“Easier said than done.” His gaze lingered on the door.
Nat brushed her leg against his under the table, but he shrugged away. A touch hurt and rejected, Nat polished off most of her drink.
“Simon,” she said after a moment. “Are you afraid of them?”
He glanced away from the door for a second. “No. Why should I be?”
“Because you’re acting like Johan came in here and put a gun to your head. Bubba kicked them out. They won’t be back, so relax.”
Nat leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. From the darkness, a bloody hand reached for her.
“Shit!” she cried, rubbing her temples.
“Nat?”
“Nothing. Just…why the hell can’t she leave me alone today?” Nat had a large swallow of her cocktail. “It’s like my mother’s fucking haunting me. Don’t you hate it when you think you’ve forgotten something and it suddenly leaps out at you?”
It took another deep drink before she could start. “They followed her home from a bar…” she said. “A bunch of guys did a number on her because she’d taken their drinks but hadn’t, you know, gone home with them.” She rubbed her head. “I opened the door, and she was lying on the step, reaching up… Jesus! Where the hell has that little doozy been hiding all these years?”
Nat flinched as Simon stood up sharply.
“I’ll be back in a second,” he said, moving around the table and out of the booth.
“What’s got into you?” Nat said, worry creeping into her voice. Their night had taken a nose dive. She’d never seen Simon act like this before. “You’re just going to leave me here?”
”No…erm…” He fumbled in his pocket and fished out a ten pound note, He dropped it on the table. “Give it a minute and call a cab from the bar. I’ll meet you back at your place.”
“Simon, it’s our anniversary and I want to spend it with you! I’m leaving too.” Nat picked up her handbag and stood up. She noticed Simon’s eyes bulge. He swallowed.
“No. You can’t!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Please, just get home.”
“What’s going on, Simon?” she cried, ignoring the curious looks from the others in the bar. “Are you in some kind of trouble with those guys?”
Simon shook his head. “No. Please believe me. I just need to go and speak with Johan for one minute, put something to rest, and then I’m all yours. Just promise me that you’ll go home and I’ll see you there shortly. I’ll grab us some food on the way. That sound good?”
He kept hold of her shoulders, and she sat back down. He kissed the top of her head. “One minute.”
He quickly walked away, threw the door wide, and slipped out into the inky darkness.
Outside The Fourth Dimension, the temperature had plummeted. Simon looked up into the night sky, expecting to see the first snow of the season drifting down from between the stars. Shivering, he dug his hands into his pockets. The cold already gnawed at his fingertips.
Glancing left and right, the street appeared deserted. The only sounds came from back inside the bar: a faint murmur of conversation accompanied by the occasional clink of a glass. He imagined Nat sitting in there, alone.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please rush home, Nat.”
A scream rang out from his left between the buildings. Sure they were the cause of the cry, Simon ran towards the dying sound. He paused at the first intersection, his lungs stinging from the cold air, and peeked around the corner.
Squinting in the glare of the overhead streetlight, he watched the group of three figures cheer and race away. Behind them, Johan was unmistakeable. His white hair seemed to glow from within the shadows.
Sucking in a deep breath, Simon continued to run, his arms chopping through the air.
Up ahead, Johan stopped dead.
He’s heard me, Simon realised.
Relieved that he wouldn’t have to shout and bring unwanted attention, he sprinted up the street.
Johan slowly turned. He smiled.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he said. “The lure of the hunt too much, friend?”
Simon arrived, gasping for breath. He bent over with his hands on his knees, gulping down the sharp and numbing air. “Wait. Please…wait.”
“We can’t,” said Johan. “We’ve started.”
Simon grabbed him by the arm. Johan looked down with subtle surprise and disgust, like a leper had touched him during a high-class dinner party.
“You can call them back,” Simon wheezed. “All three of those clowns. You know you can!”
“Can,” said Johan, the temporary sickened look leaving his face, replaced with his usual grin, “but I won’t. This evening has been a complete waste of time, Simon. You can’t deny us our fun now.” He looked further up the street in the direction the boys had vanished. “You should see her. My God, Simon, you should see her…”
“Bring them back!” Simon shouted, rising up. He grimaced as a stitch flared, stabbing him in the side.
“Keep your voice down,” hissed Johan. “You want us to get caught? Really? Think about it.”
Simon did. It took all of half a second.
“I couldn’t give a fuck,” he said. “This has to stop! You can’t just… just…”
“Just what? Give a lady what she wants?”
“I can’t just let you—”
Johan raised his hand. “Listen. They’re coming back now, so stop fretting.”
Simon looked past his former friend and indeed, Richie, Kevin and Spence were running back towards them, passing in and out of shadow along the edge of the road. They moved together in a clumsy, uncoordinated run. At first, Simon put this down to alcohol, but as they neared, he realised they carried something.
Not something, he thought, spying the limp form they carried between them. Someone.
“To be honest, I’m surprised this one got as far as she did,” said Johan, blasé, like he talked about the weather or a story in the newspaper.
Not about the figure being dumped on the tarmac.
“She nearly did get away,” commented Spence. Gasping, he pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “The fat fuck couldn’t keep up.”
