Dark Waters

by Mary-Jane Riley

  She stretched. Time for a cup of something, or a glass of something stronger. She was about to walk out of her study when she heard a noise. The smallest of noises followed by a creak in the sitting room below. There was another creak and a thud, followed by the sibilance of a voice. She stood stock still, listening hard.

  Footsteps.

  As usual she had left the front door unlocked.

  Someone was in the house.

  She looked around. If she were in a crime novel there would be a handy baseball bat or two propped up in the corner. She had nothing like that. A heavy edition of the Oxford dictionary. That would have to do.

  Having negotiated the stairs without standing on the noisy treads, she crept along the hall. Daylight was fading fast. There was a light in the sitting room – torchlight, she thought.

  She opened the door.

  It all happened in a matter of seconds: a figure clad in black with their back to her. The anger building at the thought of someone in her home, invading her space. An enormous shout from deep within her chest. The figure turning around. A balaclava covering the face. The thud as she slammed the dictionary at the side of the intruder’s face. Missed. Caught the arm instead. A grunt of pain. Something sharp, stinging in her nostrils. A smell with a whisper of familiarity. The pain exploding in her head as a fist caught her temple. Flashes of light behind her eyes. Falling. The shock of the back of her head hitting the ground. Then nothing.

  24

  Cambridge 1976

  It took me three days to recover from the experience in the abandoned church. Three days of sweating in my bed, leaving it only to run and throw up in the tiny shared bathroom. God only knew what the other inhabitants of Staircase C must have thought. Eventually I was able to get out of my grimy, smelly bed and look for something to eat. But there was only cornflakes, dry and straight out of the packet.

  What had gone on that night? And, more importantly, what was in those pills Willem had given us? They seemed more than the normal uppers. My memory was shrouded in mists and darkness. I couldn’t tell what was a real memory and what was an hallucination. Were there naked men and women writhing on the floor? Did I see a man (woman?) in a black robe and mask bring a knife down onto the goat? Did I hear its death squeal? And the chanting, oh, that chanting. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

  Nor the screaming.

  Stu.

  Now I remembered his face that night. Contorted. Crying. Horrified. Eyes popping out of his head. A bad trip. What had been in those fucking pills? I remember him grabbing onto me, not letting me go, gibbering like a baby, telling me flies were bursting from his mouth, maggots undulating under his skin. He had torn at his clothes, had scratched his skin until he bled. I closed my eyes, trying to remember more.

  I think we carried him out of the church, stuffed him in the car. Did we? I told Willem to drive, to get us out of there. Willem had looked affronted, as if we had spoiled his fun. As if Stu had spoiled his fun. I suppose we had. What happened when we arrived back in Cambridge? I think I took Stu to his room, rolled him into bed. Then it was a blank.

  God.

  With legs that were still weak, I made my way to Stu’s room and knocked on the door. There was no reply. I pushed the door, hoping he had left it on the latch for a quick route to the toilet. I was in luck.

  The room was in darkness and smelled of sweat and vomit. Stu was lying prone on the bed, with a stinky bucket by his side. He wasn’t alone. Jen was there, gently wiping his face with a wet flannel.

  ‘Jen,’ I said.

  She looked up. ‘I couldn’t leave him on his own,’ she said, tearfully. ‘He was having a bad trip and now—’ She pointed at him.

  Stu’s skin was mottled. I mean, a really horrible mottled red. ‘Jen, what was it all about?’

  ‘Whatever Willem gave him it was fucking strong. Stronger than whatever we had. Or he didn’t have as much tolerance as us.’

  What she meant was that we had become used to popping the pills Willem fed us. I felt something akin to shame flood my body. What was I doing? This was madness.

  She bit her bottom lip. ‘I think he might need to go to hospital.’ She looked so vulnerable, I wanted to go over and hug her. ‘Bloody Willem.’

  I sought Willem out.

