Mimic

by Daniel Cole

  ‘I’ll collect them on my way out,’ Easton told him. ‘Does Evan have a locker or any personal possessions here?’

  ‘Of course. This way.’

  They went through into a depressing staffroom, the entirety of the far wall covered in flimsy blue doors. When the manager unlocked one, seemingly at random, a leg of the missing giant’s jeans spilled out onto the floor like a tentacle. A photograph of Evan bent double to embrace his mother was taped to the inside.

  Easton regarded the manager and then his identically dressed employees sitting at the table:

  ‘He wears a uniform like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  He nodded, noting that with his clothes still there, the missing man was more than likely still dressed for work:

  ‘And what shift was he on today?’

  ‘Five ’till ten a.m. It’s an unpopular one, but we need someone here to take in the deliveries.’

  He closed the locker door: ‘Show me.’

  Easton shivered as they entered the loading bay, where three large roller doors banged noisily every time the wind blew, utterly failing to keep out the cold.

  ‘Cameras?’ he asked, not seeing any.

  ‘Outside, but not in here,’ the manager informed him, ill-advisedly wearing only a polo shirt.

  Easton ambled in and out of the neatly stacked boxes, noting the cigarette butts on the ground, a bicycle propped against the wall, and two red buttons beside each of the metal shutters:

  ‘Are today’s deliveries here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can these doors be shut from the outside?’

  ‘No.’

  Easton nodded in interest and then continued wandering the maze of stock.

  ‘May I ask what you’re looking for?’

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ he replied, pausing when he came across a sprinkling of fresh soil on the floor. Crouching down, he ran his thumb over a dark crack in one of the ceramic pots … realising that the one next to it was completely broken in half … a sizeable chip taken out of the one beside that. Frowning, he began dragging the heavy pots out one by one to expose the crimson stain smeared into the dirt.

  ‘I’m no expert,’ said the moustached man, peering over his shoulder, ‘but that’s not good, is it?’

  Easton sighed. Why did he always cop the shitty jobs?

  ‘No, Justin. That’s definitely not good.’

  Still sporting his work uniform, Winter took a moment to catch his breath, peering down over the seven floors of stairwell as if he’d just conquered Everest. His self-congratulatory mood was short-lived, however, when one of the frailest old women he had ever seen followed him up without even breaking a sweat.

  ‘Excuse me, dear,’ she addressed his rear end, Winter moving aside as a younger man with long black hair and overladen with shopping bags struggled up behind her. He looked Marshall’s type – black boots, sandpaper stubble and a leather jacket – and nodded in greeting to Winter before accompanying the elderly woman to her door. Still recovering, Winter was unable to help eavesdropping on their short exchange:

  ‘You are a sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Do you need me to bring them in?’

  ‘No. No. You’ve done enough.’

  ‘OK. Just give me a knock if you need anything.’

  ‘I will.’

  The door closed.

  ‘Those stairs are a killer,’ the man told Winter understandingly, who wasn’t overly thrilled by the proximity of a handsome rock and roll neighbour to Eloise as he swaggered into one of the two remaining doors on the landing.

  ‘Prick,’ he muttered jealously.

  As recovered as he was ever going to be, Winter double-checked the address scrawled across the back of his hand and knocked on the door to flat twenty-three, hearing the voices inside fall silent.

  ‘Who is it?’ someone called.

  ‘Adam Winter – Sainsbury’s finest.’

  The lock clicked and the door opened a crack, a female officer looking him up and down from behind the taut chain.

  ‘Hey,’ he smiled pleasantly.

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘You’re seven floors up.’

  The ill-tempered woman removed the chain to allow him inside, already pulling on her coat to leave:

  ‘All quiet today. I’ll be back tomorrow at …’ she looked up at the clock, ‘twelve minutes past eight,’ she said pointedly, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘She seems nice,’ he said, turning to Eloise, who was curled up on the sofa.

