Some people stared. Others merely turned their heads in the other direction and hurried on by. Most veered out of their way or, on some occasions, crossed the street completely. The smell might have been to blame, their appearance most definitely, but Nat knew the sad truth. The people walking down the street were too wrapped up in their own lives and problems to worry about a couple of strays. She felt, more than ever, the stranglehold money held over everyone’s lives. Since when did you need nice clothes and a wallet full of money to be treated like a human being? Since high school, Nat had vowed to be who she wanted to be. The crazy hair, the piercings, the tattoos, these were all for herself—not to stand out or make a statement. She’d had her fair share of curious bystanders and had been treated like the seed of the devil. Some of her friends had even pushed the boundaries with their faces crisscrossed in chains and their hair cut into high Mohawks, all in the name of being unique. What she experienced now, the sheer coldness of the people on the street, that was being unique.
I don’t need tentacles or claws to feel like a monster.
They had returned to the lair to discuss a plan with the rest of family, who all seemed to be in agreement. Even Jacob, reluctant to wait any more, had eventually succumbed. The brothers prepared things underground while Nat and Max had other matters to attend to.
They’d surfaced through the building where Nat had been taken by Jacob and Whistler. Without money, Nat and Max walked across the city. From the reactions she received from passersby, Nat was a little relieved they hadn’t used public transport after all. To be locked in among them in silence, enduring their stares and their comments…
“You’re quiet,” said Max.
“Yes,” she replied, keeping her eyes forwards. Up ahead, a small boy pulled on his mother’s coat and pointed. His mother shot them a look and ushered her son away. “Just thinking, that’s all.”
“Hard, isn’t it?”
“Thinking?” Nat smirked without humour.
“Living like this. Not easy being a true freak and drawing attention all the time.”
“Which makes this part of the plan even more important,” said Nat. “We’re not far now.”
Another twenty minutes and they arrived at the entrance to Nat’s apartment block. After a quick glance around they ducked inside the door. Nat held Max back and peered around the corner to where the watchman sat in his booth.
Empty.
“Come on,” she said. “Looks like we got a clear run. Besides the watchman, I haven’t seen anyone else here since I moved in.”
“Good. We could do with being in and out as quick as we can.”
Nat cocked her head and looked at him.
“Jesus, Max. I think this is going to take longer than you expect! Follow me.”
At the end of the foyer, the sign had gone from the elevator doors. Seems it had been repaired in her absence. Nat pressed the call button and waited for the familiar noise of the approaching car. Inside, their own odour became noticeable in the small space.
“This is so overdue,” she said. “I mean, you don’t think at the time it was sewer water and bird shit we waded through all night.”
“You get used to it,” said Max and sniffed.
The elevator came to a stop and the doors rumbled open. Nat stepped out into the empty corridor and walked its length to her door.
“Wait,” said Max. “How can you get in? You lost your bag and everything in it.”
“You’re used to the smell, I’m used to being a forgetful klutz.” She approached a painting hung on the left hand side of the corridor and slid her hand underneath the frame. Seconds later, she held up a shiny brass key. “So I prepare.”
She unlocked the door.
The air in the flat seemed overloaded with perfume, soap and other clean fragrances that bombarded Nat from the first breath. She knew that, after spending the night in a sewer, she needed to adjust back to her own smells. Light flooded in between the open curtains.
On the window sill, a red light blinked on her answering machine.
“Simon,” Nat gasped and ran inside. She pressed the play button and immediately a robotic voice declared she had four messages.
“Hey. It’s me. Where the hell are you? No one’s seen you and you didn’t show up for work. What’s up? Are you ill? Call me straight away.”
Max shut the door and stood beside her. “Is that your boyfriend?”
She nodded.
The next message played.
“Nat, answer the phone! You must be in! Pick up…” A long pause. “Nat, pick up the phone! I’m coming round there.”
Max scratched his beard. “He sounds really worried.”
“Well, I did go missing all day and night.”
She imagined how worried Simon must have been, and the idea that he came rushing over here thinking she was sick filled her with guilt.
Why the hell should I feel guilty? It’s not like I was out partying…
“Nat!” said the third message. “Stop fucking me around and answer the damn phone!”
Max shot her a glance.
“He has a right to be upset,” she said, staring at the phone. “I should call him.” She reached for the handset beside the machine.
The fourth message began, freezing her hand in midair.
“God help me, Nat!”
That was all. God help me, Nat.
Not are you okay? Not I’m worried.
God help me.
“He sounds pissed,” said Max, eyes full of deep concern. “Maybe calling him isn’t such a good idea right now.”
Her hand lowered. “I think you’re right. Besides, you know he doesn’t really have anything to do with Johan, don’t you?”
Max nodded. “Hungry?”
She smiled.
They rushed into the small kitchen and, like a couple of burglars ransacking a joint, they rummaged through every cupboard and the fridge. Two ham and cheese sandwiches were messily assembled, eaten with chocolate bars, and washed down by milk straight from the bottle.
Mouth still full and chewing, Max picked up a plastic bag he’d found and began to drop biscuits, bread and other food items inside.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, spraying out crumbs.
