I rested the gun over the back of a chair and sat down. I put the four spare arrows in the top pocket of my jacket where they were in easy reach, and switched on the power to the CD player. I just had enough light from the LCD display to see the control panel. I skipped to track four…but didn’t start it…not yet. I wasn’t quite ready. I was a long way from being ready. I had the shakes again, so bad that I could hardly lift the gun, never mind point it in the right direction. I smoked a cigarette down to the filter, concentrating only on each breath, each inhale and exhale, trying to relax the muscles across my shoulders that were tightened into a knot of dull pain.
Then I lit another cigarette and practiced my aim, trying to imagine where the torso would be in the doorway…always assuming of course that Mason was still a biped. When I’d finished the second cigarette I reached for the CD player.
My hand stopped above the play button. I still had a chance to walk away. All I had to do was stroll over to the car and drive off. Sure, I’d have to pay the old lady back…but I could handle that. Then I thought of Doug, face white against the hospital sheets, of Jock McCall, collapsing in my arms, and of Wee Jim, as he turned toward me and death fell on him from above. My hand went down, and ‘The Sea-Wives’ Lament’ began.
I stared at the doorway until my eyes watered. Slowly, so slowly, as the song wound on, I began to relax into a state of watchfulness, to the place where my eyes watched while my brain kept itself busy. Doug had been too busy with his Joanna to leave me a new puzzle, so I gave myself some, trying to find short connections between widely diverse movies. I was somewhere between All Quiet on the Western Front and Dude, Where’s My Car, when the song finished. I started it again straight away, turning the volume up slightly.
The night wore on. I got through half a pack of cigarettes, my behind went numb, and I was getting tired of the song…so tired I was tempted to turn the volume up full and skip to track five. Then I heard it, a shuffling from outside, just loud enough to be heard above the music.
I held my breath, and raised the gun. The shuffling continued, and a figure moved into the doorway. The silhouette looked human, and there was a thin, keening sound coming from it. It took me a while to recognize it…whatever, or whoever, was in the doorway, was crying like a child.
“John?” I said softly. “John Mason?”
The head snapped up…just as the song finished. The beast howled and I watched the head change shape, a long snout growing, thin ears framed in the light. I smelled blood, blood and heavy musk. Its breath steamed in the air, and it raised its snout to the night sky. A piercing scream rent the air and the figure moved, climbing up onto the coach steps, filling the doorway so much it almost blocked the light completely.
I fired, and the silhouette fell away, just as the squealing rhythms of the last track kicked in. I lunged for the CD player, and knocked it flying away into the darkness where the battle rhythms of the first track began to pulse.
“Shit!” I shouted, and raised the gun in front of me, but there was no movement…the doorway was a rectangle of light and there was no sign of my assailant.
There was a thud from outside, as something fell heavily against the carriage.
And I couldn’t move. My fingers were locked tight around the gun, and my head pounded with the rhythms of the music. For seconds all I could do was stare at the door, and hope that nothing came through it.
It was only when I remembered to breathe that the world starting filling in around me again. I cautiously made my way to the doorway. Just as I stepped down to the rough grass, something moved to my left. I turned, just in time to see a naked John Mason roll away under the carriage. There was a rustle, and a crash, then he ran across the patch of light between the car and me. He was moving fast…but not as fast as I’d seem him before. He headed for the corrugated shed.
I reloaded the gun, and followed
A door opened in the shed, revealing a new rectangle of light. A hulking figure filled the space for a second before the door closed again.
Halfway to the shed I found the tranquilizer dart on the ground. It still had half of the golden fluid in it. I put it in my pocket with the rest and started faster for the shed. Somewhere behind me I could still hear the first track of the album, but as I approached the shed the hum of machinery from inside drowned out the music.
I stepped carefully inside, closing the door behind me. Not that I was worried about John Mason escaping…I had a feeling he was strong enough to knock his way through the wall if he wanted to. No…I wanted to stop anybody just ‘dropping in’.
It was too late for the security guard. I’d done him wrong in my estimation. He’d been doing his job, and when the door opened, he’d come to investigate. Now he lay at my feet, eyes staring blindly at the roof, the gaping hole in his throat giving him a wide smile to add to the open-mouthed scream on his lips.
I had to put in a long step to avoid the still-widening pool of blood. John Mason hadn’t been so dainty…although I’d have to stop thinking of it as John Mason…the tracks in the blood were not even remotely human. No, take that back…the first one, nearest the body, showed a heel and five toes, but the second, from the opposite foot, showed a three-lobbed pad with talon spike marks, as did the third. Whatever effect the drug was having, it didn’t seen to be slowing down the rate of change.
The interior of the shed was only dimly lit. Apart from a neon strip over the door I’d come in, there were only half a dozen overhead night lights…just enough that the watchman would have been able to walk a route without falling into any of the engineering pits. To my left there were long stacks of industrial shelving that held all the workshop spares, but the shed was dominated by the two train carriages that were the current focus of work. All I could see of them was their long silhouettes slanting over the darker shadow of the working pits. One of them was still attached to the overhead crane that ran the length of the building. I knew there was an operator’s booth up the far end, but it was too dark to make out. The only advantage I had, and it was a slim one, was that I’d been here before, and gone over every inch of the place while doing the security check.
