“I know it was you—Sam told me.”
That got Denny’s attention.
“Which Sam? Sam Hodgkins or Sam Long?”
Frank had only picked the name Sam because it was so common.
“He said it was all your idea.”
“Nah!” yelled Denny.
“That’s what he said.”
“As if! I’m not even in.”
“Why not?”
“It only counts if the police get called! Mine went out after five minutes. Ask anyone!”
The confusion showed on Frank’s face; he saw Denny read it.
“What do you mean ‘in’?”
Denny just shrugged and went back to his scab.
What he’d just said sounded like some sort of gang initiation. It was the kind of thing you heard about happening in big cities. Troubled teens in turf wars over drugs and violence. But this was a tiny town and this boy wasn’t even twelve years old yet.
“You have to light a fire to be part of the group?” he asked and got no answer. “Do you mean the kids who wear those stupid masks are like a gang?”
Denny just sniggered, staring down at his knee. It was laughable, stupid, ridiculous. But Frank had noticed it, seen it with his own eyes. That swagger those kids had, that careless, self-assured way of walking that didn’t sit right on their narrow shoulders. These kids had done it. They’d lit all those fires, burned down the courthouse, killed Ben Riley, and what the hell was Frank going to be able to do about it?
Denny’s scab tore from his skin, dribbling a watery line of pus.
* * *
Frank left his car at the primary school and walked back to the station. It was rare for him to do this. But today, he needed some air. There was a lot to digest.
Right now, he was the only one who knew what the hell was going on, and he was happy with that. Once he filled the rest of the squad in, everyone would have an opinion. Before that, he needed to get his head around all this.
Instead, he kept thinking about his own childhood in the town. It wasn’t something he thought about often, but whenever he did it made him smile. Even as a kid, he’d loved this place. Loved the smell of it, loved the pavement under his feet, the constant heat in the air and sweat on his brow. Colmstock was the only thing he loved more than Rose.
He had no idea what he was going to do to fix this, to fix what felt so broken it was incomprehensible. But he had to fix it, somehow. Because this was his home, his world, and it meant more to him than anything.
* * *
At Eamon’s that night they were all drinking, hard. Frank, Bazza, Jonesy and Steve. Lucky Father was there; he’d probably be playing cabbie tonight for all of them.
“God, they’re always doing that these days,” Mia said, staring at the small group of wretched-looking men. “This place is no fun anymore.”
“Was it ever fun?” Rose asked.
“Yeah! Friday nights here could be great! Don’t you remember?”
Rose did, vaguely. When she’d first started working here, before it had got so depressing, when it still felt temporary. The place had been full on a Friday. People would play darts, do shots at the bar. Rose would sometimes join them. But now that she’d become such an epic fuckup, there didn’t seem to be any reason to celebrate anything, least of all a Friday.
Rose had sent another article in to the Star last night; she’d sneaked into Jean’s office to type it up and email it. It was still early, but having had no response, the low feeling of rejection had already settled on her shoulders.
She didn’t want to stay at the tavern anymore. Not with that arsehole across the hall. Plus, she was bound to get caught eventually.
Wannabe Journalist Discovered Squatting, Becomes Homeless and Jobless. No one would want to read about that. The panic had soured in her stomach now. She no longer worried about the future, about how the hell she was going to get through the rest of her life. Now she only worried about how she was going to get through the day.
Mia was beaming at her, talking quickly and quietly about Bazza. Again. Rose tried to tune her out. She was sick of hearing about it. Licking her finger, she dug into the corner of the empty chip packet, trying to get the crumbs, letting Mia blabber on. As long as she only stole one packet a day, Jean probably wouldn’t notice.
Finally, she’d had enough.
“The guy’s a dipshit, Mia. Why do you fancy him so much?”
Mia’s face went cold. “He’s not.”
“Why on earth would you want to settle down with someone like him? You’ll be stuck here forever.”
Mia shrugged tight shoulders.
“We’re better than this place,” Rose said, although sometimes she worried that Mia wasn’t. Some of the shit Mia said sometimes, it was like she forgot that they were different. It was like she was just like every other idiot in this backward town.
“Not everyone is as smart as you,” Mia said, voice stiff, eyes downcast.
“What do you mean? You think we aren’t better than all this.” Rose waved her hand around. At Eamon’s, at Bazza.
“You’re saying we, but you’re just talking about yourself,” Mia said, not looking at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sick of hearing how stupid everyone is apart from you. You think you’re better than everyone.”
“And you’re saying I shouldn’t think that? That I’m not as good as the fucktards who come in here?” Rose’s voice was hushed but she wanted to yell. Mia couldn’t even look at her when she insulted her. But then Mia did look up, and her face was stony.
“Why are you whispering?” she asked, then, her voice raised, “If you really think that, say it. Say it loud enough for everyone to hear.”
A few heads turned to look at them.