  He thought she looked stunning, wearing cosy jogging bottoms and a slouchy jumper at least two sizes too big for her, and where she had tied her hair up, stray strands of chestnut curled down her neck.

  He was definitely staring again.

  ‘So, guess who aced their HR-imposed back-to-work interview!’

  ‘You?’

  ‘… No. But I scraped through, and that’s good enough for me,’ he said before raising the bag in his hand. ‘Thought you might be hungry. I got us pizza, ice cream and Doritos.’

  ‘Sounds like movie food,’ said Eloise, getting up to take it from him.

  ‘Funny you should say that because …’ He produced a black box from behind his back. ‘Jurassic Park on video!’

  ‘Amazing!’ she smiled, walking through to the kitchenette to switch the oven on and put the ice cream in the freezer.

  Removing his jacket, Winter relocked the front door and kicked his shoes off on the mat.

  ‘I met the neighbours,’ he said conversationally. ‘They seem nice.’

  ‘Yeah, Doris is a character all right, and I don’t think I’ve ever said more than five words to Chris in the two years he’s lived here. He’s never around.’ Winter relaxed a little. ‘You always know when he is though. I hope you don’t mind falling asleep to the sound of Metallica,’ she joked.

  ‘You’ve been painting,’ he commented, noticing the canvas set up on an easel in the bedroom.

  ‘Had to do something to take my mind off things.’

  While Eloise sorted dinner, he moseyed around the sparse room regarding the whitewashed walls and the industrial-looking piping proudly on show, her few items of furniture simple, practical, free of unnecessary clutter.

  ‘I like what you’ve done with the place,’ he told her.

  ‘What?’ she asked through a mouthful of crisps.

  ‘I said I like what you’ve done with the place. The whole “arty” minimalist vibe you’ve got going on.’

  ‘Ah. Yeah. No. It’s not really a “vibe” as such. I’m just completely broke. I can’t actually afford any stuff.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, a little embarrassed.

  ‘Turns out being a controversial artist out to challenge people’s preconceptions of what art is while living in the most expensive city in the world isn’t quite the money-spinner one might think,’ she joked, pouring them each a glass of wine.

  ‘I’m working,’ said Winter.

  ‘So, you’re getting paid?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Then you’re only hopefully working, aren’t you?’ she teased him. ‘To say thank you for dinner. You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you? Come on! Just one.’

  He made his way over.

  ‘Fine,’ said Winter, crumbling like the Dorito he’d just stepped on. He took a glass as Eloise raised her own in toast:

  ‘Cheers!’

  ‘We can turn this off if you want?’ Winter offered, tactically pausing the movie at one of the talky bits.

  ‘Huh?’ asked Eloise, who’d been gazing out at the street lights since the brachiosaurus. ‘No. I’m enjoying it.’

  ‘You’re worried … about Robert.’

  ‘No … Maybe … I don’t know.’

  Winter nodded understandingly, before blurting: ‘I once had a guinea pig.’

  Eloise looked bemused.r />
  ‘Del Boy Trotter,’ he continued, making her laugh.

  ‘You named your guinea pig Del Boy Trotter?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Why not just Del Boy?’

  ‘That’s a little overfamiliar, don’t you think?’ he asked her, straight-faced. ‘I believe only his close friends and family called him Del Boy. To the rest of us, he was always Del Boy Trotter. Are we going to have a problem here?’

  ‘No,’ she smirked. ‘Please, continue.’

  ‘Anyway, Del Boy Trotter started to go a bit strange, walking in circles … into things … off things. We took him to the vet, who told me he was going to put Del Boy Trotter down. I burst into tears, of course. I pleaded with him. I offered to pay for his treatment with my pocket money, but Death-Vet wasn’t having any of it. And worse, my mum agreed with him. So, guess what I did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I waited for Death-Vet to leave the room to fetch his injection, snatched Del Boy Trotter off the table and sprinted home. I ran upstairs, packed a bag of essentials … pretty much just pants and chocolate bars, and filled the basket of my bike with food and bedding for him.’