  ‘What did you think you were doing?’ I said, my voice sounding loud and shrill.

  ‘Experience, darling.’ His eyes shone. ‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’

  ‘Enjoy it? I can barely remember anything except coming down. It was bad, Willem, really bad. And Stu’s in a terrible state.’

  Willem’s lip curled, actually curled. ‘He shouldn’t play with the big boys. Jumped-up little oik.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Think?’

  ‘Of the church?’

  ‘Willem, I can barely remember it.’ Not quite true. But my memories were nightmares of flickering shadows, grotesque silhouettes, discordant noises.

  He laughed. ‘It was the good people of the Aleister Crowley Society.’

  I thought for a minute. ‘Aleister Crowley. He was some sort of occultist, wasn’t he?’ My childhood Dennis Wheatley obsession was coming in useful.

  Willem nodded. ‘Clever boy.’

  ‘Can you be a little more patronizing?’

  ‘He was a student at Trinity at the end of the nineteenth century.’ Willem carried on as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘Believed in doing what you wanted to satisfy yourself. Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people. Those of similar mind follow his teaching.’

  ‘Do what thou wilt,’ I said, remembering the words, tasting them in my mouth. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake.’ Remembering that as I chanted I felt all-powerful, as if I could do whatever I wanted and there would be no consequences. I could do whatever I wanted and nothing and no one could stop me. I shivered. ‘Life isn’t like that,’ I said. ‘Are you part of the society?’

  ‘Me?’ Willem laughed. ‘No chance, darling. All too woo-woo and flat-sandaled for me. Roger didn’t like it either, poor boy. He’s got old-time religion as it is. Goes to church every week, wouldn’t want to bat for the Devil. Derek was angry because he couldn’t take any pictures. Jen is angry with me because Jen always is, but Stu? Well.’ Willem looked at me, a smile curving his lips. ‘He really joined in. Discarded his clothes and got, well, stuck in, to use the vernacular.’

  ‘I’ll ask you again, Willem. What did you give Stu?’

  He opened his eyes wide, trying to look innocent. ‘Merely something to help him enjoy the evening.’

  I banged the table. ‘It was too bloody strong. Jen is about to cart him off to hospital. You could have killed him.’

  ‘He would have died smiling.’

  Willem had no boundaries.

  ‘Willem—’

  He held his hands up in surrender. ‘I’m sorry, okay? Don’t be angry with me. I was only trying to help.’

  ‘I’d hate to see you if you were hindering.’

  Suddenly, shockingly, he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I fought the urge to wipe it away with the back of my hand.

  For once, Willem looked embarrassed. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time. Oh, I know you are not my way inclined, but still. If I didn’t do it, I would regret it all my life.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Please,’ said Willem. ‘Don’t say anything.’

  ‘I won’t. About Stu—’

  ‘Oh, never mind Stu. He’ll never amount to anything.’

  I eyed Willem. ‘You’re wicked.’

  He grinned. ‘I know.’

  25

  ‘Alex? Alex? Are you all right?’ The panicky voice came from the bottom of a lift shaft.

  Alex tried to lift her head and open her eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t, as waves of pain crashed over her. She heard someone groaning and wished they would stop. Then she realized it was her.

  ‘Take it easy.’

  Was that who she thought it was?
/>   She opened her eyes again. The pain was marginally less this time.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  It was who she thought it was.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  Heath’s face swam into focus. She sat up carefully, holding her head, her tongue probing her teeth, one at a time. They all felt as though they were loose. She hoped she was imagining that. The pickaxes in her head had slowed down; it was now more of an intermittent banging.

  ‘Never mind me, what’s happened to you?’ Heath, crouching down in front of her, eyed her anxiously.

  She thought rolling her eyes might be a bad idea. ‘Having a little rest.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone was here, they hit me with – I don’t know what. Knocked me out. It bloody hurts.’

