CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Carl Barker pressed the ‘end call’ button on the handset of his mobile phone then placed it carefully onto the table in front of him. Henry sitting opposite watched silently waiting for Carl to tell him what Tyler’s plans were and what they were going to do now.
“Tyler says he’s invited the ladies to stay the night and that we’ve been invited to a stag do. That will give us time to make plans for tomorrow night, that is if the police presence will allow it, and we can still get the equipment from storage. It also looks as if the dean has stepped up security so I’m not sure who will be on duty that I can bribe to look the other way. I have to do my rounds tonight and later on I’m putting in a shift behind the bar at Einstein’s where I can make some enquiries, do you want to come along?”
Henry thought for a moment while inspecting the damage to his fingernails before giving his reply.
“Love to but I’ve got a lot of studying to catch up on and to be honest I’m knackered. I know there are more important things at stake here but there is nothing else we can do right now is there?”
Carl smiled, remembering his early study days and how eager he was until he found the drug scene then nothing else seemed that important. The pills made him happier than he had ever been and when he moved into becoming a drug dealer the money flowed in; so why study?
Luckily Carl managed to keep his habit under control, but he still felt guilty about dropping out. He made a pledge to himself that sometime soon he would re-enrol, complete his course and graduate, keeping his promise to his late father that he would make something of his life.
“Is there anything else?”
Henry repeated, breaking Carl from his day dream.
“Yes there is my boy, fish and chips washed down with a can of lager. How does that sound?”
“I think that is your best idea today bud, you buyin’?”
Henry replied as they both stood up and grabbed their coats.
Two hours later with his belly full and feeling a little tipsy from his very first can of lager, Henry returned to his flat to catch up with his studies. Carl locked the boat and set off on his rounds. First he walked along the tow path hoping to find ‘Captain’ Bill Walker, to see if he needed a top up, and as he approached the boat house the sound of drunken singing followed by a loud belch coming from inside the boat shed; told Carl exactly where to find him.
‘Captain’ Bill had finished his last trip for the day and had returned to the boathouse where he stored the ‘Earl of Loxley’ an eighty foot two tier passenger boat that earned him a living taking tourists along the scenic Oxten canal. He sometimes used it for private hire, either for a wedding party or similar private function. The ‘captain’ had worked on this boat most of his life after running away from home aged fifteen and was taken on as an assistant to Mr Gilbert Whitehand the first owner who let him sleep in the boat shed. Gilbert, being a kindly fellow, took Bill under his wing and became the father figure he had always wanted to be and Bill had craved, as his own had been in prison for most of his young life. As the years passed and the old man’s health deteriorated making him unable to work, Bill eventually took over the entire running of the business and when Gilbert died five years ago he left everything in his will to Bill as he did not have any close family that ‘gave a damn about me’ as Gilbert put it. With his new found modest wealth and nobody to answer to, Bills' pleasure turned to women, alcohol and drugs in that order, the latter being supplied by Carl Barker who he met one night at the ‘Old trip to Jerusalem’ public house near the lock gates on the canal.
“Captain, are you in there? It’s me Carl.”
He shouted as he stood in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the overhead lights. Looking around, Carl observed that the place was a complete mess with tools and rags littered across the floor, and when he entered the office he could hardly see the pile of unopened letters on the desk as the stench of body odour and alcohol made his eyes water.
“Ahoy there matey, come and ‘ave a drink with the Cap’n.”
Bill Walker slurred his words as he staggered drunkenly from the bathroom. He had taken off his white dress uniform jacket revealing a sweat stained, off-white singlet, and grey flannel trousers that were held up with striped braces. Carl noticed Bills damp crotch and trouser fly that Bill in his drunken stupor, was trying, and failing to zip up.
Carl watched as Bill jabbed his oil stained grubby fingers into two whisky glasses, grabbed the neck of a bottle of single malt, and then flopped down into a torn old leather chair. Without removing his fingers from the glasses he poured out two healthy measures into each, put the upright bottle between his legs then offered one to Carl with his now free hand. Carl accepted and watched as Bill swapped his own glass over and sucked the whisky from his wet filthy digits. Carl pretended to drink then threw the contents out of the door into the water when the ‘captain’ tilted his head back and downed his own drink in one go. Carl realised that it was no use trying to get any sense from Bill tonight, so he helped him to his feet while holding his breath from the smell and half carried him to a small cot bed in an adjoining room where he used to live before inheriting Gilbert’s house in the will. Carl carefully laid Bill down, removed the ‘captains’ boots, revealing smelly hole ridden socks, and then covered him with an old army blanket. Bill fell asleep immediately so Carl turned out the light and closed the door as he left the room. Back in the outer office Carl tidied up as best he could and then checked around to make sure everything was safely turned off. It was a ritual he used to do as a young boy for his own drunken father, as his mother had abandoned them both many years before and for comfort his father had turned to drink. When satisfied that was all he could do, Carl washed his hands in the bathroom and dried them on some toilet tissue as there was nothing else around. Looking closely at his own features in the aged brown spotted mirror over the sink he realised how much he was starting to look like his own father as the years passed by.
