’
Mr Stokes grabbed for his coat. ‘Outside,’ he said. He picked up a set of car keys from a brass dish.
‘Is she going to be okay?’ asked Mrs Stokes.
Nightingale ignored the question. ‘I need a robe or something she can wear.’
Mrs Stokes nodded. ‘Of course. Yes.’ She hurried upstairs. ‘Whatever you do, don’t go into the bathroom,’ Nightingale called after her. ‘I’ll deal with it when I get back.’
‘Deal with what?’ asked Mr Stokes,
‘Best you don’t know,’ said Nightingale.
Mrs Stokes came rushing back down the stairs holding a white towelling bathrobe. She and Nightingale helped ease Jenny into the robe. Mrs Stokes started when she saw the bloodstained bandage around her wrist. ‘What happened?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ he said. ‘And remember what I said, stay out of the bathroom.’ He nodded at Mr Stokes. ‘We need to go.’ Mr Stokes headed for the door and Nightingale followed him.
*
Jenny’s eyes fluttered open and she frowned when she saw Nightingale standing by the side of the bed. ‘Did I fall asleep?’ she asked.
‘Sort of,’ said Nightingale.
Jenny looked around and her eyes widened. ‘Where am I?’
‘Brighton General Hospital,’ said Nightingale.
‘What happened?’
‘What do you remember?’ he asked.
She lifted up her hands and frowned when she saw the bandage around her left wrist. ‘Jack?’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘It’s okay, a couple of superficial cuts,’ said Nightingale.
‘So why am I in a hospital bed?’ she asked, staring at the bandage.
‘The thing put you under?’
Jenny stared at him in horror. ‘What thing?’
‘You don’t remember anything that happened in the bathroom?’
‘What bathroom? Jack, what’s going on?’
‘You were in the bathroom, waiting for the Gaki. I think it somehow drugged or hypnotised you. You remember the Gaki, right?’
‘I remember talking about it, sure. So what happened?’
‘It appeared. It made you cut yourself. I killed it. All’s well that ends well. Or at least it will once I’ve burnt what’s left of it and scattered it to the four winds.’
The door to the room opened and a doctor appeared, a dour woman in her fifties carrying a clipboard. She took a pen from the pocket of her white coat and looked at Jenny over the top of her bifocal spectacles. ‘Well I’m glad to see that you’ve finally woken up, Miss McLean. You had us worried there for a while.’ She frowned as she looked at the clipboard. ‘We thought that you had swallowed something you shouldn’t but your blood all seems good.’
‘Swallowed something?’ repeated Jenny as
‘Sleeping tablets. Paracetamol. Weedkiller. There’s no end to the things that people take when they want to hurt themselves.’
‘I didn’t try to hurt myself,’ said Jenny.
The doctor walked over to the side of the bed and picked up Jenny’s left arm. They both looked at her bandaged wrist. ‘Of course you didn’t,’ said the doctor.
Jenny snatched her hand away. ‘Anyway, I’m fine now,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on my way home.’
‘Before you go, I’d like you to talk to talk to one of our therapists,’ said the doctor, scribbling a note on her clipboard.
‘About what?’
The doctor looked over the top of her glasses again, like a teacher about to address a particularly stupid student. ‘My dear, self-harming is nothing to be ashamed of. What matters is that we give you
the tools to deal with it.’
‘I haven’t been self-harming,’ protested Jenny. She looked over at Nightingale. ‘Tell her, Jack.’
‘Tell her what?’ asked Nightingale.
Jenny opened her mouth to reply but then realised that even if she did tell the doctor the truth she’d more than likely think that she was crazy. She sighed and folded her arms. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to your therapist.’
‘That’s a good girl,’ said the doctor, smiling encouragingly.
‘She’s had a difficult few months,’ said Nightingale. ‘We’ve all been very worried about her.’ Jenny flashed him a withering look and he grinned as he headed out of the room. ‘Give me a call when you’re ready and I’ll pick you up.’
‘He seems like a very nice man,’ said the doctor.
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ said Jenny.
*
Nightingale sat at the bar and pushed the slice of lemon down into the neck of his bottle of Corona. He sipped his lager and his eyes fell on the television set on the wall to his right. It was showing Sky News and an earnest redheaded reporter in a raincoat was talking into a hand-held microphone. Nightingale recognised the house behind her and he waved at the barman. ‘Do me a favour, mate, can you put the sound up?’
The barman nodded, reached for the remote control, and turned up the volume.
‘Police are treating the deaths as a murder-suicide,’ said the woman. ‘According to a source close to the investigation, Mr Waites stabbed his son to death in the bedroom and then went downstairs and slit his own throat. An inquest will be held but at the moment the police are not looking for anyone else in connection with the deaths.’
‘Put the football on!’ shouted a man at a table by the door.
The barman looked across at Nightingale and Nightingale shrugged. The barman pressed the remote again and changed the channel, then walked over to the sink and began polishing glasses. Nightingale smiled thinly and raised his bottle in salute at the television set. He was pretty sure that the death of the father and son had nothing to do with suicide and everything to with murder. The Order of Nine Angles was fanatical about keeping its secrets. He’d tried to warn Timmy Waites and his father but he’d known at the time that his warnings were falling on deaf ears. ‘That’s what you get when you mess around with things you don’t understand,’ he said. ‘RIP guys.’
Blood Bath (Seven Jack Nightingale Short Stories) Page 4