Sixty-One Nails

by Mike Shevdon

  The new officer joined us. "What's the situation? Is this the owner of the flat?"

  "This is Mr Petersen, Skipper, Niall Petersen. He was running down the pavement with a rucksack and boots with no socks." The expression said the lack of socks was a clear indication of criminal activity. "He says someone was trying to get into his bedroom and he jumped out of the window."

  The Skipper turned to me. "Been in the flat long, have you?"

  "Just over a year," I confirmed.

  "Does anyone live here with you?"

  "Only my neighbours downstairs."

  "Any other exits besides the front door?"

  "The first floor window I jumped out of."

  "Did you see the intruder, Mr Petersen? Was there any sign of a weapon?"

  "I didn't see anyone, but I could hear someone moving around in the flat."

  "Any pets, sir?"

  "Pets?"

  "Sometimes a neighbour's cat can get trapped in a house and doesn't emerge until later, sir. It scares the wits out of people, but it solves the mystery." He smiled reassuringly.

  I acknowledged the smile, figuring that the transition from potential criminal to potential victim was promising. "I don't have any pets and I don't think they do either." I nodded towards my neighbour who had been joined in the doorway by his partner. My expression must have conveyed that I thought it unlikely. "What's the layout, sir?"

  I described the flat to him, including the squeaky stair and fact that I'd left my coat on the kitchen chair, I added that I'd left my wash-bag in the bathroom. I wanted to reassure them I had been fine until someone had broken in. I told them I had jammed the bedroom door shut from the inside and climbed out over the balcony. The new officer was more understanding, but noncommittal. I guessed he was simply extracting as much information as he could before the difficult questions started.

  "Eddie, you're with Jim. Go around the back and see if you can see anything. Colin, you're with me. We'll take Mr Petersen inside." Jim exchanged a look with Colin, looking relieved that he wasn't one of the people going into the flat. I guess I had them spooked. They extracted torches from their belts then went to the corner of the house.

  Skipper told me to stick close to them. He took the key and went to the front door. Jim and Eddie slipped quietly around the side of the building.

  The two officers went quickly and efficiently inside with me close behind them.

  "Police! Anyone in here? Police!"

  The stair creaked as soon as they stood on it. Skipper looked back at me and nodded once.

  My sitting room was on the right.

  "Police!" The officer called Eddie danced his torch beam around the room. "Clear."

  Skipper swept his torch down the hall. "Jeez," he said, "what's that?"

  His torch hit the black stain that covered the door to my bedroom and the walls around it. It had spread across the ceiling and the smell of it pervaded the air. It smelled of damp and old rot.

  I looked at the walls and ceiling, letting my expression show I was as mystified as they were.

  The door, walls and ceiling were covered in what looked like damp-rot. It ran over the walls and up onto the ceiling, spreading a smell of pervasive decay. It gave the hall a fetid atmosphere it had never had while I had lived there. My bedroom door was black with mould apart from the gaping hole in the middle where it had burst through like tinder.

  We walked forward slowly, the lights from the torches scanning the walls and ceiling.

  The radio crackled and Jim's voice came through: "All clear here, Skipper."

  Skipper put his hand to the radio switch at his collar. "Roger that."

  Colin went down the hall past the bedroom door, being careful not to touch the black stain. He scanned the torch around my kitchen and then the bathroom. "Clear here too, Skipper. There's not even a scrap of mould in the bathroom or kitchen. It's all clean." His tone said something odd was going on, though he was at a loss to explain what.

  "Was it like this before?" the Skipper asked me.

  I shook my head, unable to frame an outright lie to the contrary. I was well aware that if I started talking about mould running across the walls like water I would be spending the next three months in a psychiatric unit. Colin leaned down and used his torch to scan through the gaping hole in my bedroom door. He extracted his baton and used the end to push the door handle down. It was still sealed and didn't move.

  "There's no one in there, sir, as far as we can tell, but the door's stuck," he told me. "Is it locked? "

  "No." I looked at the ruins of the door. "I just jammed it. Try it again." I felt for the link that connected the seal on the door to me. I imagined it opening at a touch. The link echoed and then faded.

  Skipper used his baton to turn the handle down again and pushed. The door scraped, then opened, swinging away from him before casually dropping off the top hinge to land askew. He swung his torch around inside the room and then entered, delicately clicking the light switch on with the end of his baton. The inside was as bad as the outer, dark rot spread over the wall and ceiling. Thankfully it hadn't affected the carpet or furniture, but the smell was awful. It reeked of decay. The damp rainy air from the open windows smelled fresh by comparison. "Door's had it," Colin remarked.

  "And with all the debris on the inside of the room," the Skipper pointed out. "Was there any mould in the flat before?" he asked me again.

  "No. I'm sure I would have noticed. I can't explain… " I let my voice trail off as I looked at the remnants of the door and the walls, stained black with it. "Where are your keys and wallet?" Colin asked me. "They're in the top drawer, by the bed."

