‘Ugly little shit. That face.’
‘Got black fur all over his body. Jeez.’
Jason could feel cold air across his body. Everywhere. He was naked. He tried to cover himself but his hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles together so tight it hurt. He opened his eyes. All he could see was an old stone wall, mouldy with damp and crawling with insects. He was hungry but he restrained himself.
‘It’s awake then.’
A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. The fingers dug into his skin and turned him over.
The iron-strutted ceiling told him he was still in the old warehouse, or at least something like it. The air smelled similar but there were far fewer people here. Daylight filtered through gaps in the blacked-out windows.
‘We should just kill it and burn the body,’ said the man who had turned him over, the second one to have spoken. He was bald and there was some sort of tattoo across his head, might have been a bird.
‘After the damage he did last night? He needs to make money for me.’
Jason still couldn’t see this one but he sounded older. And he was the one who was running the fights maybe? But what damage had Jason done? All he did was try to escape. If they hadn’t tried to stop him nothing would have happened. They probably didn’t see it that way.
‘He’ll be useless in a fight. One of the big freaks will crush his skull in no time. He’s got no muscle.’
‘But he’s fast. You saw the drone footage. Too fast to see. He’ll be able to stay clear of the hulking ones, get round behind them and ... do something.’
The one Jason thought of as Baldy propped him up against the wall in a sitting position. Now that he had a view of the rest of the place he could see it was mostly empty. The one who seemed to be the boss was sitting in one of the chairs, leaning on the table beside him with what looked like a glass of milk beside him, half-drunk. Jason tasted the air. It was milk, and something else. The man looked as old as his mother.
Jason realised his mother would be frantic. It was true he stayed out all night most of the time, but he always came back before the world woke up. Only a couple of times he’d made a mistake and got trapped somewhere, or been so far away it took longer to get back than he expected.
When he had arrived home those times his mother was in pieces.
There was nothing he could do.
‘What shall we call him then?’ asked Baldy. ‘Tentacle boy?’
‘Hah, yeah, I like that. Those things look like they come out of his nose—if he had a nose.’
‘No-Nose Boy.’
They both laughed. ‘He’s not gone crazy yet though. You think he’ll fight?’
The old man grinned and looked straight into Jason’s eyes. ‘He’ll fight. When the Russian Crusher is trying to tear his face off, or the Disley Demolisher grabs him by the balls...’ The old man got up and crouched down in front of the gently waving tentacles protruding from Jason’s face. ‘Yeah, when he’s face to face with something that just wants to kill him, he’ll fight. Because his fucking life depends on it.’
Jason listened to the words. He could smell the death in this man, not the death he brought to others, but the illness deep inside him, the one that was eating him up. Jason had been close to enough people to know when they were ill, and he had come to know that smell. This man had his very own monster eating him from the inside. That’s why he drank milk, to appease the cancer.
Even though he might not live through the day, Jason was pleased to know that this man would die in agony. There was a justice in that.
Chapter 19
Dog
One thing Dog enjoyed, more than just about anything else, was when he managed to get a good workout with Delia. It was a pity her father didn’t see it quite the same way.
‘What have I told you about playing with my daughter?’ shouted Mendelssohn slamming open the door of the gym. The sound of it reverberated around the room, bouncing off the stone walls. To both Dog and Delia it was deafening.
It would have been an easy return, but now the shuttlecock landed with a gentle bump at Dog’s feet. He stood there, racquet in hand and glanced across at Delia the other side of the net.
He opened his mouth to say something —
‘Just don’t,’ shouted Mendelssohn striding across the floor towards them. He pointed at his daughter who was quite modestly dressed with a fairly thick top over her sports bra, and shorts neither tight nor revealing.
‘You get changed into something more decent!’
Her long hair was tied back and her eyes, unnaturally large and dark blue, gave back the same attitude that her father was giving to her.
‘We were just playing badminton, Dad.’
‘You do not play with the hired help.’