“I’ll do that,” said Nat and took the bag from him. “Of course I don’t mind. But we came here to do something and we’re running out of time. Everything you need should be in there.”
“And you’re sure this is okay?”
“Yes! We’ve been through this, Max. I’ll have everything else sorted by the time you’re done.”
Almost grudgingly, Max turned and left the kitchen.
After she’d loaded the bag to bulging, Nat left it on the worktop. Full and happier than she’d been all night, she returned to the living room and sat down on the cream sofa.
Forget the stains. It’ll clean.
On the coffee table in front of her lay a mirror. She’d used it to get ready the previous morning, before her search for Agnes. Using its stand, Nat tilted the mirror until she saw her own face. She studied the dark flesh below her eyes and the dirty speckles across her cheeks. Her piercings easily slid out, and Nat lined them up on the table after each fiddly job.
From the bathroom the first whoosh of the shower sounded.
~
“Well? What do you think?”
Nat, lost in her own thoughts, hadn’t heard the shower switch off.
In nothing except a towel, Max stood just outside the bathroom door. His lean body glistened in a slight sheen of sweat from the humid bathroom. With his diet and all the climbing and walking, his chest and arms were packed with small, tight muscles. His long hair, now clean and sleek, had been tied back. He smiled, his mouth clearly visible now that his bushy beard had gone. A tiny nick on his chin was its only trace.
“Whoa,” said Nat. “You look so… so different.”
Max smiled wider.
“I have a problem, though,” he said.
Nat closed her eyes and shook her head for a second. Staring at Max had induced a mild trance. She opened them again and instantly found his firm stomach.
“Y-Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’ll need to wear more than a towel. This is all to avoid attention, remember?”
“Of course,” said Nat. “Sorry. I must be tired after everything. I’m not quite with it. I’ll get you some clothes.”
She walked past Max, smelling the soap and fruity shampoo that seemed to radiate from him, and into her bedroom. Searching through her wardrobe, she found some of Simon’s clothes lying on the bottom. She balled them up and brought them back into the living room. Max stood, still clutching the towel.
“How did you shave?” Nat asked and handed him the clothes.
“There were scissors and a razor in there. I’m not so feral. I know how to use a razor.”
“But…that’s a lady’s razor. Didn’t you notice it was pink?” She sat down on the sofa again.
“Yeah, but they all do the same job.”
“I use that to do my legs and…” She glanced down.
Max’s gaze lowered down her body and quickly shot back up to her face. “Shit. Sorry.”
“You will be,” said Nat and turned away. “I meant my armpits.”
“Oh,” said Max, sounding relieved.
“Max. You… you scrub up well.”
“Thanks. I’m going to change.”
Nat listened to him head back into the bathroom.
Half an hour later, Nat and Max, both clean and dressed, sat side by side on the sofa.
He’d amazed her once again. The tramp had gone. Beside her sat a handsome, twenty-something man in a blue t-shirt and designer jeans. He looked as though he’d stepped out of a trendy bar, not rat infested sewers. Only the lack of a strong aftershave stopped him from being a typical lad-about-town. That, and the beaten boots he still wore.
Nat had dressed more conservatively. She, too, wore jeans, with worn trainers and a thick sweater. She didn’t plan on taking a swim in the sewers again, so the sweater seemed a wise choice. If the plan went smoothly, she’d be outside anyway. All the piercings and makeup had gone, and her hair, still dreaded, was tied back neatly. Looking in the mirror she had expected the worst but had been pleasantly surprised.
“Forget about me,” said Max. “You look great. I didn’t know you had a face under all that metal.”
Nat looked into the mirror again. “Yeah. I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that I’d be too plain underneath it all?” She placed the mirror on the table. “But now we look like typical, law abiding young people. Nothing to see here.”
“Think it will work?”
Nat’s heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. “It should, if you’re right about Johan.”
“I think I am,” said Max, leaning back. “First mother, then Herman and Edgar…” He swallowed before continuing. “For years, we’ve avoided being found. In fear that we’d be hunted down, one by one. And that is exactly what’s happening.”
“Simon told me a few things about him. Going to the police will be the last thing he’ll do. He has his pack with him. That’s all he needs.”
Max stroked his chin, like his fingers missed the beard.
“He’ll be back to finish the job. Definitely. At least to check the bodies and make sure there are no more of us freaks.” He spat the word out. “Is it wrong to look forward to this?”
Nat took his hand.
“I suppose it is, but it’s the only way to bring an end to it all. Maybe things will turn out differently.”
Squeezing her hand, Max looked out of the window.
“I doubt it. Jacob wants, needs, his revenge. Look, it’s nearly dusk. We’d better make a move.”
With a deep breath, Nat stood up. “We’re going to hell for this.”
“Too late,” said Max. “I’ve been there too long.”
27.
The building loomed before them, not just an empty derelict shell. Now it was the entrance to the labyrinth. In a long leather jacket, Johan stood in front of the dark doorway. With the memories of the horrors still fresh in his mind, the hard bulge of the gun within his jacket brought a little more confidence. The pack of cleaning wipes in his jeans pocket reassured him further. He feared the dirt and germs as much as the creatures.
