Man of Ruin: Episode One (Extra Special Pre-Release Edition)

by Oliver Franks

  But needing to pee trumps all other needs. I decided that it was still early and I could probably get away with a quick hump to the field in my dressing gown.

  So I patted down the lovely carpeted stairs, almost sliding over on the wood of the hallway below. The downstairs seemed to be silent so I threw all caution to the wind and made a dash for the French doors. Sliding them open, I legged it down the length of the lawn and straight to the field behind the bushes where I immediately and very satisfyingly let all my troubles wash away. Greenish-grey smoke rose as the grass was incinerated, and I felt almost used to the awful smell.

  I trotted back to the house, much more relaxed, yet I realised that all was not well, for Daryl was closing the French doors with a frown, and immediately saw me walking there.

  He opened them again and watched me suspiciously as I approached.

  “Good morning Dave,” he said.

  “Oh, morning Daryl,” I waved casually, walking past him through the opened door.

  “Another stroll?”

  “Yeah,” I turned to him, pretending that my being outside in a dressing gown first thing in the morning was a completely normal thing to be doing. “The air is freshest in the morning. Don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so,” he said, closing the doors.

  I ignored him and just went back upstairs.

  Luckily the doctor had by now gotten dressed and was just leaving her bedroom.

  “Good morning Dave,” she said, looking down the corridor at me. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes doc, lovely kip thanks.”

  “Good,” she said. “Come down when you’ve got dressed, I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Right,” I said, with a sigh.

  Rather than going to my bedroom I just stood there for a moment, considering my words.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just, well, I haven’t got a change of clothes. Was wearing those ones all day yesterday and… lots of running about and that. Could really do with a change, you know.”

  “Oh I see,” she said, a little too sparky for my liking, given the subject matter and the fact that it was first thing in the morning. “Well,” she looked me up and down, “you’re not far off from Chris in build, why don’t I lend you some of his?”

  “If he doesn’t mind,” I said, meekly.

  “Well, he won’t know…”

  “Great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  She was still looking me up and down.

  “No, I’m sure you’ll be able to squeeze into them. Perhaps some of his older ones, from before he went on the diet.”

  *****

  Clothes that fitted and an awkward first piss of the day were minor problems compared to what came next.

  The doc soon found some suitable items for me from the wardrobe of Mr Middle-Aged-Dad. An awful pair of beige Gant Chinos, a plain white t-shirt (Gant too) and a knitted v-neck grey sweater, another horrible Gant item. Oh, and, though it felt slightly wrong, I even had a pair of his boxers and some socks too. Lovely items they were, I must say. Top quality cotton and yes, you’ve guessed it, Gant.

  I headed downstairs to breakfast with the doc and her moody son and we sat together at the table in the light of the morning, the sound of birds chirping pleasantly from outside. Only now Daryl wasn’t taking no for an answer in terms of information about me and my reason for lodging at his wonderful family home.

  “So Dave,” he said, almost as soon as I’d sat down. “Are you feeling better today?”

  I could sense he now considered it his duty as a son to know how and why this strange, overweight yob had been taken in by his poor, gullible mother.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Not too bad.”

  “I hope you like the clothes too—”

  “Daryl,” his mum came to my rescue again. “Leave Dave alone.”

  “I’m sorry Daryl,” I said. “I know it must be strange for you. I really owe a lot to your mum right now.”

  He grunted and she smiled at me.

  Wanting to change the subject, I remembered that my phone had run out of battery. For some reason it had slipped my mind the night before.

  “Doc,” I called to her.

  “Oh please Dave,” she said, frying eggs. “Do call me Lucy.”

  “Lucy,” I said awkwardly, not liking the familiar sound of it, and noticing the Daryl, glaring at me, felt the same way. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone charger spare would you?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Daryl, you know where they are.”

  Daryl grunted, got up and opened a drawer.

  “What kind of a phone you got Dave?” he said.

  “Samsung,” I said.

  He plugged in a charger onto the wall above the kitchen counter for me, sat back down, and I stood up with my phone and plugged it in.

  “That reminds me,” said the doc, Lucy, coming over to me and whispering. “Have you called the police yet, as we discussed?”

  Now problem number 3 hit me like a ton of bricks.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “You really must Dave,” she said, her eyes widening with concern. “If there is any damage at all, it really is in your interests to let the police know what happened as soon as possible.”

  I wanted to tell her about the homeless guy, about how scared shitless I was of anyone finding out everything that had happened, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  “I will doc,” I said. “As soon as my phone is charged, OK? I was all out of battery yesterday and what with everything, it just slipped my mind.”

  “Yes, mine too,” she said, with a guilty look.

  Knowing full well that calling the police would create an utter shit storm, I had no intention of taking such drastic action as calling them straightaway. No, at this point I hoped I could fob her off for a bit whilst I thought things through again, not that I expected to get anywhere new with that thinking, but you never knew.

  “Alright,” she said, that professional hardness returning to her eyes. “Remember what I said though. If you don’t, I will. It has to be today, Dave, OK? Promise?”

  “I promise,” I said.

  Then I went and sat down again at the table with Daryl. He looked at me, resting his hands on his knuckles.

  “Alright Daryl?” I said.

  “I’m fine,” he said, still looking at me.

  “Thanks for the phone charger,” I said, trying to sneak every ounce of belligerence into the words that I could.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, almost managing to do the same.

  But not quite. I’m the King of Belligerence when I want to be. Even in a Gant sweater.