If Delia had anything further to say she managed to keep it inside as she stalked to the door, dropped her racquet and slammed the door after her.
‘If I catch you just one more time with my daughter,’ he said like an explosion waiting to happen. ‘Your contract will be terminated.’
Dog was not entirely sure what he should say at this point. He had a feeling anything that came out of his mouth might be a flippant remark that would get him shot. He felt, just at this moment, it might be best if he said nothing at all.
Unfortunately it seemed Mr Mendelssohn was expecting a response. ‘Well?’
‘I—her —’
‘Why do you persist in contravening my instructions?’
Dog was quite sensitive to heat and right now the hottest thing in the room was his boss. ‘It’s just in my nature.’
‘It’s in your nature to disobey me?’
‘In my nature to want to play.’
Mendelssohn closed his eyes. ‘I have spent a lifetime protecting my daughter. I will not have her tainted or threatened or corrupted by some stray off the streets.’
‘I think of you as my family, sir,’ said Dog.
Mendelssohn roared, ‘We are not your family, you stupid animal; I am your employer. We are not family; we are not related; you will have nothing to do with my daughter. Do you understand?’
Dog took a step backwards, looked down at the floor, and felt as if he were shrinking. ‘I’m sorry.’
Mr Mendelssohn headed for the door. ‘Get yourself cleaned up. Be ready to leave in an hour. I’m going to have dinner then we will get out to the fights.’ His final words were punctuated by the closing door.
Dog retreated to the front of the house. There was a small room there, lined with books. Real ones. It was the one room Mendelssohn did not seem to mind him using, as if no one else did.
He closed the door to shut out the rest of the house and the constant noise. In here the scent of Mendelssohn was almost missing. He never sat in the big red armchair with its worn upholstery. No book carried his smell.
But every now and then he would come across one that had the peculiar scent of Delia. Dog edged round the room; it was a game for him to find the most recent book she had touched.
He found it. Treasure Island. He brought it to his nose and breathed in. She did smell strange. Like her father, of course, and her mother too—though she was seldom around—but Delia had her own special scent. Like nothing Dog had ever found anywhere else, and he had sniffed a lot of people.
It was about ten minutes later he perked up his ears. Delia and her father were arguing again. A few words came through clearly: ‘boy’, ‘no friends’, ‘lonely’ but the one from Delia that carried the most emotion was bored.
It went very quiet after that. Dog buried himself in the book and Delia’s scent.
Chapter 20
Chloe
Chloe wasn’t even out of breath. She shucked off her coat and hung it on the hook behind the door as she had done so many times before. She felt the urge to run upstairs to Melinda’s bedroom, because that’s what she always did. But Melinda wouldn’t be there.
So instead she stood in the hall with the woman she called Auntie who, without warning,
threw her arms around her and hugged her as if her life depended on it. Chloe didn’t know what to do with her arms—whether to hug back or not. In the end she put her arms around her Aunt Mary’s waist. And they stayed like that while her aunt cried very quietly.
‘Sorry,’ said Aunt Mary, as she finally pulled away and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Why don’t you come through and have a cup of tea? I’ve got some nettles fresh from the garden. Probably the last of the year; it’s going to snow soon.’
Chloe hated nettle tea, but she wasn’t going to say that. Not now. So instead she said, ‘Thank you, that will be lovely.’ And she followed her Aunt Mary into the kitchen.
Melinda’s house always smelled strange. Her parents were very keen on making stuff for themselves, growing their own food where possible, but then Mr Vogler earned far less than Chloe’s father and in order to maintain any decent lifestyle they had to save where they could.
And that meant drinking nettle tea.
‘Who were you running from, dear?’
‘Reporters and their drones.’
Her aunt filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She pressed the automatic lighter and it clicked three times before the hissing gas erupted into flame.
There were similarities between the two houses, of course: there was the terminal in the corner and beside it another copy of that picture.
‘I’m really sorry, Aunt Mary,’ began Chloe.