I ran over my memory of the layout in my head while I stood and listened. Just to my right was the small office where the guard passed the night. A soft flickering told me he’d left the television on, but there was no sound from that direction. The whole building lay almost quiet, and there was no movement. Then, far overhead, a cloud moved on, and soft moonlight threw new shadows. The wind threw a small cloud scudding across the moon, and shadows suddenly ran across the floor. A wail reverberated among the shelves, a sound of fright and confusion. One of the tall spare stocks toppled over with a crash, and a four-legged something scuttled away to the far-left corner of the building.
This was the point in horror movies when I started shouting at the screen as the inadequately armed person decided to head off into the dark after the monster that may…or may not…be wounded.
I wasn’t that stupid. I stepped into the watchman’s office, and threw all the light switches to on.
It had an instant effect. Another of the shelving units fell over with a crash. Then it was coming for me, hand over hand along the system of chains that drove the crane, like a gibbon through the high canopy. But no gibbon was ever as large, or as angry.
I stood my ground. It was just about the hardest thing I’d ever done, and I had to lock my knees to prevent them buckling, but I managed to get the gun up, between it and myself. I had time for just one shot, and didn’t even know if I’d hit the target before its momentum brought it down on top of me and the pair of us went crashing to the floor.
Blind panic took me. I thrashed and punched like a wild thing. Someone was screaming and it was seconds before I realized it was me…and that I was struggling with a dead weight.
My back reminded me of its bruises as I rolled away. I found myself standing over John Mason’s naked body, and I thought I’d killed him outright…the tranquil
izer dart had embedded between his ribs just under his heart. But as I bent over to check, he started panting, like an exhausted dog. I checked for a pulse, and found one racing along at twice the normal rate. His eyes were rolled up in their sockets, and sweat poured from his brow. I took off my coat and rolled him up in it, then went to fetch the car. All the way over to the vehicle my back tingled, waiting for an attack, but it never came, and as I drove back to the open doorway I could see the two bodies lying just inside.
My back complained again as I lifted John Mason in a fireman’s lift and got him arranged in the back seat of the car in, what I hoped, looked like a drunk sleeping off a bender.
I went back to the shed and switched off the lights after retrieving the gun. I was going to feel sorry later about leaving the watchman there on the floor, but for now my priority had to be John Mason. I fetched the CD player from under the seats in the empty carriage. I reloaded the gun and put it on the passenger seat, then I switched the CD player to track four, pressing play as I headed out of the depot as fast as I dared.
I drove, chain smoking cigarettes while I considered my next step. I hadn’t really expected to get this far. As I saw it I only had two options…the cops, or Skye…and neither appealed to me. In the first, I didn’t get paid, and in the second, I got dragged ever further into what was turning into even more of a nightmare than the Amulet case.
Then there was my conscience to consider. Just as I couldn’t ignore old lady Malcolm, so I couldn’t forget the staring eyes of the dead watchman. Maybe he’d still be alive if I hadn’t drawn the beast to this area…maybe not. But those dead eyes would continue to accuse me until I did something about it.
The next time I saw a phone box I stopped and, keeping an eye on the car all the while, put in a 999 call. As soon as it was answered I put on my broadest wide-boy accent…modeled on the shell-suited Ned who came at me with the knife.
“Ah’ve seen it…the Southside Slasher…doon at the auld Underground depot. It’s away inside…and there’s a mannie in there alongside it. Youse had better be quick, for I dinnae think its awfy happy.”
I hung up and moved quickly back to the car. I could just hear that the track was coming to an end, and I wasn’t ready for “Ragnarok” just yet. As I got back behind the wheel, there was movement in the back seat. I gripped the gun and turned, just as John Mason groaned and sat up. I pointed the gun at his chest as he rubbed his face. The folds of the coat fell away, revealing his rib cage, and the hypodermic dart that still jutted out at a right angle to his chest.
“Christ. What have you done to me?” he said. He touched the dart, and winced in obvious pain as a trickle of blood escaped and ran down his belly.
“What do you remember?” I asked.
“My father’s funeral,” he said, then his eyes went evasive and he couldn’t look at me. “Then some bad dreams. Very bad dreams.”
His hands started to shake.
“Cigarette?” he whispered
I kept the gun trained on him as I lit two cigarettes and, very carefully, passed one to him.
He sucked smoke for a while, and when he next spoke it was in a frightened croak. “I’ve killed people,” he said. “That wee man with the camera for one.”
I nodded.
“And the big cop…him as well?”
“Oh no. He’s alive. Just not very happy.”
“So what now?” he asked. He had fresh tears in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I haven’t made my mind up.”
Just then the track finished, and I started it up again. It was getting on my nerves…but I had a feeling that the drug wasn’t the only thing keeping John Mason docile.
“Tell me about the music,” I said.
