by Paul Cuddihy
It was as black as a coal mine and he stood with his back pressed against the door. He could feel his eyes nervously checking out the surroundings though he knew that nothing would become any clearer no matter how long he stood here. It had been gloomy enough outside, but once he’d crossed over the doorway, he had entered a world of total darkness.
Swallowing hard and resisting a sudden urge to pull open the door and flee, he quietly stepped forward. His body was tense, alert, ready to repel any sudden attack, as he inched along the passageway, each tiny footstep taking him further away from the exit which he didn’t dare turn round and look at; he wouldn’t be able to distinguish it at any rate. Shouting out ‘Kate’ would probably make more sense. At least it would announce his presence and probably hasten the end of his search, one way or another, but the element of surprise was all he had to his advantage and it wouldn’t do to give it up just yet.
His journey in the darkness ended abruptly when he met another door in front of him. He staggered back slightly, but quickly regained his balance, knowing that someone was bound to have heard the collision. He waited.
A key was turning and he heard a click as the door unlocked. He’d expected to hear footsteps but it was as if whoever was on the other side had been standing there all the time just waiting for somebody to collide with the barrier. Slowly the door began to open and as it did, a streak of candlelight scurried out from the gap and streaked up the floor.
When the door was half-open, it stopped moving. Mick waited for someone to appear, a voice to question him or at least a hand to beckon him forward. He thought of rushing the door but he didn’t know what he was plunging into.
‘I’m looking for a girl,’ he said in a nervous voice. It was like he’d uttered the secret password because the door flew open and a girl stood before him. Her hair hung loose over her bare shoulders which she made no attempt to cover with the flimsy white house-coat she wore. She nodded towards the room behind her and he stepped through into the light. The door slammed shut and locked behind him and he spun round.
‘Don’t be scared, darling,’ she laughed. ‘We’ll let you out again when you’re finished.’
Her accent was pure Belfast, hard and straight to the point. She glided past him and dropped down onto one of four wooden chairs crowded round a table in the middle of the room. She immediately snatched up a half-smoked cigarette from the table, putting it between her lips and holding it close to the flame of a candle. Puffs of smoke bellowed out of her mouth and Mick reached for his cigarettes, though he was glad he still had some matches to light his own.
The girl sat back and studied him while a man sitting next to her took a deep gulp from a bottle of whiskey before wiping his mouth with a dirty sleeve. Grey stubble was dotted all over his face while his hair of the same colour was wild and unkempt.
‘Will you take a drink?’ he asked with a grunt.
Mick shook his head.
‘Suit yourself,’ the man said, taking another gulp.
‘I’m looking for a girl,’ Mick said, his apprehension suddenly replaced with impatience.
‘So you said,’ the Belfast voice said, blowing a cloud of smoke in his direction. ‘What are you wanting then?’
‘I told you, I’m looking for a girl.’
‘Listen, darling, they’re all looking for girls when they come in here. So tell me what you’re after and I’ll find the girl for you.’
‘Her name’s Kate.’
‘We don’t have any girls called–’ the old man began to speak but a slap on his grisly face silenced him abruptly.
‘Kate, you say?’ said the girl. ‘Just give me a minute.’
She disappeared through another door and Mick lit a cigarette as the old man leered at him with a crooked smile, black stubs sticking out of bloodied gums. The whiskey would help dull the pain in that decaying mouth, Mick thought.
A sudden scream roared up from beneath them and startled the two men. They both stared at the floor as it seemed to howl in pain.
‘What the hell was that?’ Mick asked, his eyes continuing to focus on the wooden floorboards as if somehow he’d eventually be able to see through them and witness whoever, or whatever had made that noise, because he wasn’t sure if it was human or not. It had scared him, no doubt about that, and he had to fight the urge to bless himself. He looked back up at the old man who was shaking his head.
‘Is there somebody down there?’ Mick said.
‘Save your breath, mister,’ the old man said. ‘No good ever came from asking questions here. I’ll tell you that for nothing.’
Mick began to speak again but the door opened and the Belfast girl reappeared.
‘That’s her ready,’ she said, nodding over her shoulder.
‘Kate’s here?’ Mick said, the hellish scream immediately forgotten as he strode towards the other room. The girl stood, arms folded, in the doorway. Mick knew right away what she wanted and he didn’t even mind handing over the shilling. It would be money well spent, he thought, if it meant getting Kate away from here.
As soon as he stepped past the girl the door closed behind him though he was relieved to hear that it hadn’t been locked. It was a small room, dimly lit by a tiny stub of a candle that sat on the window-ledge. The window itself was black with grime, ensuring that no natural light was ever going to break in. Mick shivered, though he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or a delayed reaction to the scream.
She sat on the bed with her naked back to him. The black hair that snaked down her spine was the same colour but he knew right away it wasn’t Kate. There were scars on the girl’s back but none as fresh and painful as the one he’d seen the night before.
‘Turn round,’ he said.