Mrs Vogler pulled up a chair and sat. ‘You don’t have anything to be sorry about, dear.’
She leant across the table, her arm stretched out with the palm face up. Chloe took it. ‘I mean...’ She hesitated, how could she say she was sorry she hadn’t been kidnapped too?
‘It’s not your fault, Chloe. You were lucky, you managed to escape.’
‘But—what I mean—I wish it had been me and not her.’ It all came out in a rush and for the first time Chloe felt like crying. More than just a feeling—tears slipped down her cheeks.
Her aunt came round the table and, still holding onto Chloe’s hand, put the other arm round her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Don’t be silly, dear. I understand what you’re saying, but that wouldn’t make it any better. You know you’re like a daughter to me too. Just as Melinda is like a daughter to Amanda. You might as well be sisters.’
‘Pretty funny if we were,’ said Chloe and sniffed. ‘Our skin doesn’t match.’
Aunt Mary gave her another squeeze and went back to her chair. ‘Well, it does happen, Chloe dear. Genetics is a funny thing.’
Chloe noticed, when she said that, that her eyes flicked in the direction of the photograph.
They sat in silence for a few minutes more while the sound of the kettle grew until it was bubbling away. Aunt Mary added her crushed nettle leaves to the pot and poured in the hot water. The sound of the porcelain lid going onto the teapot rattled loudly in the quiet room.
Aunt Mary brought the teapot to the table with a couple of chipped brown mugs. The same ones that she had had for years.
‘How did you meet Mum and Dad?’ said Chloe, finally deciding that the best approach was just to ask.
‘At a clinic.’ Once again the glance at the picture, almost as if she was holding back. This was something new; mother never mentioned a clinic but perhaps it was just a doctor’s surgery.
‘The antenatal clinic?’
Aunt Mary placed the tea strainer on Chloe’s mug and poured in the slightly green liquid. She repeated the action with the other mug and then handed it to Chloe. It was little better than slightly flavoured hot water.
‘Not the antenatal clinic, no. Before that. Neither of us went to an antenatal clinic. That was when the troubles started, well, when it became serious and things started going wrong.’
‘So what clinic was it?’ Chloe tried to keep her tone light as if she was making polite conversation, when in truth she was desperate to know. Her mother had never said anything like this. What sort of a clinic did you go to before antenatal?
‘It was the IVF clinic.’
‘What is —’ She was cut-off as Aunt Mary jumped to her feet.
‘I don’t think I should be talking about this to you, dear. If you want to talk to anybody, it should be your mother.’
Chloe didn’t push the point. The reaction was not what she was aiming for, and she felt guilty for upsetting her aunt.
She spent the rest of the afternoon helping with housework by doing some cleaning. Aunt Mary asked her if she would mind cleaning Melinda’s room. She did but it was possibly the strangest thing she had ever done. She tidied up the desk, brushed the floor and remade the bed. It was weird. She kept turning around and expecting her friend to be there, but she never was. Chloe understood why her aunt couldn’t bring herself to clean the room; it was bad enough for Chloe herself.
Then she heard Aunt Mary putting a call in to someone. Her mother answered. They exchanged pleasantries after confirming that Chloe was there.
‘She’s upstairs cleaning.’
‘That’s sly,’ said her mother with a little laugh. ‘You need to let me know how you persuaded her.’
‘She asked about how we met, Amanda.’
There was a long pause. ‘What did you say?’
‘I wasn’t thinking, I mentioned the IVF clinic. I’m sorry.’
‘Did she know what it means?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said her aunt.
‘I suppose we should have told her but it never came up.’
‘It wasn’t a wrong thing. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about it.’
‘Maybe not wrong then, but it’s not the same now.’
‘I’m sure she’d be fine about it. She’s a sensible girl.’
‘Did you ever tell Melinda?’
Her aunt sighed. ‘No. Like you said, it never came up.’
