by Chris Parker
Ethan applauded. ‘That’s it! You see? Now you have realised the ultimate truth! There was no one else. Ever. It was just a dream. A dream you had a long time ago. In the real world there was only ever me. Me and you. And you will be able to remember me, see me, feel me, talk to me, always. All ways. Because we are connected in the most special way. Forever.’
‘I know.’
‘Of course you do. I am your proof. Here now.’
‘I hear.’
‘And?’
I can see it. And feel it.’
‘So?’
‘I have no time to waste. I have to leave immediately.’
‘Yes! And make sure, too, that no one but me can ever contact you again.’
‘Of course.’ Nic took his mobile phone out of his jeans pocket and handed it over. ‘This has everything and everyone. Without this I am completely free.’
‘I will destroy it, as a symbol of your freedom. You will feel it happen. No one from this hateful place will ever contact you again. Now, go and pack a case. Take with you only the essential things you need. Leave behind everything that is in anyway connected to this prison. Take a bus into the city. Go to the train station. Look at the departures. One destination will stand out to you above all the others. Go to that place. To your destiny. I will already be there, having travelled in my own special way.’
‘So we are doing this together?
‘I will be around you at all times.’
‘I need that.’
‘I know.’
‘Can I ask you one last thing?’
‘Anything.’
‘Will you help me if I … make any more mistakes with my life?’
‘Be sure that I will protect you from the hateful people who might pretend they care for you. And, my brother, if all else fails I will help you realise what you have to do to become even closer to me. Remember, you were right all along, death isn’t the end; it’s just the best of new beginnings.’
‘I will remember. Thank you.’
‘Good. Now no more talking! Not here. Go! Pack! Leave! When you reach your new home give yourself time to settle in and then you will find me there. Now, let us both move!’
Nic turned and left the room. Ethan listened to his footsteps on the stairs. He heard a case being opened in a bedroom at the rear of the house and clothes being pulled from a wardrobe. He considered, not for the first time, whether or not he was taking the right course of action. He could, if he chose, kill Nic now and leave the body in the bedroom as a most special end-of-day present for Peter Jones. Perhaps that was more appropriate? One big, devastating hit rather than death by a thousand cuts? He heard more movement upstairs. Time was running out. What to do for the best?
As his mind raced, Ethan looked again at the photo of Nic and his brother. He was sure he could taste their scent coating his tongue. He resisted the temptation to spit. Somehow that act of will helped him make his decision.
He left the house several minutes later. As he strode through the carefully manicured front garden towards the Mercedes with its black tinted windows parked to the right of the gate, a quote from the Persian mystic and philosopher Epiah Khan flittered through his mind.
‘The solidity of the edge is always next to the emptiness of the fall.’
The thought of Peter Jones and Marcus Kline falling into darkness they were as yet incapable of imagining made him almost giddy with excitement. One wrong step, one push, then fear leaping as the mind screamed and the body dropped into nothingness. Everything lost so quickly, with no chance of reversal, and no way of knowing when disfiguring, destructive impact would bring it all to an end.
Matt the driver started the engine as Ethan opened the passenger door and sat next to him. ‘You look flushed,’ he said.
This time Ethan made no attempt to stop himself giggling. The car had reached the end of the street before he was able to talk. ‘I’m going to tell you something,’ he said finally. ‘Something the world doesn’t know, something that’s off the edge.’
‘What?’ Matt turned the Mercedes left onto the A612. The car in front signalled right and eased to a temporary stop before crossing the road into the driveway of a large, semi-detached house. Matt was grateful for the excuse to keep his eyes on the road.
‘Crucifixion, ‘Ethan said. ‘It’s too good for some people.’
34
Peter Jones didn’t get home early. It was though, he reasoned, as early as he could possibly make it and that was all he had promised. He checked his watch as he walked from the car to the front door: 10.14pm. Early by his standards when working a major case.
But still not good enough.
Right now nothing he was doing seemed good enough. The way to turn it all around was to commit to the process and follow it, step by step; to learn from the feedback, adapt and move forward again. That, he reminded himself, was an integral part of the detecting process. And how he might save his relationship with Nic.
As he reached for his house keys Peter realised the house was in darkness. He stopped dead.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve gone to bed just to make a point!’
It was such a typical Nic ploy. So often he would stress the need for them to spend time together, or highlight a problem needing to be solved, and when Peter failed to meet the agreed timing he would postpone the conversation indefinitely. And then sulk and let it fester, pretending that it really hadn’t mattered that much in the first place, turning it into a scene from the sort of ‘B’ movie he loved to teach about in his role as Lecturer in Film Studies at Nottingham Trent University.
‘Shit!’ Peter glared at the front door, giving himself a moment, forcing into submission the part of his psyche that was urging him to get back in the car and return to work. Whether Nic was asleep or just pretending to be, they were going to talk tonight. Peter had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but his best guess was that it would be more time-consuming trouble. He had to use the time available to him now to begin the process of reminding – and convincing – Nic that he loved him; that their relationship was worth fighting for.