“You are such a funny little twat, Spence,” said Kev in reply. He punched his friend squarely on the shoulder.
“Shut up, fellas,” ordered Johan, walking up to them. “Spence, stop rubbing your shoulder, you soft prick.”
Spence immediately did so and hung his head. Kev winked at him and grinned.
Johan crouched down next to the figure and grabbed her chin. He tilted the face upwards. A thick, dark splash coated her lips and teeth.
“Who did this?” said Johan. “Her nose is bleeding.”
Richie stepped forwards. “It was me. It was just…she…she struggled and…”
Johan nodded and looked back down.
“No big deal. She’s no oil painting, but she’s definitely not an antique.” He glanced over his shoulder at Simon. “Come and have a look at this. I swear you’re gonna shit yourself laughing!”
Simon stared down the street. It remained empty.
Run! a voice inside his head screamed. Don’t get involved! Get back to Nat! Go!
Johan shuffled to the side, still holding onto the woman’s chin. Above his pale fingers, her skin appeared bronzed with fake tan, breaking into a gaudy scarlet splashed over thin lips, barely hidden by the blood.
“No,” said Simon. “Why? Why the hell did you do this?”
“It’s a laugh,” said Johan, standing up. The woman’s head flopped back to the ground. “I don’t see any hot babes around here anyway.”
Simon shook his head. “Are you sick? I mean…Agnes?”
5.
Nat drummed her fingers against the table top, her gaze loitering on the door. Most of the other occupants had left The Fourth Dimension, and she expected Bubba to order her to leave any second.
She finished the dregs of her drink and, without the
slightest buzz from the alcohol, started on Simon’s. Even if he walked through the door that very second, he wouldn’t have time to finish it. Bubba had begun to stack chairs on top of the empty tables.
Nat peered back to the door.
She closed her eyes and called to him in her head.
Simon! Come back! Please…
These psychic messages had never worked, but some divine spirit might be cruising on through The Fourth Dimension—after all, it did have a very spiritual vibe—and pass on her message.
Feeling ridiculously optimistic, she opened her eyes and worked on the drink.
First the flashbacks of mother, then Samantha not showing up at work, now this. What a night, she thought. She licked her sour lips; the drink tasted sharper the more she drank.
“Don’t look like he comin’ back, girl.” Bubba, done with his chairs, stood by the bar. He poured a dark brown drink into a short glass from a plain white bottle. “Rum?”
“Erm…no, thank you,” she said, quickly finishing Simon’s drink and picking up the ten pound note he’d left. She slid around the table, tugged on her coat and glanced into the next booth. Empty.
Aware she’d been left alone with the man-mountain, she picked up her bag and left her coat unbuttoned. She headed for the door and stepped outside.
Damn you, Simon!
Nat looked up and down the deserted street. She hardly ventured into this derelict zone. A siren blared out somewhere far away, and the streetlight, illuminating the entrance of the bar, emitted a low buzz. Nat buttoned up her coat and crossed her arms to keep the heat in.
The biting cold made her very briefly consider going back into the warmth of The Fourth Dimension…with Bubba…
“Come on, Simon,” she hissed.
She wanted to call out, bringing her knight in shining armour to her aid. She didn’t dare, and Simon could be miles away by now if he’d jumped into a car.
No. He wouldn’t do that to me. He’s not like all the others.
A noise came from her right.
Underneath the rotting canopies of long abandoned shop fronts, a lone figure walked along the road, running his hands slowly across the smeared glass of the store windows. He whistled a quick blast of some tune Nat had never heard. The last note rose in pitch, like the melody had asked a question.
Nat didn’t need to see his face to recognise the tramp with the colourful jumper from earlier. His range and scales of whistling sounded almost like a voice, distinct and personal. She turned back the other way, trying to show the stranger she wasn’t intimidated by his presence. She scanned the head of the street.
Looking back over her shoulder, she noticed the whistler had sneaked forwards a couple of steps. The streetlight managed to illuminate his multi-coloured jumper as he neared the edge of the canopy.
His notes sang in Nat’s head, her mind subconsciously adding lyrics to songs she didn’t know. They brought images of starlets in glittery frocks on music hall stages.
This is too weird, she thought, backing away. If one more freak comes my way so help me God…
She turned from the slowly approaching whistler and clutching her bag by its strap, walked up the street. She hoped her sense of direction would lead her back to Ginelli’s, where she could at least get hold of a taxi.
She paused at the corner and stopped cold. Down the street to her left, Simon stood with a group of people in the middle of the road.
She frowned, wondering why Simon was still with the guys from the bar. He stood talking with Johan, whose bone-white hair made his pale face look bald and pointed, like a drop of milk in the dark.
Keeping close to the buildings, Nat walked towards them, keeping hidden in the deep shadows. Simon was a good guy, and she wouldn’t let him get drawn into anything.
Johan’s probably a dealer, she thought. Maybe that’s what this is. He’s a dealer and Simon owes him? He said his life was insane before he met me…
She shook the thoughts out. In the year she’d been with Simon, she knew he wouldn’t do anything as irresponsible as that. He was straight as an arrow, steady and predictable.
