The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  Leaving the front door swinging wide open he walked out of the gallery, his thoughts oblivious to the security concerns of the Harmsbourough National Art Gallery. Limping heavily he staggered his way home and towards redemption, leaving priceless artefacts unattended and vulnerable to the elements. He would never remember setting the fire, but before he even reached home the gallery was already a raging inferno. The fire gutted everything in the building and nothing was left except ashes.

  ----------

  When he arrived at a darkened house, his watch told him that it was two minutes to midnight. Letting himself in quietly he crept towards the stairs that led to the harlot’s lair. He ascended silently. He wanted to see her filth-ridden writhing as she lay with her army of betrayers, he wanted to catch his adulterous wife in the act, but the bedroom was quiet.

  A flicker of light danced under the door as the low sound of the television played to a sleeping audience. He could hear her lonely gentle breathing as she slept the sleep of the innocent, but for some reason her guiltless act enraged him further.

  Dragging his useless leg behind him, he limped to the bed. As his hands closed around her throat her eyelids flickered and she woke with disbelief in her eyes. He clamped down with furious strength that seemed ordained, and silently thanked Hugo for giving him the power to do what needed to be done. His forearms burned with holy vengeance as his fingers clamped tighter and Amanda’s eyes faded away before him. He watched the light die as she left this world suitably rewarded for her sins.

  As soon as she died, the power left him, the certainty left him, Hugo left him, and he was left standing over the cooling corpse of his beloved wife. Her guiltless face burned into his and he looked down in astonishment at his murderous hands, unable to comprehend the monstrous act he had just committed. The only triumphant sound was Hugo’s cruel mocking laughter that he could hear drifting on the wind.

  He staggered blindly down to the kitchen, his vision blurred through streaming tears. Snatching up a silver-handled carving knife he said a silent prayer of forgiveness, hoping against hope that Amanda would be waiting on the other side and he could apologise in person. He plunged the sharp blade into his throat and ripped it viscously from left to right, soaking his hand with blood as he tore the artery.

  The knife slipped from his wet grasp and clattered to the floor. He sank to his knees then pitched forward onto the floor. The linoleum was cool against his burning cheek as his life gushed out into the cool night air.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OVERDUE INTRODUCTIONS

  Travis watched Joseph as he finished his tale with a gut wrenching sob. He stood and looked away, taking in the sea air and the ocean view as Joseph slowly composed himself. Once the sobs choked off he turned back to face Joseph.

  ‘So this is your life story that I’m supposed to believe?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘Sonny, I don’t much care if you believe it or not.’

  ‘And you’re in here instead of dead or in jail because –’

  ‘When I left the museum wide open, the alarms went off but I didn’t even hear them. I will swear until my dying day that I did not set the fire that destroyed the building, but nevertheless it burned to the ground. It wasn’t long before the emergency services showed up and then tracked me to my home.’

  ‘It was rather lucky that they found you in time, wasn’t it?’

  Joseph looked up with aged and tired eyes. ‘No, it wasn’t. After what I did I deserved to die that night, but I found myself locked away for forty years. When I got out they took me in here and have looked after me ever since.’

  ‘You didn’t try again?’ Travis asked, unable to stop the question before it had popped out of his runaway mouth.

  ‘Let’s just say that as time passed, it is one reunion that I am looking forward to less and less. I guess I’m just a coward at heart.’

  ‘Look, thanks a lot for the interesting story, Mr Delaney,’ Travis said, moving away from the old nutcase, ‘but I’m afraid it isn’t exactly useful for what I’m trying to do.’

  Suddenly Joseph’s hand shot out and clamped down violently on his wrist. The grip belied the old man’s years and the grasp was painful.

  ‘Godammit,’ Joseph bellowed. ‘You know nothing, nothing. I’m trying to help you, Mr Parker. You don’t understand what you’re looking for. The worst thing you can possibly do is to find that bloody thing. I haven’t spoken about my wife for nigh on twenty years, and the only reason I’m telling you is that you have a look in your eyes, a look that tells me that once you get started you are like a dog with a bone. Please, Mr Parker, you have to just walk away. Leave this business alone. And go home.’