  The pickaxes started up again, big time. She closed her eyes for a moment to allow them to slow down. She opened them again. Nausea rose in her throat. ‘What are you doing here is more to the point.’ A thought came into her head. ‘Please tell me you’re not the one who attacked me?’

  ‘I’d hardly have stuck around if I had been,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘You might. To allay suspicion.’

  ‘Allay – for goodness’ sake, Alex you’re talking nonsense. You must be concussed. I was coming to your gate when someone came out of your house, running like Usain Bolt. I was worried about you, especially when I saw the front door had been left wide open. So, I came in, and there you were on the floor. God, I thought you were dead at first.’

  ‘That would have been inconvenient. Or a good story. First on the scene and all that.’ She touched the back of her head and flinched. Her fingers came away sticky with blood. ‘I must have been out for a few minutes then.’

  ‘Right.’ Heath stood. ‘That’s it. I’m taking you to A&E.’

  ‘No, you’re not, I’m fine.’

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘I am fine. I’ll go in the morning if I still have a headache. But I haven’t got double vision, I don’t feel sick, at least not to the point where I want to throw up. I’m not going. It’s a waste of time.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you can be stubborn.’

  ‘I know.’ She grinned. But that hurt, so she frowned instead. ‘Did you see who it was who ran out?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. They were wearing a balaclava. I thought they’d stopped making those things years ago. I didn’t run after them because I was worried about you. Is anything missing?’

  Alex looked around. ‘I don’t know.’ It felt like too much of an effort to get up and make an inventory. There was nothing valuable in the house – she didn’t own anything valuable. The television and her computer were the only things worth stealing, but her computer was upstairs and the television was still in the corner. ‘I don’t think so.’ She looked at Heath. ‘Come on, you haven’t told me what—’ Then it was as if she had just realized who was standing in her living room. ‘Bloody hell, Heath. Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you. I thought you were chained to that business desk, but every time I try to get hold of you, you’re not there. And I must have phoned you a dozen times. Texted you. I’ve needed to tell you things. Where the fuck have you been?’

  Heath held up his hands as if to defend himself. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry.’ He groaned and sat down in an armchair. ‘Don’t make me feel any worse. I couldn’t talk to you. And I didn’t get any of your texts.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll get up off the floor without your help.’ Alex hauled herself slowly up and settled in the other armchair next to him. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes, trying not to think about the blood that would be seeping into the back of the chair. ‘So what have you been doing? And have you been ignoring the heavily pregnant Mimi as well? Does she even exist?’

  ‘All these questions, Alex. Have you got a drink?’

  ‘Kettle’s in the kitchen.’

  ‘Not that sort of drink.’ He peered at her. ‘And maybe you ought to have a brandy or something, you’re as white as Bud’s legs.’

  ‘How do you know about Bud’s legs? When did you see those? That would be a thing, wouldn’t it? Just imagine the office gossip about the pair of you.’

  ‘Alex, you’re rambling. It was on a newspaper away day. That I saw his legs. In the swimming pool. Oh, never mind.’

  Despite her exhaustion Alex managed to smile at Heath tying himself up in knots.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Heath. ‘You had me worried for a minute.’

  ‘Tell me, Heath.’

  She heard Heath shift on the chair, then a sigh. ‘Yes, of course Mimi does. Exist, I mean.’ Heath was indignant. ‘But she’s not my girlfriend.’

  Alex opened her eyes. ‘Ah. Someone you happened to get pregnant? Well done.’

  ‘It isn’t like that—’ He stopped when he saw Alex’s face. ‘Maybe it is. I’m sorry. But I do need the steady dosh the job brings. For the moment anyway.’

  ‘How did you expect to get away with the hearts and flowers story for nine months? How would you have faced me and told me how happy the three of you were as a family?’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t, Alex. And anyway, there probably won’t be a job in nine months the way things are going.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Heath? Why did you even agree to help me? Or was that a lie too?’ God, she needed to sleep.