It had been a sunny day but the light was fading. Chloe tuned out of the conversation and stared through the window at the darkening world. What was IVF and why did it matter? Something that was bad in the world today but hadn’t been before? There were a lot of those.
After Aunt Mary had hung up, Chloe went downstairs and said she had to go. Her aunt gave her a hug although, when she squeezed, Chloe’s back hurt again. This time it almost felt as if there was something there, digging in.
‘Those reporters are still outside.’
‘Maybe if I went out the back?’ said Chloe. ‘Most of them seem to be out front.’
She got her coat on, and her aunt gave her an extra scarf because the temperature was dropping fast. She opened the back door just a fraction, and the sound of a couple of whining drones filtered down from above.
‘Will you be able to see all right?’
Chloe looked out the window. It was that strange twilight moment between light and dark. ‘I’ll be fine.’
She turned to face her aunt. ‘They will find her,’ she said. ‘But if they don’t, I will.’
And with that she made a run for it.
Chapter 21
Dog
A little over an hour later, as the light was beginning to fade from the grey sky turning everything into black, Mr Mendelssohn’s car ground along the gravel drive and came to a halt at the front of the house.
Dog emerged from the snug adjoining the entrance hall as Mr Mendelssohn put on his coat, hat and gloves. Although Dog had been mulling over the situation, he was not really sure he had done anything wrong, but he would try his best to keep to Mr Mendelssohn’s rules. It had just become harder over the last few months, as Delia seemed to be paying him more attention and, to be truthful, he liked it.
Mr Mendelssohn opened the front door and headed out into the dark. Reflected distortions of the house lights shone on the black paintwork, mirrors and windows of the car. Dog headed after his master but glanced back into the house. Delia was wearing that clingy long dress again, the one that emphasised her torso and hips, and came down into what almost looked like a mermaid’s tail. She grinned
at him and gave him a little wave. He perked up slightly but the gruff ‘hurry up’ from Mr Mendelssohn squashed that feeling as soon as it appeared.
The car was speeding smoothly towards the city centre.
‘Where are we heading?’ said Mr Mendelssohn after a long period of silence.
‘Vale Mill.’
‘Did you get that, George?’
‘That the place past Ashton?’ said the driver.
Still trying to be quiet in front of Mr Mendelssohn, Dog nodded. Then he realised the driver couldn’t see him. ‘Yeah, that’s the one, off the Huddersfield Road.’
George grunted. Dog wasn’t sure whether it was George or Mr Mendelssohn who activated it but the privacy glass rose up between the back and the front of the car. For some reason, it made Dog feel a little uncomfortable.
‘I may have been slightly hasty in my remarks.’ Mr Mendelssohn’s words were curiously detached, as if someone were holding a gun to his head as he said something he did not want to. ‘If my daughter wishes to—’ he hesitated as if searching for the right word ‘—play badminton with you, or something of a similar nature, and I mean similar as in a court game.’ He took a breath. ‘Then that will be acceptable.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh? Is that all you can say?’
‘If those are your orders, Mr Mendelssohn, sir, then of course I will carry them out.’ Dog could barely keep in his enthusiasm; if he’d had a tail it would have been wagging.
‘Yes, my orders.’
And that was the last thing he said for the rest of the journey.
Mr Mendelssohn’s car crawled along the ill-kept side road with its lights off, but the sky had cleared and there was moon enough to see by. Even so the wheels kept dipping into deep ruts and potholes making the ride less than comfortable despite the suspension. George turned in through a gate and crawled through the ancient industrial estate with three- and four-storey buildings on each side.
The slope was considerable as the car inched its way through the darkness. Once out of sight of the road George turned on the sidelights, highlighting the moss-covered walls and the grass growing up through the cracks. It was hard to see where the fights were taking place; the blackout on the windows was thorough. There were a few more cars parked, but the limousine pulled up as close as possible to the main building and then turned in until it was facing the wall. George killed the engine and lowered the window between them.
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