  Using his gloved hand, he opened the drawer using the edge of the wood rather than the drawer handle. He lifted out my watch, keys and wallet. "Are these yours?" he asked. I nodded.

  The Skipper clicked on his radio. "The flat's clear. Anything there?"

  Jim's voice came back over the radio, curiously echoed by his voice travelling faintly though the open window to the rear. "All clear here, Skipper." I breathed a sigh of relief. It had gone.

  "Roger that," the Skipper replied. He turned to Colin. "Take Mr Petersen into the sitting room," he said. Colin ushered me into the sitting room, switching on the lights as he went.

  I heard the Skipper take a look in my bathroom and then in the kitchen, joining us in the sitting room after a moment. He brought my coat from the kitchen and draped it over the back of a chair.

  Colin stood by the door, while the Skipper indicated that I should sit on the sofa. He put my personal items on the coffee table, picking out my wallet and opening it to the photograph of Alex. He ruffled through the money stuffed into the back of it then held out the picture ID from my work pass, comparing my face with the younger image in the photo. It must have been close enough because he put the card back in my wallet and pushed it across the table towards me.

  "That's a lot of cash to be carrying about, sir," he remarked as I pocketed the wallet and buckled the leather strap of my watch around my wrist.

  "I told your colleague, I was going away for a while. I had my rucksack packed and ready for the morning. "

  "Where were you going, sir?"

  "I have to clear up some family business, personal matters. I wasn't sure when I'd be back. Look, am I under suspicion of something here? I'm the one who was woken up by someone breaking into my home, remember?"

  "That's the thing, sir. There's no sign of a break-in downstairs, the lock is intact and opens to your key. There's no indication of an intruder and yet your bedroom door looks as though someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. Then there's the mould…" He let that sentence hang. "I told you. It wasn't like that before."

  The radio cut across me. "Skipper. We think we've found someone."

  The Skipper paused, then clicked on his radio. "What do you mean you think you've found someone, Eddie? Either you have or you haven't."

  There was a burst of static and then Eddie's voice. "I dunno, Ski
pper. I could have sworn he wasn't there a minute ago. He's under the trees at the end of the garden. Jim's trying to coax him out now."

  I could hear Jim's voice in the background. You could just make out the words, "Police! Come along out, sir. We just want to have a word with you."

  The Skipper walked to the door and through into my bedroom to look out over the balcony. I stood up, but Colin held up his hand. "Just stay there, sir." I could feel all the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It wasn't some old guy they'd found, it was the Untainted, come for me. I wanted to warn them, to tell them to leave it alone, but I couldn't think of what to say without appearing insane.

  Colin's radio buzzed and crackled. "We're going to pull him out. Jim's just…" There was a weird sound in the background, like a woman giggling hysterically but with a man's deeper voice.

  The radio died. The light bulbs wavered, dimming to a yellowish glow.

  Colin clicked at his radio. "Say again, Eddie." The radio was dead.

  I looked at Colin. I couldn't let this happen. I yelled through to the Skipper. "Tell them not to touch it. Tell them!"

  A scream came from the back of the house. It was Jim's voice. "Get it off me! Get it off! Get it off!" The Skipper thundered out of my bedroom. "Officer down, get an ambulance!" He ran down the hall and bounced off the end wall, taking the stairs down two at a time.

  Colin shouted. "Stay here! Don't open the door 'till I say." He ran after his boss.

  From the back of the house I could hear Jim. "Oh God! It's in my eyes! My eyes! I can't see!"

  The manic laughter rose in pitch. The lights winked out, leaving me in darkness. I grabbed my coat on the way past the chair.

  Shouted commands came from the back. "Stand where you are! Police! Don't move!"

  I ran towards the stairs as Jim's screaming subsided to a gurgling, choking sound. I wrenched the front door open and ran out into the rain. I sprinted straight past the startled Colin who was talking urgently into the car radio in the open door of the car. He shouted something as I ran out into the road. I fled that sound, lengthening my stride and pushing myself, not caring that my heart hammered in my ears or that my feet were sore where my boots chafed my bare feet. I had to get away. I ran on into the night, knowing what was behind me if I stopped.

  I took alternate right then left turns as I met each junction, working my way towards the tube station where there would be other people, other human beings. I needed to lose myself, and fast.

  Adrenaline fuelled my pace and kept me moving until I finally came to a halt at an empty bus shelter. I leaned against the inside for a moment, my breath raw in my throat, then shrugged into my coat, thinking it would be easier to run while wearing it than holding it. My chest heaved and my heart hammered. I couldn't keep this up indefinitely, I just wasn't fit enough. I needed a plan.