  Travis looked down at the old man. His face was creased with sorrow and concern. Travis was indeed tempted to walk away, but his broken promise was stronger. ‘I can’t,’ he said.

  ‘Pah!’ Joseph let go of his grip. ‘Then go and die like all the others. He will never stop, Mr Parker. Hugo Montague will never stop. His appetite is voracious and never ending.’

  ‘So help me then,’ Travis said, playing along with an old man’s delusions. ‘Help me find him and maybe I can end this.’

  Joseph looked up at the sky. ‘How?’

  Travis leaned in closer. ‘I am not alone in this search, Joseph. There are others who know how to end this,’ he said, the lie coming easily from his lips.

  ‘Really? How?’ The old man’s eyes were alight with hope.

  ‘I can’t say. The less you know the better.’

  Joseph stared at him for what seemed like several minutes. Finally he spoke. ‘Pierce Barnes. That’s all I can tell you,’ he said with a firm but tired voice.

  Travis looked at the resolute set of the old man’s face. Whatever other tales or information he had would not be forthcoming.

  ‘You should leave now, Mr Parker,’ he muttered with a dismissive flap of his scrawny hand. ‘In fact you should run, run all the way back to wherever it is you came from, pull the covers over your head and pray to your God that Hugo hasn’t noticed you yet.’

  Travis moved away slowly, wanting to be distanced from the old man who had shaken him more than a little. It wasn’t Joseph’s story that had scared him; it was more the air of calm confidence with which he told it.

  ‘Okay,’ he said in a soft yet patronising tone. ‘I’ll be sure to do that.’

  He walked backwards unable to take his eyes off the man as he unravelled his thick scarf from around his throat.

  ‘Look at me, Mr Parker. Look what Hugo did!’ He laughed manically. ‘Look at me!’

  Travis stared down at the mass of twisted scar tissue that encircled Joseph’s neck. The torn throat wound had healed monstrously; flesh ripped apart had knotted back together with no precision.

  He turned away, fighting the urge to run as he headed up through the landscaped gardens and hopefully back to reality.

  Once inside the home again he was shivering uncontrollably, despite the relatively mild air outside, and was thankful for the central heating the thin blood of the elderly necessitated. The nurse he had met upon arrival suddenly appeared from around a corner and surprised him. Still in a state of shock, he was staring at her when his instincts kicked in and told him that there was someone behind him. He only managed a half turn before a heavy blow caught the back of his head and the world disappeared into darkness.

  ----------

  Parked on the road outside the retirement home, Charlotte watched and waited patiently. Parker had gone in, but had yet to emerge. For one brief moment she had taken him too lightly and he had almost caught her watching. She had to remind herself not to get so close or lazy again; despite his dishevelled appearance he obviously still had some instincts alive and kicking. She grew tired of waiting and decided to stretch her legs a little.

  The day was mild and she left her jacket in the car. She wore loose fitting jeans and a black Lycra t-shirt under a blue zip-up hooded top. She arched her back trying to alleviate s
ome of the stiffness of the long car journey and wandered cautiously towards Shady Oaks.

  The place had an expensive and exclusive look about it. The front grounds were full of wandering residents happily going about their day, with several fit and athletic staff members on duty, all clad in pristine uniforms. She mused at the physicality of the staff on show; they all seemed a little too casual and a little too nonchalant. Her own instincts were honed and sharp, and she trusted them fully: this was no ordinary nursing home.

  ----------

  Travis felt waves of nausea wash over him as he struggled to open his eyes into the bright room. Somewhere off in the darkness Amy had been dancing, twirling in front of his eyes but desperately just out of reach. She had always loved to dance; hers was a free spirit that rejected the confines of artificial boundaries. In his mind he had watched her dance a million times before; it was always how he pictured her. She moved with grace, hair streaming and eyes blazing, all pretence discarded and only her natural beauty remaining.