Something caught his eye in the reflection and he swung around quickly, but could not see anything unusual, so believing it to be a trick of the light dropped the tissues into the waste bin and left via the way he came, dropping the latch on the outer door as he set off to the gym before going to work.
Bill Walker never heard the door handle squeak as it slowly turned, or the hinges squeal as the door to his room opened revealing a now familiar hooded figure silhouetted in the doorway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Same again Sam.”
A spotty faced youth shouted over the dim as he slammed his shot glass down on the bar top. Carl said nothing as he poured a short measure of tequila into the drunk’s glass with one hand as he slipped away the punters ten pound note from the bar top and into his pocket with the other, before walking away to serve the next customer. The youth, who was obviously underage, said nothing either out of fear of bringing attention to himself or most probably just too drunk to notice.
Pocketing a percentage of the takings, Carl considered was a perk of the job, and was practised by most bartenders to compensate for the lousy hours and wages. His job in question was irrelevant to him monetary wise as the real money came from his drug dealing, mainly pills, uppers and downers and the odd bit of cannabis resin but nothing stronger than that. No class ‘A’ substances like Heroin or Cocaine just the lower grade stuff. He left that to the hardened criminals of which Carl wanted no part. ‘Einstein’s’ was the busiest place around and on a good night Carl could pocket five hundred pounds, more than enough to live on and some to put by for his old age. He had already called at ‘Dale’s Gym’ and sold quite a lot of illegal steroids to the bodybuilders that frequented the place, so it was turning into quite a profitable night.
As the music boomed from a huge wall mounted speakers and a myriad of flashing lights illuminated the dance floor, filled with youthful gyrations of the university set; Carl carefully watched the dimly lit booths for signs any ot
her dealers trying to move in on his turf.
On most nights Carl’s good looks and muscular build attracted many a nubile young woman who was all too eager to accompany Carl on his break outside in the alleyway for a fresh air and a cigarette. This usually ended up with a ‘quickie’ behind the dumpster, adding another conquest to Carl’s impressive record. Tonight though was the exception and Carl stood alone leaning on the handrail protecting the landing at the top of a short flight of steps leading from the fire exit. Dragging deeply on his cigarette and blowing smoke rings into the frosty night air, he looked down and watched his reflection in the ripples on a puddle of water directly below the steps; while kicking discarded cigarette stubs through the railings and into the dirty water. Dressed in regulation black trousers and short sleeved white shirt, Carl flexed the muscles in his arms, smugly admiring the way they shivered in the cold under the soft glow of the yellow spotlight above the security door. Determined not to go back inside before his allotted ten minutes were over, Carl mentally added up the profit made from his night's work.
If he had given in to the near freezing temperature, he would not have heard the sound of falling cardboard boxes that were piled up at the dead end of the alleyway. Peering into the darkness Carl identified the shape of two people moving about.
“Oy, what are you doing back there?”
He shouted as he flicked his cigarette into the gutter. The two figures ignored him and carried on with their task at hand. Believing it to be a drug deal on his manor Carl marched over to confront the duo only to recoil in horror at what he saw. Two hooded figures identical to the one he saw yesterday were facing each other, crouched over a cauldron. The liquid contents appeared to be simmering, giving off a gentle vapour, even though there was no fire underneath. One of the figures lowered a long wooden spoon into the broth while the other chanted and added assorted powdered ingredients from a pouch hanging from his thin leather belt. Suddenly aware of his presence they simultaneously turned to look in Carl’s direction. Their faces could not be seen in the shadows of their hoods but two glowing red orbs radiated light from the points of where their eyes should be, while vaporised breath billowed into the cold night air, presumably from their mouths. The one on the left raised his arm and pointed a bony finger at Carl’s face then traced it down to the rough tarmac road beneath Carl’s feet. The other one stopped chanting and started to hum in a very low tone. Nothing appeared to happen at first until the volume amplified and Carl watched the surrounding piles of boxes begin judder and shake, threatening to topple over. The road beneath his feet started to undulate then vibrate like an earthquake and to his horror, Carl watched his shoes begin to sink into the tarmac that had turned into a vitreous black porridge. Completely unable to escape, Carl screamed as his lower legs sank quickly into the black sludge. Between him and the hooded figures, the tarmac softened even further until it turned into a pool of black shiny liquid. This bubbled and boiled giving off a vile smelling odour when all of a sudden the fingers of a man’s hand broke the surface. This was followed by the rest of the arm that was attached to a limp body that now floated on top of the foul liquid pitch. It wore black trousers and a white short sleeved shirt same as Carl, and as the face rose into view Carl stared open mouthed at a duplicate of his self in every way except that this one looked as if it had been dead for a week. The skin of his doppelganger was mottled green and black in colour and the slick black hair writhed and trembled from the thousands of tiny white maggots eating away at the decaying scalp on top of the head, while the facial features bloated from purification. It was Carl’s body but that was where the similarity ended. Gibbering in terror and still unable to get away, Carl watched as the dead body jerked up into a sitting position and then jumped awkwardly to its feet, somehow floating on top of the water. With the torso upright and its legs apart, the knees locked together in a curious pose while the head hung backwards off the shoulders at an impossible angle. The upper arms poked out sideways, leaving the forearms swinging freely from the elbow as the body wiggled into life; looking like a giant marionette with some of the strings cut.