The girl glanced nervously over her right shoulder. Her face was painted – the Belfast girl must have hastily applied some make-up – but Mick could tell she was still a child. Her eyes blinked furiously and a tear managed to escape, immediately turning black as it rolled down her cheek.
‘What’s your name?’
The girl hesitated as she tried to remember what she’d been told.
‘It’s okay. I know it’s not Kate.’
Panic rushed across the girl’s face, like she’d done something wrong even without speaking.
‘It’s okay,’ Mick said. ‘It’s not you I want.’
He turned towards the door and then stopped, pulling out a penny and walking back over to the girl. He pressed the coin into her trembling palm with a wink and then walked out the room.
‘Jesus, you’re quick,’ the old man spluttered as Mick closed the door behind him.
‘That’s not Kate,’ he said, looking round the room. ‘Where’s the girl?’ he asked.
The old man shrugged.
‘I need to speak to her.’
‘Maybe she’s got nothing to say to you.’
He punched the old man who toppled backwards, chair and body landing heavily on the floorboards. Mick was upon him before the man, who’d still managed to keep a safe hold of the whiskey bottle, could pull himself up. Grabbing him by the throat, he pressed the rough flesh and the man began to splutter.
‘If you know where she is, you’ve got about one minute to tell me.’
The old man’s eyes were brimming with terror but he didn’t have the strength beyond a couple of frantic punches, which landed harmlessly on Mick’s shoulders, to fight back. Mick squeezed tighter as a sharp edge suddenly pressed in on his own neck. He tensed.
‘We don’t want any trouble, darling.’ The Belfast voice was trembling but the hand that held what he presumed was a knife seemed steady enough.
‘Now let Benny here go.’
Mick held his grip for a few more seconds as Benny struggled for breath before releasing the old man, who rolled on to his stomach, coughing and spluttering and holding his throat. The knife was still pressed on his own flesh.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said.
‘How do I know you won’t turn on m
e if I do?’
‘You don’t.’
‘I don’t want any trouble here.’
‘I’ll be on my way as soon as your knife lets me. There’s nothing here for me.’
He knew the girl had only two choices – to let him go or kill him – and she’d have to be strong if she wanted to do the latter. She chose wisely and stepped back from him and he stood up, rubbing his skin where the knife had been.
‘Her name’s Kate,’ he said, ‘from Donegal. She’s got –’
‘Sorry, I can’t help you,’ the girl said. ‘I don’t know anything.’
Mick shrugged and nodded at the locked door, which the girl hastily opened for him. He plunged back into the darkness as he heard the lock clicking behind him and he walked, arms outstretched, down the corridor, until his fingertips hit the wood of the outside door.
He stepped over the bag of rags still sitting on the stairs and walked away, annoyed at his own stupidity. It had all seemed easy, apparently finding Kate in the first house he looked, but she could be anywhere in the city. It was unlikely that the man in black would bring her here. She could be on her way back to Ireland at this very moment for all he knew. She could be lying at the bottom of the river. He was no further forward in his search to find her and he knew that the longer he took, the worse things would be for her.
There was still money jangling in his pocket and this time he strode with a purpose – to find the first pub he could. He was never very good at thinking with a clear head. Maybe a few drinks would help him figure out his next move.
7
HEART OF DARKNESS
The lights had been turned out on her world and Kate lay perfectly still in a darkness so thick and oppressive you could cut it with a knife. Mind you, the fact that she could only open one of her eyes didn’t help, and even that one found it difficult to adjust to the surroundings. There was nothing to focus on, not even the shadowy outline of a chair or a table, and Kate preferred to keep her good eye closed and pretend she was sleeping.
A sliver of wind crept into the room, slipping under a tiny gap at the bottom of the door and gliding across the floorboards to where she lay. It caressed her left eyelid, which fluttered irritably though it would not open, and Kate could not roll over and turn her back on the invisible draft. When she had tried moving, a pain seared through her chest like a ragged knife cruelly twisted in her flesh and she struggled to breathe as if her head was being held under water. That was where his boot had landed, how many times she could not say. She’d been unconscious for most of the attack.
The wind would sometimes subside, or increase in velocity and Kate wondered if it was actually his cold breath, just inches from her face, toying with her. It was a petty cruelty that was perfectly in keeping with his character and she stretched out her right arm, grasping blindly though she only gathered handfuls of black nothingness. She was alone in the room and the thought was strangely comforting.
If only sleep would come to her, then her dreams might offer some respite, but she’d been slipping in and out of consciousness long enough to leave her frustratingly alert and aware of her circumstances. And could she be sure that sleep would bring dreams and not nightmares? She shuddered as her mind flooded with memories, whether real or imagined, and in them all he was standing over her, silently inflicting retribution for her perceived sins. The only sounds he wanted to hear were her painful cries for mercy, he had told her, yet the louder she begged, the more ferocious he had become until there was nothing else she could say. In her mind she had known her words were wasted, but her jaw also ached from where his fist had landed.
Kate ran her tongue round her swollen lips, the drips of saliva offering a soothing balm to her tender flesh, though when she tried the same thing in her mouth, she realised a couple of her teeth were now clinging precariously yet defiantly to her gums.