  As the world swam slowly back into focus he felt a tear trickling down his cheek.

  ‘So you’re awake, Mr Parker,’ a strong Irish voice sang out.

  Travis tried to put his hands on his aching head, but found them secured behind him on the metallic chair to which he was tied. His wrists protested under the harsh ropes that cut into his circulation.

  ‘Are you with us, Mr Parker?’ the Irish person asked.

  He opened his eyes carefully and into the face of a tall man in a doctor’s coat standing over him. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid that I will be the one asking questions,’ the doctor said, smiling pleasantly, his blond hair flopping over a warm and friendly face.

  Travis wondered who this doctor was. With twinkling blue eyes and a cleanly shaved smooth chin, he looked around his mid- fifties, with the outdoor tan and weathered glow of a golfer or a yachtsman. But Travis was not taken in by his smooth looks. His mind raced to catch up with the situation: one minute he had been listening to tales of an evil painting possessing and murdering its victim, and the next someone hit him from behind.

  ‘You guys are going to be in a lot of trouble,’ he said.

  ‘I think you’ll find that you may have got that the wrong way around, Mr Parker,’ the doctor said, his smile still fixed across his face.

  It was the smile that Travis found the most disturbing; whatever intention the good doctor had in mind, it couldn’t be good.

  From his motionless position he scanned the room as best he could. It was an office of some kind, with the desk shoved against the wall. Craning his neck as far as it would turn, he became aware of two large shadows looming behind him on either side – masculine and menacing.

  ‘Well now, I guess that introductions are in order,’ the doctor said. ‘My name is Dr Gabriel Lochay and behind you are my associates – One and Two. I find that it’s easier to assign numbers rather than names.’ He leaned in closer and winked conspiratorially at Travis. ‘Now, perhaps you would like to begin with just what it was that you wanted from poor old Mr Delaney.’

  Travis tried to think quickly, but his mind was flaccid and unused to the rigours of the daily grind.

  ‘Don’t bother trying to lie,’ Lochay said, grinning. ‘I have an inbuilt detector.’

  ‘I’m a distant relative of Mr Delaney,’ Travis said.

  ‘Wrong!’ Lochay yelled, and slapped Travis hard across the face with an open hand. ‘Try again,’ he said.

  ‘I … I’m a salesman … I just wanted to …’ he stammered.

  ‘Wrong!’ This time he punched Travis full in the face with a closed fist.

  Travis recoiled as he felt the stinging blow loosen the integrity of his nose, spilling blood down his face and onto his clean white shirt. He tried desperately to find an answer to play for time.

  ‘I work for the local council. I was assigned to look into this place after several complaints. I just wanted to question some of the residents without revealing my identity.’ He flinched against the blow that did not arrive.

  Lochay grinned. ‘Hey now, that one’s better. Almost good enough,’ he said as he walked over to the desk against the far wall.

  Travis spat blood from his mouth and shook his head to try to clear his blurry vision. In spite of the situation, he desperately needed a drink. He watched nervously as Lochay took a rolled cloth from the desk drawer and unfurled it on the table. Sharp silver glinted in the light as vicious implements were carefully selected, no doubt for evil intent.

  ‘You are going to tell me who sent you, Mr Parker, and what you want with the Worthington painting,’ Lochay said as he moved closer, holding a scalpel in his left hand. ‘You are going to tell me what I want to know.’ He smiled as though he was ordering a coffee.

  Travis squirmed and twisted on the chair. He pulled his arms hard against his bonds, but they only tightened further. He rocked back and forth against the chair, his face burning with effort as he fought to free himself.

  Lochay stepped closer, still smiling. ‘I won’t lie to you, Mr Parker. This is going to hurt.’

  The two orderlies on either side clamped strong paws down on each shoulder effortlessly preventing any further movement.

  Travis yelled and screamed in vain. His mind was full of Amy and regret.