“Hello Carl, welcome to your death.”
Carl heard the sound of his own voice, but it came from the corpse, although this sounded like his own words spoken through the death rattle. To the teeth jarring sound of nails down a blackboard, the vertebrae in its neck grated together as the head of the corpse slowly hinged to the vertical then finally settled to face its living image. Carl screamed again and pulled wildly at his own legs to free himself, but it was to no avail, as he now stood calf deep in the thick bubbling mass. The hideous creature smiled, revealing needle thin teeth that interlocked together like two steel grey combs. Dark yellow pus oozed through the narrow mesh, coating what remained of a rotting bottom lip, which looked as if someone had tried and failed to cut it off with a pair of scissors. Carl could not see into the eyes of his gruesome double as for some inexplicable reason, the eyelids were stitched tightly closed with a thick black thread through the upper lids and the flesh of its cheeks. Carl’s own eyes watered as he gagged from the rank smell of rotting flesh that began to drift his way. Suddenly the creature’s forearms sprang into life, jutting out sideways like a crucifix then both arms hinging swiftly to the front to try and grab hold of Carl’s throat. Being that bit quicker, Carl jerked his head away and grasped the wrists of his assailant. Unfortunately he then lost his balance and began to fall backwards, hinging from the knee joints as his feet were unable to step back and aid his manoeuvre. Still holding his attacker’s wrists, Carl crashed heavily onto the back of his head and shoulders, stunning himself on the still rigid tarmac behind him. He recovered quickly from his dazed state and found that he still held the cold limp skin of his attacker in each hand. The flesh had torn away at the elbows, turning almost inside out as it slid down the forearms like a pair of ladies evening gloves, which now draped clinging, cold and wet in Carl’s grasp. To his horror, Carl watched the empty grey slimy flesh begin to reanimate, uncurling the fingers of the now inside out skin. Swiftly, the empty pockets slithered snake like up Carl’s arms and attempted to reach his face. With a surprisingly feminine squeal and a violent flick of both wrists, Carl catapulted the clinging fetid gloves as far away as possible and they landed with a wet slap into the side of one of the upturned boxes before gravity dragged the sickly cold flesh down its own snotty trail into a puddle on the floor. With renewed vigour Carl linked his hands around his knees and pulled hard, managing to right himself; only to resume a face to face standoff with his animated dead double. With arms still outstretched it clamped skinless wet fingers around Carl’s throat, choking the life from his exhausted body. Unable to free his neck from the vice like bony grip, Carl grabbed hold of his attacker’s shirt, pulling the two violently together, where he smashed his forehead onto his assailant’s nose, bursting the putrid flesh across its face like a ripened plum. Unfortunately this had little effect and it even managed to cackle before speaking again to Carl.
“Shoo cam nop kill ne ib alreby deb.”
It burbled, sounding like someone with a severe head cold. The creature continued to tighten its grip so Carl tried again, this time smashing a jagged hole through the needle thin teeth, leaving tiny pin pricks of blood in Carl’s forehead. Carl watched as mucus oozed and bubbled through what remained of its shattered mouth when it began to cackle and speak again.
“youb be deb soomb jusht dike be!”
This spurred Carl into one last attempt as white spots appeared before his eyes from the lack of oxygen. Grabbing hold of his doppelgangers, neck in an identical copy of the hold that it had over him, Carl twisted and pulled upwards under its chin, using his immense strength to lift the creature into the air. This manoeuvre broke its hold on Carl’s throat, and with renewed vigour he stunned the stinking body by slamming it onto the soft ground. Carl now had time to prise his feet free from the clinging wet earth and staggered forwards to swing his right foot into its hideous face. Like a f
ootballer taking a penalty kick, Carl’s buried half of his shoe into the gruesome lump’s skull which promptly exploded like an overripe watermelon, showering Carl in portions of decaying wet brain, skull fragments and pieces of skin. The remainder of the body now lay motionless.
Spoiling for the fight Carl now turned his attention to the Druids. Marching over and panting for breath, he stood over the two men with his fists clenched and ready for action, but they completely ignored him and carried on attending to their task. Carl watched confused then recoiled in horror, clutching his hands to his mouth trying not to vomit as he caught sight and stared at a severed head bobbing about in the cauldron. The bubbling liquid turned its contents slowly around and Carl instantly recognised the face of ‘Captain’ Bill Walker. The lifeless visage stared open mouthed and blindly into space as it rolled over amid a goulash of its own dismembered and dissected body.
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