by Nigel Bird
“There’s no point.” The voice is a mixture of gravel and wet cement. “In my experience, they never return.”
I turn to the man in the middle of the room. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and three-quarter length shorts. His sunglasses are propped up on the top of his wrinkled forehead. I wish he’d put them down so I didn’t have to look into his stony eyes. “Are you here to let me go?”
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose we are.”
The other two burst into cackles of laughter. Their faces would turn milk sour.
The man in the shirt lifts himself onto my bed and sits back. “You two get the drawing done. Sooner we get out of here the better. I want to be back out there in the heat.”
“You’re in charge?” I ask.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to introduce myself properly.” He holds out his small hand. There’s no way I’m going to touch it. “The name’s Barabbas.” His teeth are sharpened to points. He drops his hand and pushes himself back to the wall. Takes a stick from his pocket and chews on it. “May I introduce Rose and Thorn.”
They stare up at me. Nod. If one of them is a woman, I can’t tell which. They get back to work, unpacking art materials from a bag.
Barabbas steeples his stubby fingers and rests his chin on the point. Keeps the stick in his mouth. “It won’t take long. These two can knock up a picture in minutes.”
It suddenly dawns on me why they’re here. They’ve come for my soul. To take me through to the next world. And I have a feeling there won’t be an angel in sight when I get there. It’s what Arturo warned might happen if I strayed too far from the church.
“You can’t do this.” My voice is high and tight. “It’s all a big mistake.”
“My boss doesn’t make mistakes.” He reaches into his shirt pocket. Pulls out a square of paper. Unfolds it and hands it over.
There I am, collapsed on the floor. Hair fanned out like I’m floating in a pool. It’s the second time in two days that I’ve seen a picture of my corpse, but the fact I’ve done it before doesn’t make it any easier.
“And what exactly am I supposed to die of?” I can’t see it. “Spooning myself to death? Drowning in the soup?” Talking makes me feel better. Gives me courage I didn’t think I had.
“Everything’s in hand.” He points the chewed end of the stick at me. It smells of liquorice. “Once Rose and Thorn are done, we’ll kill you and lay you out on the image. What the coroner decides is no concern of ours.”
I swallow hard. Try and think things through. Wonder if there’s anything I can use to defend myself. The plastic fork won’t do much. My nails and feet will have to be enough. “Can I at least finish off my lunch before you take me?”
“A last request? Sure. Just make sure you don’t choke on it.” The trio chuckle away like I’m the entertainment for the afternoon.
“It would save you a lot of effort if I did.”
“But there would be no job satisfaction.” Barabbas sucks on his stick and settles down to watch.
I go to my tray. Start with the soup. It’s packed with flavour, but isn’t hot enough to use as a weapon. Same with the coffee - tasty but useless. Unless...
Rose and Thorn work quickly. The outline is done and they sketch the detail of my dress. They’ve added an extra twenty pounds to my figure, the bastards.
They start on the face and they’re good, but don’t have Arturo’s touch. They curl my mouth in an expression of fear. Add a glint of horror to the eyes. It doesn’t look like they’re intend to give me a gentle exit from this world. My stomach tightens and I want to throw up.
I think of Mum. How she’ll react. Losing one daughter knocked her off the rails for years. Losing another might do for her altogether. I have to get out of here in one piece, if only for her sake.
The artists put their pastels back into their boxes. They stand back and admire their work. The points of their teeth ruin their smiles.
I pick up the cup and throw the coffee over their art. Do the same with the soup. Fall to the floor and rub at the mess with my fingers until the picture is ruined.
Rose and Thorn watch on with their mouths open.
Barabbas isn’t so slow off the mark. He’s up on the bed and ready to leap in my direction.
I lift my leg, pull off my sandal and swing at his head for all I’m worth. The sole slaps against his skull. For the first time in my life, I wish I was more of a girly girl. A stiletto point would have done a lot more damage than this rubber. He falls off the bed and hits the floor hard. Rolls over in a ball and gets to his feet.
Rose and Thorn come to life again. They rush me, snarling like wolves in battle. I kick hard at one of them. Catch him on the bridge of the nose. Send a spray of blood across the white wall. The tiny red dots remind me of Seurat’s sunsets.
The other butts me in the chest and knocks me into the table. The tray clatters to the floor and I land on the lemon tart. The bowl breaks into pieces. I pick up the biggest and point it in front of me. Any one of these little men comes near I’ll slice them to ribbons with my improvised blade.
Barabbas disappears behind me. I swing at nothing. He grabs my hair. Pulls hard. The roots strain against my scalp. I try to grab my opponent, but he’s stronger than he looks. My head snaps back and hits the corner of the desk. The weapon flies from my grip.
His team-mates pounce. One’s on my chest, the other has my legs. My shin burns as the teeth sink in.
My scream dies. It’s followed by a new sound. The rattle of keys. The door opens. In walk Red and Green. Puzzled looks spread over their faces.
Red scratches his ear. “Was the soup not to your liking?” The rash around his eyes looks like a carnival disguise.
Food is scattered on the floor among broken crockery. My pillow and sheet hang from the bed. One of my shoes is propped up against the far wall. My hands are shaking, my face flushed. I imagine my hair isn’t at its best.