He opened the door, locked it behind him, and turned on the hall light. It was obvious to him immediately. Something was different. Wrong. His policeman’s instinct quivered. His hand reached instinctively for his phone, to call for back up. He stopped himself.
‘Over-reacting,’ he whispered. ‘It is Nic after all.’
He switched on the landing light and walked upstairs loudly. The feeling grew. Peter was used to coming home to find Nic asleep. He knew what the house felt like when his partner was inside. He had long since become accustomed to the gentle underlying rhythm and pulse created when people shared a space. Only now their home didn’t feel like that at all. It felt lifeless. Peter’s breathing quickened as possibilities raced through his mind.
‘Nic?’ The shout left him uncontrolled; waking up his lover and having another furious row suddenly seemed the best of all options. ‘Nic?’
Peter opened the bedroom door and turned the light on automatically. He gasped, reaching to the wall with his right hand as his usual strength drained out of him.
‘Nic…’ His eyes watered.
The bed was empty and unused. Nic’s wardrobe was open and his clothes were missing. It was over. The evidence was overwhelming. Nic had gone. Their relationship was dead. His greatest fear had been realised.
Peter stared at the bed, at the dark blue duvet and the smooth white pillows. It looked now like a death mask; a perfect but empty representation of what once had been.
‘Nic.’ He said the name deliberately now, the last time with love, a final farewell. He had no intention of chasing and searching him out, of trying to breathe new life into what had passed. All he could do from now on was process the pain quietly and focus on catching a killer. He knew all of that, even then, even as his body rocked and the agony of loss ripped through him.
He looked at his watch again. It was something to do. He didn’t need to ma
rk the time.
‘Better late than never, eh? That’s what they say.’ He spoke to the empty bed as if it were a crime scene and the policeman in him smiled at the dark humour.
Better late than never.
Time for a drink, then.
He went downstairs, into the kitchen, and poured himself a large Balvenie 12-year-old, his favourite single malt. Nic hated the stuff. Peter downed it in one and poured himself another. There wouldn’t be a leaving note. He was sure of that. Nic would have left in such a rush driven by a storm of emotion there would have been no time to write. Indeed, if he had tried he would have spent so long struggling to find the right words he would have talked himself into staying, at least for another day.
Peter drained the glass, reflected briefly on how quickly things empty out, and poured a larger measure. He looked out through the French doors into the garden at the rear of the house. It was a landscape that was easy to control, its hidden changes gradual and predictable.
If only it was all so easy.
‘If it was all that easy, what the hell would I have done with my life? I depend on bad stuff bursting out without warning.’ Peter took another large swallow of whisky.
Ethan Hall was out there somewhere, in his city, polluting it, damaging it. Left unchecked, his influence would burst out at some point and innocent people would be destroyed. Time was running out.
‘Running out and running away. It seems to be the season for it. I stopped running years ago.’ Another drink. No sense of its effect yet. He doubted it would touch him tonight.
At least, he reflected, Nic was now safe from Ethan’s threat. That was the one good thing to come out of it all. The only thing.
The line flashed through his mind, daring him to sing it. He spat it out with forced humour, knowing it would hurt.
‘Always look on the bright side of life…’
Peter fell asleep finally in the floral-patterned armchair in the lounge. He slept fitfully, his dreams a fearful, swirling mix of loss and failure and dread.
He woke early with a splitting headache and a sick feeling in his stomach to discover the United Kingdom had voted to leave the European Union.
PART 3
BELIEF
35
The edge is crumbling away.
Piece by tiny piece.
It’s easy to miss the connectivity of it all, the inevitability of the complete collapse. Easy to treat each bit as if it is somehow separate from the rest. Easy to be so focussed on your own miniscule plot you forget that the fences you have created are false, and when one part falls it will pull the rest down with it.
Sooner or later every herd turns inward on itself. Members crash headlong, trample each other or throw themselves off the edge. Only this edge is crumbling, taking the ground away from beneath their feet whether they realise it or not.
The shift cannot be avoided. What I have begun – what I am going to do – is irreversible. And necessary. You have to destroy what is already in place in order to create something new. It takes insight and strength to know that destruction always leads – destruction and violence.
Sometimes violence creates a death, sometimes a birth. Either way something has to be ripped out. I want heart and soul. Influence always changes the inside first and I know how to penetrate.
You could not keep me out.
They have already failed to.
My words travel on the breath of my intention. Sometimes they are sharper than a knife, sometimes soft as the most gentle breeze. They breathe me in. I feel it. They carry me inside them. They process me. I change their brains and their bodies follow. I lead them to the edge. I turn them inward. I ensure destruction.
I am Shiva.
First. Last. Always.
36
Calvin Brent believed he was reading and managing the game with clarity and precision. As a gambler he knew the key to success was two-fold. Firstly, you had to identify probability accurately. Secondly, you had to know how and when to bluff brilliantly.
Some gamblers made the mistake of thinking that probability would morph into certainty. He knew better. He was a gambler and a gangster. And clever at both. As a result of his father’s guidance, he knew how to learn from the experience of others rather than simply his own. He had seen too many gamblers and gangsters believe that, once the odds were stacked in their favour, a particular outcome was certain. They forgot the game wasn’t over. And that nothing was certain until it had happened.