  I pushed off the bus stop and started running again. There was a minicab service near the tube station. If I could make it to there I could get a car into London. As Blackbird had said, I would be harder to find in the city. A glance backwards showed a light like a bright star rising in the sky in the direction I had come. Shit! No one told me it could fly! Then the sound caught up with me. The jittered thumping meant the police had called in a helicopter. A beam of the light stabbed down onto the streets behind me. Were they looking for me? Why? I was the victim. I was the one who was being pursued by the thing in the garden. They should be dealing with that, not chasing innocent people.

  Except I wasn't innocent. I had known what was back there and I could have warned them. I had tried to warn them but it had come too late. Now I was a witness, possibly even a suspect. An officer had been hurt. No, I was kidding myself. An officer had died. Now they would try and find me. And even if I told them the truth they would never believe me. And then they would lock me up.

  Seven

  The helicopter circled away behind me, scanning the streets and gardens. As I approached the row of shops near the tube station, the buildings got taller, keeping me from tracking the helicopter and, hopefully, preventing it from tracking me.

  They would be using thermal imaging cameras and I was sweating from the long run. The cool night breeze against my wet clothes would chill me quickly once I stopped running but for now I would shine like a beacon for the camera.

  I stepped into the alley alongside a shop, letting the darkness and the narrow gap conceal me while I caught my breath. I could still hear the angry buzz of the chopper echoing around the empty streets but I figured that turning up at the minicab office out of breath, looking like a man on the run while a helicopter searched the streets would be a dead giveaway. I straightened my coat and used a tissue from my coat pocket to wipe the sweat from my face. Leaning against the wall, I re-tied the laces of my boots in a respectable fashion and then stood, adjusting my trousers so they covered my bare ankles and straightening my coat.

  It wouldn't take the police long to work out that I had evaded them. They would watch the tube stations and alert the taxi firms. They had taken a good look at me and would issue a description from that. If I was going to be able to get a cab without being recognised I needed to do it soon.

  Then it occurred to me, I could change my appearance. I could walk right past them and they would never know it was me. All I needed was the will to do it. The glamour Blackbird had shown me in Trafalgar Square the previous morning might be the key to evading my pursuers.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining myself wearing my suit and tie, ready for a day's work, fixing the memory of it, convincing myself I was wearing my business attire. I felt a shift inside as darkness stirred within me. There was an answering tingle on my skin. Looking down, I found my clothes shifting and blending, the cloth of my coat rippling like water as my attention wavered. I struggled to fix the image, my boots switching to shoes and back to boots as I watched. It was no good, I simply didn't have enough control to maintain it. I let the glamour slip and reverted back to my true appearance. I would have to take the chance they hadn't alerted everyone yet.

  I stepped out of the alley, trying to look inconspicuous, walking steadily towards the road where the taxi company had their all-night offices. Taking a cab directly into central London would lead the police to look for me there. What I needed was somewhere where there were enough people to make it hard to find me amongst the crowds even at this time of day. I needed somewhere that I might reasonably want to hire a cab to get to early in the morning. Paradoxically it would be somewhere where the security was much tighter. I needed Heathrow Airport.

  Buttoning my coat, I walked out of the alley, trying not to look hunted.

  I kept close to the buildings as I turned in to the sidestreet where the minicab firm was based. As I turned the corner, I saw the tell-tale flash of blue lights. From the shadow of a doorway I saw a fire engine roar past the end of the road, lights blazing, siren silent until it reached a junction further on where its brief wail echoed back down the wet streets.

  The Fire Service, aside from putting out fires, also dealt with biological contamination. They were treating the flat as a contaminated area. If they thought the mould was some kind of manufactured biological weapon then their efforts to find me would be on a different scale. It took all my reserves of will-power to walk into the radio-taxi office and appear calm.

  I opened the door to the smell of hastily smothered cigarette. The bloke manning the radio was wearing thick glasses and peering at a newspaper crossword, apparently oblivious to the smoke still rising from the waste bin. He looked up. "Yes, mate?"

  "Good morning. Could I get a car to Heathrow, please?"

  He considered this for a moment and I hesitated, wondering if a description had already been circulated. I was about to tell him not to bother and start running again when he spoke.

  "It'll cost you fifteen quid at this time of day, mate. "

  "That'll be fine, but I need to get there quickly. "

  "Got an early flight, have you?"

 
; "Well, you know how long it takes to get through all the security these days. Better to be early than to risk missing a flight, eh?" It wasn't a lie, but he would assume I was flying out. Maybe the police would make the same assumption when they questioned him, later. "It'll be two minutes, guv. The cars are just coming on shift. Shouldn't take long. Have a seat."

  He spoke in staccato sentences and indicated the vinyl covered chairs by the door. I sat down, while he spoke into the radio, summoning a car for me. I was painfully aware that if the police walked in now I would have no escape. I fidgeted in the seat then forced myself to stillness. The minutes passed with agonising slowness. When the man looked up from his crossword and spoke, I almost jumped in my seat. "Car's just outside, guv," he said.