The picture, however, has completely disappeared.
My attackers have scuttled off into the corner. Barabbas stands on the shoulders of the others. Together they form a pyramid of evil. They point fingers my way and make rasping noises. Red and Green don’t see any of it.
Green offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me to my feet. “A young man came into the station earlier. A nice guy. Looks like he was born in the wrong decade.”
“He knew you were here. Insisted we called the embassy and enquired about you.”
“We ignored him, of course.” Red takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his watering eyes. “Until we heard that our colleagues have caught the killer from the incident at the station.” He folds the hanky and puts it away. “Why didn’t you tell us who your father is?”
I’m still catching my breath. Don’t answer.
“You could have saved all of us a lot of bother.”
The door opens once more. In comes the man who served my lunch. He looks at the mess. Shakes his head. “I’ll get a mop.”
The demons break formation. Rose and Thorn sprint towards the exit and vanish. Barabbas takes his time. Brushes down his shirt. Hisses and spits in my direction and disappears with the policeman.
“Miss Swift?”
The words of the detective capture my attention.
“Would it have made any difference to the way you treated me?” I ask. “You didn’t give me a chance to speak if I remember correctly.”
Red rubs his eyes. “I think it was the other way around.”
“But let’s not worry about such things.” Green’s voice is calm. It lacks its usual power. “We’re prepared to overlook your assault, as long as you can forgive our hasty action.”
It sounds fair. I nod.
“And for the duration of your stay in our city, we’ll be at your disposal. If anything untoward happens, you’ll have out undivided attention.” Red hands over a card. It has a name and a phone number. “That works twenty-four hours a day. Use it if you need.”
“Now, if you’d like to follow us, we’ll arrange some transport for you to get you home.”
I don’t like the idea. How on earth will I explain to them that I can’t return to the hotel. “Is Valentino still around?”
“The man with the scooter? He was in reception when we came down.”
“Then I’ll take a lift with him.”
The twins look at each other and back at me. “As you wish.”
They walk out of the cell and I follow.
It doesn’t take long to get to the front of house. Red raises the counter and I walk through. None of us say goodbye.
Valentino’s leaning on the wall. He sees me and breaks out into a grin. I run over and hug him like he’s an old friend. He takes my hand and leads me out into the street. We put on helmets and mount the scooter.
“Home James,” I tell him.
His eyebrows rise like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
The throttle revs. A gap appears in the traffic. As we pull away my insides crumble into dust as I wonder if I’ll ever get to see my family and friends ever again.
Episode Five
Rory slots an old penny into the fortune-telling machine on the pier. I hold his hand tight and rest my head on his shoulder. The gypsy lady flashes into life and her arrow spins. It stops in the three o’clock position, directly between two segments: ‘True Love’ and ‘Mind Your Step’.
He taps the glass to help the gypsy make up her mind. The arrow doesn’t budge. A pink card spits from the chrome. I pull it out and hand it over.
“Watch out for tall dark men.” He chuckles. Crunches it up and throws it towards the litter bin in the corner. Misses. I pick it up and squirrel it away into my pocket, a souvenir of our day out. A little something to put into my box of sentimental objects. I’ll get it out to brighten the dark winter nights when we’re old.
Rory goes over to the laughing policeman and inserts his last coin. The air fills with sinister guffaws as the puppet in the middle of the box gyrates. The fixed grin plastered across the face creeps me out. I drown in a pool of childhood memories. The sound swirls in my ears and makes me turn away. I grab Rory by the arm and turn him towards the exit. “Let’s walk.”
We wander back towards land. I look down between the boards and watch the sea splash and foam. The winter air is cold and clean. The pressure of revision and the burden of my parents’ expectations seem a million miles away.
He stops, takes out his phone and holds it up. We put our heads together and he clicks. Shows me the picture to get my approval.
My skin is pale. The beanie is off centre and my hair is blowing across my face. He’s gorgeous as usual. His thick curly hair and beard give him the appearance of super intelligence and his smile is big enough for the both of us. I admire his perfect cheekbones for a moment and then nod my approval.
He clicks the screen and shares it with his Instagram buddies. Returns the phone to his pocket and steps away. “Last one to the end buys milkshakes.” He’s already off, sprinting to the finish line. Rory’s such a boy sometimes. I guess that’s one of the reasons I love him so.
A gust of wind wraps itself around me. Carries me off to the left. I bang my shin on the corner of a bench. Cry out in pain. Rory doesn’t hear. He’s too busy winning to notice anything. I rub my leg and limp on, cross with his little game. And it’s now, just like every other time, I realise I’ve been here before.
Everything is instantly familiar. The tower pointing to the sky. Gulls hanging in the air like children’s kites. The sand stretching off into the distance. The knowledge that something is about to go horribly wrong and that there’s nothing I can do to change it.
I run faster. Catch up with Rory who’s already teasing me with his victory. I don’t stop. Carry on until my feet are back on the promenade.
A tram pulls in at the stop. An old couple disembark. The wind catches the man’s cap and he has to grab it to keep it on his head. I run over the track, cross the road and keep going until my lungs refuse to carry on.