Kev removed the other gun from his coat and studied it again.
Simon had become withdrawn and silent. Even now, he stood a little away from the group and stared out into the street. Skin paled and eyes bloodshot, Johan imagined he’d spent a good part of the day in tears over his girlfriend. He couldn’t admire this emotional mess; it turned his stomach. The friend he’d known from school had slipped away, his drive and passion drained out by a girl. She’d looked like a leech, designed to suck out a man’s desire in many ways.
At least she’s dead now, thought Johan. He smiled.
“Spence,” said Johan.
Spence looked up over the rim of his glasses.
“Keep a look out. Anyone comes near, give me a shout. Keep your weapons out of sight.”
Spence nodded and patted his hip. A butcher knife was stashed in his belt. The flashes bought from Alan were hidden in a small bag on his back.
With another glance up and down the desolate street, Johan approached Simon from behind. His friend didn’t flinch at the touch of Johan’s hand on his shoulder. He continued to stare forwards in silence, focus locked on the dark abyss ahead.
“Simon?”
His friend slowly turned his face towards him. “Are we going in now?”
“What?”
Simon swallowed and spoke his words even slower, more clear. “I said, are we going in now?”
Johan gazed into his eyes, two shiny white orbs, ringed in red.
He’s gone. He’s so gone.
“Yes, I think we’re ready to get this over with. Are you ready?”
“I can rip them apart with my bare hands,” Simon said. “Fuck being prepared. I am prepared.” He swung around and grabbed Johan firmly with both hands. “Do you know, Johan? Do you know she would never, ever hurt me? And that I’ve left her all alone down there with those things?”
“It isn’t your fault,” said Johan. “She shouldn’t have come down here in the first place.”
“All day, we’ve done nothing. I’m not waiting any longer.”
He turned from Johan and crossed the threshold of the building. The solid darkness swallowed him up.
“Wait,” Johan called, about to follow.
“Guys!” said Spence. “Someone’s coming!”
Johan stopped his advance short of the doorway.
A man, around the same age as himself, walked down the opposite side of the street. Passing between the bright patches the streetlights cast on the pavement, he looked on ahead, paying them no attention.
“Must be cold,” Richie said in almost a whisper. “He’s got no coat on.”
“Like I care,” replied Johan. He watched him walk all the way along until he turned the corner, out of sight. “Right. Come on before someone else comes strolling along. We are carrying, remember.”
With the three following behind, Johan walked through the doorway and into the building. The dank smell of rotting wood instantly filled his nose.
Beside him, Richie clicked on the flashlight he carried. Without a firearm, Richie had brought the flashlight for its weight, intending to use it as a solid club should he need to. The circle of light darted around the space in front of the group.
Eyes blinked in the light.
“Get that out of my face,” said Simon. “And who was that guy outside?”
Richie quickly did as ordered and lowered the beam to the ground.
“No one,” said Johan. “He didn’t even look at us.”
“Richie. Point your flashlight around the ceiling,” said Simon. “I think I heard something when I came in.”
“Okay.” Richie aimed t
he beam upwards, finding the corner of the room. The brick appeared green and crumbled.
“Go along,” said Simon. “I’m sure—”
A pigeon fluttered in the path of the beam. It perched on an outcrop of brick high up, near the ceiling.
“Just a bird,” said Richie. He directed the flashlight along and revealed more birds, all lined up and watching them. Some occasionally tucked their heads under their wings, nibbling at the feathers. “I’m surprised we didn’t hear them sooner.”
“Have we forgotten why we’re here?” asked Johan. “We all know what we have to do, and yet we stand around? Fucking bird watching?”
“He’s right,” said Simon, already heading for the ladder. “Let’s go.”
Johan headed down the narrow shaft first. Gun in hand, he struggled to grip the slippery metal ladder. He opted to only use his left hand and aimed the gun straight down into the darkness with his right.
He remembered Kev talking about a film called Alligator last time. Wasn’t there a scene where it crawled up a shaft like this and dragged the poor bastard away?
He peered down his side and tightened his shaking grip on the gun. Images of teeth and bulging eyes filled his head.
Fuck this, he thought, and quickly climbed down. I’m the most dangerous thing down here now.
Feet splashing down in the few inches of water, Johan quickly checked both directions of the tunnel.
“Get a move on,” he called up the shaft.
A few minutes later, the group stood in the tunnel. Simon stared down to the left.
“How’re we going to find our way through?” asked Spence. He held a sleeve over his nose. “We could get lost down here. We were lucky last time.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Johan. “We’ll find a way.”
The stench overpowered him for an instant, working its way down his throat and into his lungs. Staggering, Johan placed his hand on the wall and recoiled at the slime under his skin.
“You okay?” asked Richie, shining the flashlight in Johan’s face.
“Yes,” he snapped. “Get that light out of my eyes!”
The beam dropped and returned to studying the walls and darting back and forth along the tunnel.
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