  ‘Your bike had a basket?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Winter defensively. ‘For life-and-death emergencies such as this. And then we were off – two devil-may-care fugitives on the run, out to make a new life for ourselves in a strange foreign land. I made it two towns over and spent the night in someone’s greenhouse before I called my mum for a lift home.’

  ‘Impressive. And what happened to Del Boy?’ Winter frowned at her. ‘… Trotter.’

  ‘Oh, he died. I suspect the stupid thing was dead before I’d even passed my school. He was a very poorly guinea pig and undoubtedly needed putting down.’

  Eloise hurt herself holding in a laugh: ‘That’s a very sad story.’

  ‘My point is … sometimes you have to let the things you love go. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t Del Boy Trotter it.’

  She smiled at him affectionately.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I liked your story. That’s all.’

  Winter watched her suspiciously for a moment and then picked up the remote control:

  ‘Now, do you want to watch this lawyer bloke get eaten off a toilet?’

  Snatching the Doritos back, Eloise shuffled in her seat to get comfortable:

  ‘You’re damn right I do!’

  While Eloise brushed her teeth, Winter made up his bed on the sofa. He’d checked in with someone at New Scotland Yard and made sure, yet again, that the front door and windows were all secure.

  Emerging from the bathroom wearing long pyjama bottoms and a vest top, Eloise had removed her make-up and somehow looked even more beautiful for it.

  ‘… What?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, plumping his pillow.

  ‘Well, I’m going to …’

  ‘OK. I’ll be here … obviously.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Night.’

  She smiled bashfully and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  A few minutes passed, in which Winter got himself a glass of water, switched off the lights and climbed fully dressed into bed. But then, there was a creak as the bedroom door inched open.

  ‘Adam?’ whispered Eloise.

  ‘Yeah?’ he replied, sitting up in the dark.

  ‘I …’ And then, despite her unwavering insistence from the outset that Coates would never harm her, she asked: ‘Would you mind if I left the door open?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, returning to her bed and rolling onto her side to face away from him.

  Winter just sat there for a moment listening to the hushed cacophony of humanity: doors slamming somewhere in the building, a moped buzzing along a nearby street, and then lay back down, missing her already.

  10.34 p.m. – Chambers and Marshall had been sitting in the dark for over two-and-a-half hours, plenty of time to replay his latest fight with Eve a hundred times over in his head, their second in as many days.

  She was afraid for him … after what happened, his car accident forever emasculating him in her eyes. He could see it every time she looked at him. Before that, he’d been invincible as far as she was concerned, superhuman, now she regarded him as weak, fragile – as one of the victims. The thought made him feel physically sick, which was perhaps the reason why he’d lashed out so venomously over the phone.

  Parked beneath the scaffolding that scaled the new art block, the car was cloaked in shadow, its windscreen framing the one open gate like an oil painting. He picked up the radio:

  ‘Alpha to all units, check in,’ he said quietly, conscious that the three black mounds of ash were partially obstructing his view.

  ‘… Beta: all clear.’

  ‘Charlie: clear.’

  There was an electronic hiss.

  ‘Delta: Yeah, we’re clear up here.’

  Replacing the handset, Chambers huffed impatiently: ‘Where the hell is he?’

  11.14 p.m. – Stifling his first yawn of the night, Chambers finished the dregs of his lukewarm coffee.

  12.22 a.m. – Unable to risk switching the engine on, both Chambers and Marshall had wrapped themselves up in musty-smelling blankets.

  ‘Shouldn’t have had that coffee,’ she told him as ice crystals started to form on the windshield.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘’Cos if you go for a piss, your thingy’s gonna drop off.’

  Chambers looked annoyed: ‘Thanks a lot … And now I need a wee.’

  1.37 a.m. – Marshall was snoring softly in the passenger seat while a resentful and bleary-eyed Chambers scowled at her, counting down the minutes until his turn.