But seeing him talking to Johan up the street, Nat suddenly didn’t feel so sure.
“For the last time!” shouted Simon, seeming to put his hands to his head in desperation. “You can’t go through with this!”
Hearing his words, Nat sidestepped into the doorway of another empty building. She pressed her back to the cold brick and looked out, sure that she couldn’t be seen.
“Simon, Simon, Simon,” said Johan, shaking his head. “Where’s your sense of fun?”
“Even if for one second,” said Simon, “for one insane, crazy instance, I agreed with what you guys did, this,” he nodded to the side, “is a joke!”
Nat leaned out further from her hiding place and saw the crumpled figure lying on the floor.
What the hell have they done?
“So, it’s a joke,” said Johan. He stared into Simon’s eyes, his face a porcelain mask, devoid of emotion. “Har, har.”
Old Agnes lay on her back, spread-eagle. Blood had trickled from her nose and down across her cheek towards her ear, another shade for the pallet of her face. Beneath her oversized fake lashes, her eyes were shut. Either the drink or some blow had knocked her out.
“This is just…wrong,” said Simon.
“I don’t think—” Johan stopped mid-sentence and pointed in Nat’s direction. She fell back against the doorway, holding her breath.
“What’s the matter?” asked Kev, looking around. “I don’t see nobody.”
“Well I did,” said Johan. “They’re over there, hiding in that doorway.”
Nat froze.
“There’s no one there,” said Spence, his whining voice drifting down the street. “You’re seeing things.”
“I don’t think so,” said Johan. Nat listened to footsteps growing closer.
She crouched and retreated further into the doorway, curling up in the corner, trying to make her body as small as possible. Her arms, wrapped around her legs, shook to the sounds of approach. She took a quick breath, but then snatched it back in. The doorway reeked of urine.
The footsteps stopped.
“I can see you,” said Johan, his voice low and commanding.
Nat stayed put.
“Come out,” he said. “Or my boys here will drag you out!”
Nat swallowed and stood up. Her feet felt like stone.
“There you are,” said Johan. “Wasn’t too hard, was it?”
Nat remained still, hidden in the shadows.
From further down the street drifted a single whistled note.
She listened to Richie laugh. “It’s all right, Johan. It’s that fucking retard who lives on the streets. He can’t talk or anything!”
Nat released a long breath, which steamed before her face. She collapsed back against the wall.
Better him than me, she thought.
“Get out of here!” Johan shouted, still keeping his tone of control. “We’ll kill you if we see you round here again.”
Nat listened to a burst of whistles followed by the frantic beat of feet on the road. She imagined the weirdo in his colourful jumper running for his life. The group began to laugh, all except Simon.
“You better be right, Rich,” said Johan. “If he says anything…”
“Don’t worry. He’s a fruitcake.”
The guys began to talk, and Nat had difficulty making out the words. Blood rushed in her ears, and her heart still hammered from the close call. She strained to listen.
Most of them laughed. Simon began his pleadings anew.
“It’s not worth it, Johan. Let her go.”
“You know that’s not an option,” said Johan. “Not now. Get her up.”
Nat sidled along the wall to the edge of the doorway and, after closing her eyes briefly with a prayer on her lips, peered around the corner.
Richie and Kev had hauled Agnes onto her feet. She hung between t
hem, a marionette with its strings cut. Her head slumped forwards like she was inspecting something on her chest.
Standing to the side, Simon grabbed Johan by the shoulder.
“How can this be about sex?” demanded Simon. “Look at her!”
“Sometimes the sex is just a distraction,” said Johan, approaching the limp form.
Nat felt her heart step up another gear as he reached forwards and tilted her head up by the hair.
“What matters is the hunt!”
Agnes’s head jerked and she snapped a knee upwards. It connected with Johan square in the groin, and he fell to the ground clutching himself.
“Bitch!” he screamed. “Fucking bitch!” He gagged. “Oh Christ.”
Richie and Kev dropped the woman and rushed to his aid. She staggered for a second before turning and breaking into a run. Spence stood by, uselessly watching.
“Get her!” cried Johan through his chokes. “Get the bitch!” He rolled onto his back, his features pinched in agony.
The three men abandoned him and pursued.
Nat watched Simon drop to one knee next to Johan. “You okay?”
Johan groaned in reply.
Seizing the opportunity, Nat bent down and scooped off her high-heeled shoes. Ignoring the cold, she eased out of the doorway and, keeping in the shadow cast by the tall building, began a silent dash away from the scene. She threw a cautionary glance over her shoulder, though she doubted Johan could run anywhere in his current state.
He’d rolled onto his side. Simon gazed down at him, looking concerned.
Reaching the corner, Nat slipped around the edge of the building and away.
Johan heaved himself up, roaring with pain. He hobbled a few steps, his balls throbbing. His stomach had a lead weight inside. “Bitch,” he gasped. “That fucking bitch.”
He straightened up and swallowed a gulp of air. He looked up the street where Spence, Richie and Kev had fled in pursuit.
“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d have just let her go,” said Simon.
Johan glared at him.
Simon continued. “She’ll easily get away from those guys. Just hope she’s too drunk to remember your faces in the morning.” He walked away.
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