A stray tear escaped from the corner of her good eye and rolled across her face. Kate stuck her tongue out and caught it, immediately licking her lips, though its salty tang only served to heighten her thirst. More tears were now pouring out of both eyes, though they stung her left one which she again tried to open without success. She tried to picture how she must look right now, like she’d been run over and crushed by a speeding horse and cart, and it only made her cry even more, though as her shoulders began to shake with the sobbing, waves of pain rippled through her body and she tried to halt the grief for her former self which was gripping her very soul.
She knew it wouldn’t do any good to feel sorry for herself and anyway, hadn’t she known the consequences of getting caught after running away? She’d seen it happen before, to other girls, and she’d never said anything at the time. But she thought she was smart enough to escape. If there was any anger left in her battered body, and she was scared to feel too much of anything in her current state, then it would be mainly aimed in her own direction. If only she hadn’t gone home with the storyteller, then she might still be free. She knew, even as she thought it, that it didn’t make any sense. No matter where she’d ended up, he would still have found her and she was only glad that Mick wasn’t in the room when he had. She’d heard his tale of escape from Ireland, complete with a few dead bodies, and even if he was telling the truth – she still suspected a few characteristic Irish embellishments – he would not have stood a chance of protecting her.
She’d recognised the heavy footsteps as they approached the door though she tried to fool herself into thinking it was just Mick returning, and she’d glanced quickly around the room, hopelessly trying to find somewhere to hide and escape. The door flew into the room, landing with a loud crash on the floor, which almost drowned out her scream. His fist was already sailing through the air and just inches from her face when he’d said: ‘You can run but you can’t hide.’
She remembered those words now, even though it felt like his punch had almost wrenched her head clear off her body, and she knew she’d been an idiot. Better that she’d thrown herself off Jamaica Street Bridge and allowed the cold, comforting waters of the Clyde to hide her forever than to think she could stay alive and free of his clutches in this city. Once he had claimed her, not long after she’d first arrived in Glasgow, then her life was no longer her own and she’d have been better accepting this grim reality than pretending there was something better out there.
Yet … she let that word hang in the blackness and allowed the tiniest of smiles to break out from the outer edges of her wounded mouth. Hadn’t she found something better last night? For a few hours at least she had been able to pretend that everything was normal, that she was just Kate Riordan, a Donegal girl who’d found her Galway love; in her mind there might even have been a trace of hope that if Mick’s story was true, then he would have been tough enough to rescue her should the need arise. He would have slain her captor and then she would have been free – to be with him or to live in this city that she’d once hoped would be her refuge. She might even have been able to go back home.
Instead she was here, in this black prison, and Mick would have forgotten her already, her name a fading memory and her face soon to be replaced by another. Her face. The thought made her cry again. He would never recognise her, even if he were to stumble into the darkness at this very moment.
Something touched her cheek. She wasn’t alone. She could feel it at her face, examining her, searching for any sign of life, sniffing to decide what she was. It was a rat. She shuddered as the beast continued its examination of her flesh.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she mouthed silently, not really sure where to direct her prayers. If she screamed she wasn’t sure if that would scare it away or provoke it into launching an attack. It smelt of a backcourt toilet, and she could feel herself gagging. It was nose-to-nose with her now and she could feel its breath against her terrified skin.
She’d heard of rats eating babies before, a mother’s wailing upon discovery enough to waken the dead of Glasgow, but never an adult, not a live one at any rate, but
would the creature be smart enough to realise that, especially in this darkness? And if it was hungry enough, would it matter if the flesh was fresh or not?
Kate squeezed her eyes tightly shut but still a few tears managed to escape. A tiny tongue on her face began mopping them up. The rat was licking her cheeks, not hungrily but almost soothingly, like it sensed her pain. She certainly hoped it wasn’t her fear. Then it was gone, as silently as it had appeared, and Kate allowed a heavy sigh of relief to escape like she’d been holding her breath for an eternity.
She thought of home. She didn’t hold out much hope of ever seeing it again and she tried to fill her mind with memories of her childhood. Her family were always there, but in the background. She could see them but they didn’t seem to notice her as she stood on top of Mullaghderg Hill, staring out at the choppy waters of the Atlantic Ocean, which looked so unwelcoming yet offered a way of escape. She glanced up towards the horizon, knowing that America was just beyond it. The strong sea breeze tossed her black hair and nipped at her rosy cheeks, but she didn’t shiver, her head full of dreams about the new country and the life she could make for herself there.
But with only a few pennies in her purse, heading west was never a viable option. Instead, she shuffled on to the cattle boat along with hundreds of others for the short journey across the Irish Sea to Scotland, sailing up the Clyde, past Greenock and Lyle Hill, where those who had gone before her sat and watched, offering a silent greeting to this new land, when a word of warning might have come in handier.
Kate wanted to shout a warning now to that young girl back in Donegal, watching the waves and creating grand dreams for the future, but even if that was possible, her voice would have been lost in the roar of the wind, blown out to sea and destined never to be heard or heeded.