  2.44 a.m. – Chambers was snoring loudly in the driver’s seat while a contemplative and wide-eyed Marshall gazed up at the sky.

  3.33 a.m. – ‘You awake?’ asked Marshall, giving him a prod. ‘Chambers! Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes, I’m awake!’ he snapped, giving himself a firm slap to the face just to make sure.

  ‘Time for a comms check,’ she reminded him.

  ‘All right,’ he said, dropping the handset twice before finding the transmit button: ‘All units,’ he yawned, ‘comms check.’

  ‘Beta: receiving you loud and clear.’

  ‘Charlie: receiving.’

  ‘Delta: still awake … just.’

  4.18 a.m. – ‘I told you you shouldn’t have had that coffee,’ Marshall said smugly as Chambers got back into the car, his frozen fingers still struggling with his fly. ‘Feeling better?’

  Teeth chattering, he turned to her: ‘… Much.’

  5.05 a.m. – ‘Movement at the gate!’ a voice buzzed through the radio. ‘Movement at the gate!’

  Instantly wide awake, Chambers and Marshall peered into the darkness, the gate still trembling, whoever or whatever had disturbed it nowhere to be seen.

  ‘See anything?’ whispered Marshall, without taking her eyes off the abandoned site.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Chambers, tentatively picking up the radio: ‘Delta: was that you? Do you have a visual? Is it Coates?’

  There were several static clicks before he answered:

  ‘Negative. Apologies. It’s a cat. Just a cat, everyone. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘Easy for him to say,’ muttered Chambers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I need another wee.’

  6.46 a.m. – The first patch of sky burned orange and indigo against the retreating night.

  Chambers looked as though a zombie had bitten him during one of his four ‘rest breaks’, Marshall not faring much better.

  ‘Maybe we were in the wrong place,’ she said, the dawn giving her the confidence to raise her voice a little.

  ‘This is the place,’ Chambers replied confidently.

  ‘Then maybe he knew we were here.’

  ‘Or someone we know warned him we were,’ he countered, punching the dashboard in
frustration. ‘What a waste of a night!’ he spat, climbing out of the car.

  ‘Chambers!’ Marshall stage-whispered. ‘Where are you going?!’

  ‘… To bed.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Remembering it was Eve’s Saturday in the office, Chambers had tried so hard to make it home in time, but a city bursting at the seams had had other ideas, slowing his progress at every step. Rounding the corner to discover her car already gone, he traipsed up the driveway and let himself into the silent house.

  No longer needing to keep up the act, he limped over to the fridge to find it absent of messages, not even a terse instruction or reminder for him to add to his secret stash of keepsakes. He considered heading over to her work, picking up a drink from her favourite coffee place on the way – a gesture to show her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant any of the hurtful things he had said, that he’d missed her terribly over the past week. Dismissing the thought, he smiled at just how much she would hate that – ‘airing their dirty laundry in public’ as she would say, giving her gossiping colleagues a subject to dine out on – an unannounced visit as incriminating as guilt-given flowers or chocolates laced with regret.

  When he noticed a perforated envelope waiting out on the counter for him, he didn’t bother to open it, knowing precisely what his payslip would say: he’d sacrificed his body, his mental health, and was well on the way to derailing his marriage – all to earn less than his neighbour who taught at the primary school down the road.

  Tossing it onto the pile of junk mail, he took three painkillers, hobbled through to the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed.

  True to her word, Officer Resting-Bitch-Face knocked on the door to Eloise’s flat at precisely twelve minutes past eight.

  ‘Right on time!’ Winter greeted her pleasantly despite knowing he was going to be late for work.

  ‘Not really. I’ve been sat out here reading my book for a quarter of an hour.’

  His smile crumbled: ‘I really hate you.’

  Unfazed, she just watched as he pulled his coat on.

  ‘Blade Runner tonight?’ he called back to Eloise.

  ‘And don’t forget you promised me a curry!’ she reminded him.

  Chuckling, he was about to say something witty when O-R-B-F got bored and slammed the door in his face.