The game wasn’t over yet with Ethan Hall. That meant nothing was certain. Even though the odds were stacked in his favour. Calvin Brent had factored in all the possibilities he could imagine and given what he knew about Ethan he had exercised his imagination as fully as he was able. Consequently, he had identified and covered or cut off options that ranged from the possible to the downright absurd.
‘Better safe than sorry,’ he told himself for the third time. ‘Don’t want to have to bluff with this one.’
The knock on his office door came right on cue: 9am. Everyone who worked for him knew he had a thing about punctuality. When he told you a time he demanded you meet it precisely. For him, a minute too early was as annoying as a minute too late. No one got it wrong twice.
‘Matt, enter!’
The big man closed the door behind him and crossed the floor in four, quick steps. He stood, as required, on the other side of his boss’s desk, in precisely the same spot he always did. Brent noticed that he looked tired, as if the events of the day had been too much for him.
‘Sit yourself down, take the weight off.’
‘Er, OK. Thanks.’
Calvin enjoyed watching the mix of surprise and pride play on his employee’s face. For his own part, he revealed nothing. ‘Now, we have a couple of things we need to talk about. I want you to know I’m taking you into my trust over this,’ he lied, ‘you understand what that means, right?’
‘Yes boss, of course. Absolutely.’ Matt coughed, covering his mouth with a lightly clenched fist, shifting awkwardly in his chair.
‘Good. As you’ve experienced first-hand this is a fucking unusual and potentially dangerous situation we find ourselves in. Ethan Hall has to be handled with care. Don’t you agree?’
‘He’s a fuckin’ freak an’ a nut-job! Boss.’ Matt shifted again.
‘I didn’t ask for a diagnosis, just for confirmation that you know how dangerous he is.’
‘Sorry. Yes. He does stuff to people ya can’t imagine.’
‘That you can’t imagine, Matt. Don’t compare yourself to me.’
‘No boss. Sorry.’
‘And then to complicate things Darren fuckin’ Smith, decided to sell him out. Which means he decided – actually made the conscious decision – to sell me out. Hall wasn’t being protected by him, he was being protected by me. Just like he is now. That means when we’ve finished with Hall we need to have some communication with Smith. Right?’
‘Absolutely. I can visit him last thing t’night if ya want me to.’
‘No. I said, when we’ve finished with Hall!’ Calvin sighed. ‘Sequencing is everything, Matt. I don’t expect you to understand that and to be fair you don’t need to. Your work is all individual stuff, doing one thing at a time, dealing with specifics. It’s what you’re good at. That’s why I keep you on. That and because I know you’re loyal.’
‘I’ll do whatever you want, boss.’
‘Exactly. So, before we talk about today let’s take a moment to go back over the visits you made yesterday starting with the first one.’
‘You wanna ask me abowt ‘em again?’
‘Why, have you got a problem with that?’
‘No boss. Sorry.’
‘Right. So tell me again, are you fucking sure the target was really fucked up when you left him?’
‘Definite. He was fuckin’ out of it. Unconscious covered in puke and shit.’ Matt pulled a face.
‘And there were no signs that Ethan had knocked him about in any wa
y?’
‘No. It looked just like he’d had some sort of heart attack or really bad reaction to something. It was like his insides had just had to come rushing owt, like e’d lost everythin’. He was grey even before we left. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’d already died.’
‘He won’t have. Hall said he’d put him in a type of coma, that he’d need to go back to finish it. It didn’t sound like he was bluffing. And I can’t afford to take the risk.’
‘Do you want me to go back and check?’
‘No. I want as few visits as possible, limit the chance of some nosy fucking neighbour seeing something and talking about it later. So we’ll concentrate on getting Ethan Hall around unseen today and leave coma-man until first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘OK boss.’
Calvin watched the look of relief pass across the bald man’s face. He’d never seen his enforcer this edgy and nervous before. He’d have thought that after Ethan Hall had made him put the gun in his mouth and almost shoot himself Matt would have been desperate to beat the shit out of the little fuck. Only instead he seemed keen to keep as far away as possible.
‘If necessary, when you return, Hall will have to whisper a bit more in his ear and send him on his way fully.’
‘Will you want me in the room?
‘Of course I fucking will. You’re my eyes and ears. You’ll make sure today goes according to plan, without attracting any undue attention, and tomorrow you’ll make absolutely sure the person I want dead is stone cold.’ Calvin scowled deliberately. ‘You can manage one more day of this, can’t you? I do need to know you can drive Hall around without pissing yourself.’
‘Yeah. I’ll be fine, no problem.’ Matt coughed again. ‘’E’s just really weird, ya know?’
‘Before you know it, he’ll be really dead.’ Calvin smiled reassuringly. ‘Tell me again what happened when you took him to Jones’s place?’
‘I dunno. Honest. I stayed in the car. He wa’n’t in there too long. Came out looking like ‘e was fuckin’ royalty or somethin’. Started talkin’ about crucifixion.’