“Mia—”
“Thought so.” Mia brushed past her and went into the kitchen. Rose scrunched up her chip packet and threw it into the bin. Of course, it missed and dropped down into the alcove behind it. Fuck.
She jolted the bin out of the way. No one had done it in years, and there were thick dust bunnies and bits of rubbish on the ground. Everything around her was always squalid and rank.
Clattering out the dustpan and brush, she squatted down. How could Mia be all right with this? All right with making the minimum wage cleaning out the crap behind rubbish bins on your hands and knees?
The balls of filth and dust were in clumps; she swept at them angrily. One of them flicked up into her face. It was a rat. Another fucking dead rat. She scooped it up with the dustpan, put it into the bin and walked back toward her room. They weren’t meant to leave the bar unattended but who cared? The place was full of cops anyway.
She opened the door to her room, not even checking to make sure no one saw her, and slammed it behind her. Sitting on the floor in front of the bed, she put her head on her knees and took some deep breaths. Getting angry wasn’t going to do shit. She’d put absolutely everything into her last article. If that wasn’t good enough, maybe nothing would be.
She pulled her phone out, hoping and praying that somehow the Star had called her and she hadn’t felt the buzz. Nothing. She refreshed her email. A new one appeared. Sent ten minutes ago from the Star. She knew that address. It was the one she’d got a rejection from last week. Fuck. She didn’t want to open it. Fuck. She pressed down on the email. Scanning it, looking for the unfortunately, instead she saw the word enthralled. Her heart lifted and she took a deep breath and read it properly, from the beginning.
* * *
When Rose came back to the bar she was grinning. Mia was there with her back to her. She put her arms around Mia, rested her chin on her shoulder.
“Sorry. I’m a bitch. I know.”
Mia didn’t say anything. She was stiff.
<
br /> “If you like Baz, that’s all that matters. I just want you to be happy.”
“He makes me happy.”
“Good.”
Rose let her go and grabbed a bottle of Bundy.
“Jean’s doing the books,” she said. “I miss Fridays too.”
Mia didn’t look at her.
“Enough with the somber bloody mood.” The men looked up at Rose as she lined up some shot glasses. “Whatever’s going on will still be there tomorrow.”
Frank pushed his chair back, smiling at her in the new way. There was a confidence in his eyes now, a look of ownership. She would have to talk to him, and soon. Her new article would be run in the Sunday paper again. The Star seemed to believe that people liked light reading about potential pedophiles after church.
“Frank?” she said, rum hovering over the shot glass.
“All right. Why not.”
She began filling up the line of glasses, knowing the others would agree if Frank did. The smell of the Bundy was strong when she got to the last glass. Steve Cunningham came to the bar for his straightaway. Like she had a few times before, she itched to ask him about how his family was dealing with the doll. But not with Frank right there.
“Shall I put apple juice in yours, Father?”
He smiled his wide, whiskered smile. “I’ll stick with Coke.”
Rose noticed Mia still wasn’t looking very happy. She was picking at the gross dry skin around her fingernails, squeezing at a droplet of fresh red blood. Usually, Rose would nudge her and tell her to stop. But it didn’t feel like that would go over well right now.
“Here.” She slid the shot to Mia. “We can play darts later too if you want.”
“Please, girls,” Frank said, “I don’t have time to deal with manslaughter right now.”
Steve and Baz chortled a laugh; Rose raised an eyebrow. She did the shot, flinging her head back and letting the liquor burn down her throat, then went over to the board and pulled a dart out.
“I was just kidding.”
“No, you weren’t.” She took three steps back, feeling all the eyes on her. She’d had seven years of practice, but still her heart pounded. She’d look so dumb if she missed. But somehow she knew she wouldn’t. It was the success; it was like a drug. Making her feel confident, untouchable. It made her feel like she could do anything, like finally, it was all possible.
Leveling the dart above her shoulder, she flung it back and threw it evenly. It hit the board with a pop. Not quite in the center, but not far off.
“What were you saying?”
Before he could eat his words, Frank’s cell phone rang. He answered it quickly and listened to the voice on the other end.
“Really?” His voice was surprised and—Rose was sure of it—his eyes flicked over to Steve Cunningham. “Right, okay. On my way.”
Frank slipped his phone back in his pocket. He took his shot glass and swallowed the liquid in one easy gulp.
“Thanks.” He sucked the liquor from his bottom lip and turned to go.
“Hang on one sec,” she said. This wasn’t going to be easy. His smile slumped, like he knew from the expression on her face what was coming. She came out from behind the bar and put a hand on his arm, guiding him away from the others.
“Thanks so much for yesterday,” she began. “I had a great time.”
He looked at his shoes, then back up to her. “I really have to go.”
“I know, but—”
He turned and began walking away. “We’ll talk later.”
* * *
“I always break them.”