I wait for Rory. We wander off the main drag and find our cafe. It’s where we came the first time and we’ve popped in on every visit since.
I order two chocolate shakes and we sit on the tall stools in the window bay. We wait in silence until our drinks arrive.
“It’s good to be back,” he says after sucking on his straw.
He’s right. I forgive him for beating me in the race and give his hand a squeeze. “Isn’t it?” A feeling of doubt sprouts somewhere in my stomach. I know he will say something I don’t want to hear, I just can’t remember what it is.
“Listen.” Never a good opening to a conversation. “I’ve been thinking.” Even worse. “About us renting a flat together when we go away.”
It’s the elephant in the room. Has been since I brought it up on Christmas Eve. It has huge ears and sharp tusks. “And?”
“I did some research. The halls of residence are really rather splendid. And the prices compare more than favourably with the rental properties on the market.”
Nothing I didn’t know already. “Go on.”
“They provide meals and everything. Just think about it. No tedious cooking or washing up. No dull trips to the supermarket. Nothing but fun.”
I take a drink. It’s not a proper shake, just a glass of milk with sugary powder thrown in. Still, it tastes just perfect. I shut my eyes and pretend none of this is happening. Remember that it’s all a dream. That if I can wake myself up, it will all be over. I concentrate hard. Urge my sleeping body to stir. Nothing doing. “Apart from the studying.” The script, it seems, has to remain exactly the same.
“Of course. Fun and studying. You soak up your art history while I discover new stars in the universe and we’ll meet up in the pub to compare notes.”
“Sounds great.” It really does, only that’s not what moving in together was about. It was more to do with commitment. “But if we lived in the same house, we’d share everything.”
He takes another drink. Looks right into my eyes. His contact lenses circle those beautiful blue irises like rings around crystal planets. “I was talking to my dad about it and he thinks it would be better if we had a little space.”
“I’m not having a relationship with your father, Rory. It’s what you think that matters.”
He looks away. Breathes deep. “I happen to agree with him.”
“About having our own space?”
A nod.
“So I’m cramping your style. Is that it?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then tell me.”
I want to throw my milkshake into his face. Show him how important this is. I fold my arms instead and wait for him to respond.
“You know you mean the whole world to me, Nat.” That’s what he always says. “But we have to make sure we’re living in reality. We’re only eighteen and our whole lives stretch ahead of us. Who knows what will happen when we leave home?”
I have a feeling I do, but keep it to myself.
“We’ll get a first class education and take the next step when the time comes.”
I float away from the drama. Sense I’m on the outside for a moment, like I’ve just changed places in the scene. I’m watching myself and Rory as they spend their final hour together. I shake my head at the couple before me. They seem so young. So naive. I try and cry out. Warn Rory that there are no next steps if he doesn’t take a different route. “Stay in the cafe where it’s warm and safe,” I want to say. “Buy a couple of their burgers.” The cheapest in town according to the hand-written sign
Just like the other times, no sound leaves my mouth. All I can do is watch them move towards their destiny. If only I could turn away.
“But things might not work out the way you imagine.” I’m back in the scene and listening to Rory explain his logic. “People change, Nat. We’ll change. It’s just what happens.”
“I know.” My heart is racing. “Only if we stay close, we’ll g
row together instead of apart.”
“I love your optimism, Nat. I really do.” He reaches over. Strokes my cheek so gently it’s like his fingers are made of rose petals.
“So we can start looking for a place together?”
His hand returns to his lap. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
I don’t.
“Let’s just give it a week or two.” Typical Rory. Trying to avoid conflict to keep everything cool. I’m not sure if all boys are like this, or just the scientists. “By then, you might see the sense in what I’m saying.”
He might be able to stay calm. I can’t. Thoughts are popping off inside my head like explosions at a firework factory.
Amidst the noise and chaos, I try and puzzle it out. Does he think we might break up? Is he hoping to cut out a new life and meet someone else when we go? Is he merely paving the way to dumping me before we leave? If I lose weight, would it stop all of his nonsense?
“Drink up,” he tells me. “Why don’t we drive over to the pleasure beach? A trip down the Ice Blast will take your mind away from everything.”
He’s being so bloody reasonable I hate him.
“Go to hell Rory Baines.” I jump down from my stool. Grab my bag, pull my hat to my eyes and wrap my scarf around my neck. Before he can stop me, I’m running down the stairs to the exit. The proprietor, comb-over slicked to his scalp, watches me open-mouthed as I try to slam the door. Shakes his head as if passing judgement on my entire generation and gets back to watching whatever crap the TV above his head is showing.
My eyes are hot. Tears pour down my face. My chest heaves to the rhythm of my sobs. Unsure of where to go, I head towards the sea. Just like always, I pass the mother shouting at her young lad and then a gang of teenagers smoking outside the pub. I step to the side to avoid the sleeping bag of the homeless guy in the doorway and suck up a whiff of stale urine. Cross the road. Notice a woman crouched low and drawing on the pavement. I register the array of colours laid out in the box by her feet and keep on running.
And the world freezes.
Something’s wrong.
This game isn’t one we normally play.