He seemed to notice it for the first time.
“It’s the tune I heard…the first time…back on the beach,” he said. “And I’ve heard it since, in the night, in the Auld Kelpie.”
I nodded.
“And you’ll be hearing a lot more of it,” I said. “It’s important to keeping you stable…that’s all I know about it…but that’s enough.”
We smoked in silence for a while.
“Again. What now?” he said. “We can’t sit here like this forever.”
I realized something. He was John Mason again…not ‘the beast’ I had to capture. My mind was made up. I was going to take him back to Skye and find out what had happened to him, and whether anything could be done for him.
“Let’s get you some clothes,” I said. “My street cred will really be shot if anybody sees me with a naked man in the back of a hire car.”
Nine
I managed to get parked just in front of the office, and I made him go first up the stairs. I followed behind, the still-playing CD player in my left hand, the gun in my right.
“Through there,” I said, motioning towards the bedroom, “you’ll find the wardrobe. You’re welcome to anything that’s not a suit.”
He closed the door behind him, and I managed to relax slightly for the first time since he woke up.
I used the time wisely.
I wasn’t quite as computer illiterate as I let Doug believe, and in a couple of minutes I’d burned a new CD with fourteen copies of track four of “The Sons of Loki”. I’d just started playing it again in the CD player when two things happened at once…the phone rang, and Betty Mulholland walked into the office. I just had time to cover the gun with my jacket before motioning her to my clients’ chair.
I answered the phone, and old lady Malcolm was on the end.
“The old glass-eyed janitor here at the hospital said you have a message for me.”
Betty Mulholland was already looking impatient, and I had to be careful.
“I’ve got your package,” I said. “Where do you want it delivered?”
“You’ve got the boy?” she said. “Is he all right?”
“Yes and yes,” I replied. “I can deliver it tomorrow, just tell me where.”
“You mean Maryhill Police station or Skye, don’t you?” she said. “I’ve told you already. The only folk that know what to do with him are on Skye. Just get him there, and you’ll get paid.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep it light. “Tomorrow it is. I’ll be in touch.” And that’s when Jessie Malcolm’s voice changed. It was the old janitor who next spoke.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, and once more I heard the tap-tap, the sound of a finger against a glass eye. He chuckled, and had hung up before I had a chance to reply, which was just as well, as Betty was already looking at me strangely.
“It’s a bit late to be doing business, isn’t it?” she said.
I looked at my watch. It was just before 3.00 a.m.
“The early bird catches the worm,” I said, and smiled, testing the water.
She wasn’t biting.
“That hire car outside,” she said. “Is it yours?”
I thought about lying, but it would have been a feeble attempt. The car company had my credit card details on file.
I nodded.
“You got trouble coming,” she said. “You were caught on CCTV leaving the depot. And you’ve only got yourself to blame…you told them they needed to install the cameras.”
“The watchman?” I said.
“Dead,” she replied. “And we both know what did it.”
I nodded. I lit two cigarettes and passed one to her.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not from me,” she said. “I’m off duty.”
“Thanks.”
And John Mason chose that moment to remove the hypodermic dart from his chest. A short squeal of pain came from my bedroom.
“It’s Doug,” I said, lowering my voice. “He got lucky.”
Her left eyebrow raised.
“Must have been his dress sense,” she said.
We blew smoke at each other for a while, but there was no further noise from my room.
“Seriously, Derek,” she sai
d, “They’ll be round to see you first thing in the morning.”
“I’d better not be here, then,” I replied. “I need that favor, Betty. I need you to make this go away.”
“Too much to ask. This is a murder enquiry.”
“Give me two days,” I said. “If there’s another murder, you can throw the book at me. And if not…you can find a real junkie to blame. Our problem will be over.”
She stood and came over to stand above me.
“You’re not shitting me, are you?” she said. “I could lose my job.”
“Big Jock will back you up,” I said. “And as I said, I only need two days.”
“Promise?” she said.
She leant over me. We were almost nose to nose, then she came closer and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Her tongue flicked out and licked mine, then was gone just as quickly as she pulled away.
“Sealed with a kiss,” she said with a smile. “I’ll see what I can do… but now you owe me more than breakfast…a lot more.”
Just as she was about to leave the music came to the end of the track again…and started over.
She raised an eyebrow again.
“Your favorite song?”
“No. Doug’s,” I said. “It helps his rhythm.”
I got a small wave as she left, and I found myself wishing she’d come back. Life had suddenly gotten more interesting.
John Mason came out of the bedroom a minute later. He was wearing a pair of denims that had given up fitting me a year or so ago, and a woolen jumper I’d got as a present and had never worn. He dropped the hypo on the table in front of me.
“I can’t believe you stuck me with that thing,” he said.
“You deserved it,” I replied.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked again. And this time I had an answer.
“We get you back to Skye. Irene promised they knew what to do. Do you trust her?”
He nodded without even thinking about it.
“But not the brothers,” he said.
I agreed with him on that one.
The Midnight Eye Files: Volume 1 (Midnight Eye Collections) Page 38