CHILLING NOTE INTENSIFIES
PORCELAIN TERROR
by Rose Blakey
The police force of Colmstock was horrified to receive an anonymous note on Tuesday evening. Unsigned and undated, the note is believed to have been written by the unknown perpetrator who has left a series of porcelain dolls on doorsteps, terrorizing local families.
I am not sick. I just like the little dolls. I always break them. I see them and I want to collect them. I want to line them up, so perfect and untouched. I want them to be perfect but I can’t help it.
—D.C.
The parents of the young girls who have received dolls are duly concerned over the safety of their families, some believing the police are not doing enough to protect them. “It’s enough to make you sick,” Jillian Hane, whose angel-faced six-year-old daughter, Lily Hane, received a doll, stated. “These are our children!”
There have been no arrests and no suspects in this beguiling case. “They can’t find a connection,” said Lucie Hoffman, mother of another victim. The Colmstock police have declined to comment on any progress in apprehending this threat to the most precious members of the local community.
22
Mia hadn’t been able to sleep.
She’d put the television on, like she sometimes did, to replace the thoughts invading her brain with infomercials for blenders. Fighting with Rose was rare, and the few times it had happened Mia was always the first to apologize. She just couldn’t bear the idea of Rose being angry with her.
It was church today, so she had to be up early. Her father couldn’t come with her to church anymore. Before, he’d been able to make the journey from the car to the inside of the church with his cane. He no longer could. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to.
“Rose was being a bit of a bitch last night,” she told him, as she lifted a heaped spoon of mush into his mouth. “I don’t know if maybe she’s jealous of me and Baz or something.”
He was sitting at the table with a tea towel around his neck. She was so used to the way he looked now, the way half of his face almost collapsed inward. This was her father. When she looked at the old photographs on the wall, it was the strong, good-looking man who appeared strange to her.
“She always talks to me like I’m some idiot pushover.”
He put a hand on her arm. He couldn’t speak anymore, but it didn’t matter. She knew what he would say if he could.
“I know, don’t talk myself down,” she said. “I’m just getting so sick of her thinking she’s above everyone, you know? I mean, we are all trying our hardest. What makes her so much better?”
She gave him another spoonful. “She thinks Baz is an idiot, but if things work out between me and him it’d make such a big difference for us, Baba. Things could be so much better.”
He dropped his hand.
“Plus, he’s gorgeous! Anyway, Rose is getting out of here. She is going to have this great big-city life, so can’t she just let me enjoy the things I have? She keeps going on and on about us going together, but you know she’s never actually asked me if that’s what I want.”
Mia got up to put the food back in the fridge and the spoon in the sink. One way or another, Rose was going to be leaving soon enough. Mia had to start thinking about how her life was going to work once she was gone. She checked her reflection in the glass door of the mirror, slipped some loose strands of hair behind her ears and turned back to her father.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom before I go?” she asked. He shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t look at her. Last week he’d said he hadn’t, and when she’d come home from work she’d found him lying on the floor near the bathroom door, the back of his pants soiled.
She wiped his chin with the tea towel and smiled at him. She turned back to the television and switched it on to the sports channel.
“I’ll come back straight after, okay? Rose can figure out her own way home,” she said, then kissed him on the cheek and went out the door.
It was too early for church. She knew that. Mia was driving the opposite way, toward Rose’s house. When she reached the lake, she took a sharp turn left.
She pulled into the dirt clearing. She left her car there and walked toward the metal fence. There was a gap around the side, where someone had pulled the wire away from the iron post. It was the same one she and Rose had used to slide through when they were kids. She could still fit, just.
Suicides were a dime a dozen around here, especially with young men. She didn’t know why. Dave wasn’t the first boy in their class to do it, and he hadn’t been the last.
When she got to the mouth of the mine, she stopped. She squatted down in front of the black hole and closed her eyes. The air inside it was colder; if she concentrated she could feel cool whispers of a breeze on her cheeks.
There would have been a few seconds after he jumped where he was suspended, weightless, in the dark. She wondered, as she often did when she came here, if Dave had thought of her in those moments. If he had thought about the wedding that wouldn’t happen, the faces of the children they’d never have. She wondered, if she were to jump now, if she’d think of Rose.
She hoped that she wouldn’t. She hoped that in the seconds of nothingness before the final oblivion, she would appreciate the lightness. She would be able to know what it felt like not to have the heaviness that now seemed to be with her always. Even if just for an instant, she would know how it felt to be weightless.
Turning, she headed back toward her car. She didn’t want to be late for church.
23
Now that she was no longer living at home, Rose didn’t have to go to church. After all, she hadn’t believed in God for a long time now. Somehow, it seemed beside the point. It would just feel wrong to sleep in on a Sunday, to not be there with everyone else.
The humidity was high today. Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades as she hurried down the road. She noticed the old woman she’d avoided outside the council building waiting by the pedestrian crossing. She was looking distressed as the cars zoomed past her. Part of Rose wanted to keep walking, but by the looks of things, the woman was never going to get to church if Rose didn’t intervene.
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