  Lochay grasped his throat.

  The razor sharp point of the scalpel reached the cornea of his left eye.

  Suddenly the door exploded inwards and a female figure flew into the room.

  Lochay spun around at the sudden intrusion. With a soft grunt each, the two giant orderlies released their grip and strode forward to greet the intruder.

  The woman moved with grace and speed, the flash of red hair somehow familiar. And then she was a blur of deadly balletic movement.

  One of the lumbering giants stumbled forward and threw a large and powerful, but ultimately clumsy right fist towards the woman. With ease she leant backwards and avoided the blow. The orderly’s balance shifted, causing him to pitch forward. The woman grabbed his wrist firmly with her right hand, then drove her left elbow down hard onto his extended forearm. In the close confines of the small office the shattering bone crack was monstrous. The big man sank to his knees, his mouth open in a frozen soundless scream as he watched the gut wrenching sight of the shiny white bone protruding through his torn flesh.

  Travis sat glued to his chair in shock at the sudden violence, not that he could have moved even if he’d wanted to as he was still securely bound.

  The second orderly lunged at the woman from behind. He managed to wrap his massive arms around her in an awkward bear hug, but she brought her foot back and scraped it down the man’s shin, tearing his uniform and bloodying the material. She threw her head back and splattered his nose across his face. He staggered backwards but without releasing his grip.

  The two grappling figures fell into Travis and knocked over his restraining chair, breaking the wooden frame. Travis was able to slip his tied wrists over the broken arm of the chair and used his one hand to free the other. He looked up just in time to see Lochay escaping through the open door. He quickly freed his feet and turning to the struggling figures was concerned to see the woman’s attempts had grown weaker as the giant orderly tightened his crushing vice.

  Travis scooped up one half of the destroyed chair and charged towards the giant. He raised the wooden piece high and brought it crashing down on the back of the orderly’s exposed and unsuspecting head.

  The giant turned his head slowly, and with glassy eyes viewed Travis with all the threat of a buzzing fly. Travis looked quickly around the office as he could see the woman fading fast. At the edge of his vision he spotted salvation: a heavy looking brass lamp sat invitingly on the desk. Snatching up the lamp, and encouraged by its weight he grabbed it with both hands and charged.

  Unfortunately it was still plugged into the wall socket and he was catapulted backwards. Fortunately his crashing failure did provide enough distraction
for the giant orderly to turn his attention to Travis. This gave the woman enough slack to raise her right leg and flick a donkey kick backwards into the giant’s groin. The orderly’s eyes crossed, and releasing his powerful grip on the woman he sank to his knees to join his companion.

  Travis looked into the woman’s face; the whole incident had taken mere seconds, but had felt like hours. He looked down to find himself still holding the heavy brass lamp and could only shrug his shoulders, embarrassed at his failed rescue attempt.

  ‘Quickly,’ the woman said as she headed for the door.

  Travis sidestepped the temporarily incapacitated orderlies and followed in her wake. He had a thousand questions, but this was hardly the time for inquisitions. He stepped out into the hallway behind his saviour; she was hugging the wall and moving steadily forwards. To his concern, he could already hear movement behind him as the orderlies stirred. Reaching out, he tapped the woman on the shoulder and as she turned he motioned his head back towards the office. She nodded in acknowledgement.

  ‘There’ll be more coming soon,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ he whispered back.

  ‘Which way, genius?’

  ‘Hey, I thought this was your rescue?’

  She mumbled something back under her breath that Travis guessed was not too complimentary.

  He looked up and down the corridor. It was long and narrow with wide windows that looked out over a courtyard somewhere towards the rear of the home. At either end of the corridor were two high glass doors. In all the confusion Travis could not trust his senses to know which way was out and which way would only lead them deeper into the belly of the beast. The woman was flicking her head from side to side as though she was equally unsure of which direction to take. Travis figured what the hell, turned to the left, and ran forwards; he was assured to hear the woman’s boots thumping on the floor as she ran behind him.