  He heaved himself out of his chair and went to the kitchen. Alex heard him opening and shutting the kitchen cupboards. He came back brandishing a bottle of brandy and two glasses. ‘Here we are,’ he said, pouring it into the glasses with a flourish and handing one to her. ‘That’ll get the colour back into your cheeks. And no, it wasn’t a lie.’ He hesitated.

  Suddenly her pulse was racing. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Malone. He’s been in Greece. On an island – Ithaka.’

  For a wild moment thoughts of flights and hotels and hiring a car chased away the pounding in her brain.

  ‘But he’s not there any more.’ Heath’s voice broke into her skittering thoughts. ‘Disappeared at the same time as the Albanian child-trafficker who was looking for him.’

  The pounding returned. ‘Does that mean—?’

  ‘Alex.’ Heath’s voice was gentle, which made her bite her lip even more to stop easy tears threatening. ‘It just means he’s off the grid at the moment. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything has happened to him.’

  ‘But it might have.’

  ‘Perhaps. But my contact said it was most likely he’s gone to ground.’

  ‘But …’ Her world was suddenly out of sync. ‘I might never find out if anything happens to him. No one will tell me. No one even really knows about him and me.’ She was grateful for Heath’s silence. ‘So you don’t know where he is now?’ The question came out of her mouth before she had time to think. The blow to her head had sent her stupid.

  He sipped the brandy and grimaced. ‘Bit rough, this. The last I heard was that he could be travelling back to the UK.’

  ‘Right.’ Then she heard the words again in her head. ‘The last you heard? From your contact?’

  ‘Yes. I did keep that end of the bargain. Though Malone’s a dangerous man, Alex. But I expect you know that.’

  Alex reached across to him. ‘Thank you.’

  Then she saw him properly for the first time. He was looking into the distance, his skin appeared grey, and there were deep grooves at the corners of his mouth. He took a silver cigarette case out of his jeans. ‘Do you mind?’

  Alex shook her head. ‘Where have you been, Heath? I even had Bud haranguing me on the phone.’ She sipped her drink cautiously.

  He turned and looked at her. ‘Bud?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry, I couldn’t tell him anything because I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything about me doing some digging for you? Helping you?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing. Don’t want him on my back, that’
s all.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  He shrugged again. ‘You don’t need to know, but I had to leave the desk for a couple of days. I wanted to follow up a lead.’

  ‘A lead?’

  ‘Yup.’ He took out a cigarette paper, and shook tobacco out of a pouch, lining it up along the paper. He reached inside his pocket again, hesitated, took his hand away. Then he rolled the cigarette before lighting it and drawing deeply on it. ‘Working on the business unit, I found out a couple of things.’

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you. Not just at the moment. It could be something or nothing. But equally—’

  ‘Stop being so bloody mysterious, Heath, I’m not buying it.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I was just passing.’ He grinned, weakly.

  ‘Heath, tell me the truth. What am I missing?’

  He leaned his head back, blew smoke out of his mouth in a steady stream. ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’

  ‘You could have answered your phone and done that,’ she replied, tartly.

  ‘Okay. I also had some things to find out.’

  ‘What things?’

  He didn’t say anything, merely shook his head.

  ‘Here, in Sole Bay?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  God, the man was infuriating. ‘Why on earth have you antagonized Bud, leaving the desk like that? You could lose your job: exactly what you didn’t want. For God’s sake, Heath, you’re a good journalist. Maybe one day you could be a great one—’

  ‘Come off it, Alex. It’s not going anywhere, is it, these days? Journalism, hmm? Papers closing, staff laid off, bloody so-called citizen journalists.’

  ‘Don’t be so defeatist. Fight it. Write good stories. Uncover corruption. All of that.’ She waved her hand at him. Why was she having this conversation now?

  ‘Don’t be naive, Alex. Corruption is everywhere. Too much of it.’

  ‘Tell me what you found.’