  *****

  I could be as belligerent and deceitful as I wanted, but I couldn’t escape the fact that the doc had meant what she said. Breakfast was a tense affair, with none of the easy going, wine-fuelled banter of the night before. Both of them kept giving me looks, as if to say ‘I’m watching you’, although admittedly for very different reasons.

  As I ate the last spoonful of eggs, I sorely wished I had the balls to ask the doc for further helpings. I also made what I considered to be something of a ballsy decision. I would say my thanks to her, to them both even (I could be generous too when I wanted), then I would leave that house and never come back. I’d disappear. It was a Sunday so I had no job not to turn up to, to chase me, and in any case that didn’t matter because I would quit. There was no way I could hold down that job any more. The office was slap bang in the town centre, with the nearest park some miles away. It just wouldn’t work. So I’d call them on Monday, hand in my resignation. I’d sneak back into my flat, pack my bags and hit the road. I had a fair amount of dosh saved up, having never gone travelling or bought a car or anything like that. Now was my chance. I’d empty my account, get myself a load of traveller’s cheques and take the first flight to Asia and be done with it.

  Of course then it occurred to me that long-haul flights wer
e probably not the best idea given my condition. Alright, I said to myself, I’ll take a train to Europe. Well, no actually Dave, that little voice piped up, same problem. Oh for God’s sake it doesn’t matter! OK, I’ll buy a car, or hitch-hike or something. I’ll go wherever the wind takes me, follow the path of least resistance. Something like that.

  Daryl cleared away the breakfast plates to the sink and did the washing up, while the doctor silently took her mug of coffee to the living room and switched on the TV.

  I stood up, glancing at my phone on the kitchen counter. It was at 50% battery now. Technically I could switch it on and call anyone I wanted to. I was certain that this loomed large in the doc’s mind. She was giving me the silent treatment and would do so till I did what she wanted. Today was a Sunday, which meant, I assumed, that she would not be going back to the surgery. So I could expect a full day’s worth of such joy if I stayed around in this house.

  No. It was time to go. The time was now—

  “Bloody hell!”

  It was the doc, shouting to herself from the living room.

  “Dave!” she shouted. “Come here! Now!”

  She sounded both concerned and annoyed, the way a parent often does. I had a sinking feeling, as if my life was about to end.

  I wasn’t far off either because as soon as I made my way over I saw my own stupid pudgy face blasted up to huge proportions on the TV.

  “It’s me!” I blurted.

  Rosy cheeks, smiling, pint in hand. They’d taken my Facebook profile pic.

  “Yes!” she cried.

  “What is it?” Daryl had joined us now.

  We all watched in silence as the newsreader told the torrid tale. My torrid tale, I should say.

  *****

  “A local man is wanted by the police in connection with a series of bizarre acts of acid related vandalism, grievous bodily harm and possibly murder. This morning Surrey police are calling for witnesses and anyone who can help to ascertain the whereabouts of call-centre worker David Smith. A spate of vandal attacks causing serious damage to a local pub and in several local parks as well as in Crawley Hospital were last night connected to an unprovoked acid attack on a homeless man outside the Marlborough pub. The man, named by police as Philip Pence, is said to be in a stable condition but with injuries that doctors say could be life-threatening. Several witnesses at the scene identified David Smith to the police, who also have testimony from witnesses at other scenes of vandalism throughout Crawley—”

  It was me who turned the bloody thing off.

  “Right,” I said.

  “Dave? What the hell?” said Daryl, nostrils flaring.

  “I can explain—”

  “What about that homeless man they mentioned,” said the doc. “You never told me about that?”

  “No,” I said. “I-”

  “Call the police, right now Dave. Do it!”

  “Mum?”

  “Shut up Daryl!” she shouted. “Dave,” she said, now fully into her angry mother routine. “If you don’t call them right away, you know how this looks?”

  “How?” I gulped, feeling stupid for asking.

  “It looks like you’re a bloody vandal is how it looks! And possibly, if that poor man dies, a murderer.”

  “Mum, why is this bloke in our house?”

  “Moreover,” she continued, “it looks like we’ve been sheltering you!”

  “Oh dear,” I said, pathetically.

  “Yes, oh dear!” she cried.

  Then she sort of fell into the arms of Daryl, who managed to give me the dirtiest look I think I’ve ever seen.

  “Alright,” I said, putting my hands up. “You’re right. I’ll phone them now.”

  It was distressing for me to see the doc upset like that, especially after how kind she’d been, the pizza and that, all the giggles we’d had the night before.

  I moped over to the phone, still extremely reluctant to call.

  “It was an accident,” I said again, meekly.

  Daryl sort of growled at me.

  Feeling completely at a loss, I picked up the phone. I started dialling the numbers. 999. Then I stopped, turning to Daryl and the doc.

  “Should I dial 999?” I asked. “Or something else?”

  “It doesn’t matter Dave!” shrieked the doc. “I can’t believe you hurt someone so badly like that… I mean… why? Couldn’t you control yourself?”

  “It was an accident!” I protested. “Just a horrible accident…”

  “Mum,” said Daryl. “Would you please tell me what is going on? I mean, what is this man doing here? Why did you bring him here?”

  “Look, I’m not some kind of criminal alright!” I shouted. “It’s just that—”

  “Oh Daryl,” said his mum, holding her son’s hands. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s just… so strange.”

  “You’re telling me,” I mumbled.

  “What is so strange mum?” Daryl pressed, frowning at me, though he was now talking softly to his mother.

  “This man,” she pointed to me, clearly distraught. “This man,” she repeated, struggling to get the words out, “has been…”

  “Yes mum, go on?”

  I couldn’t stand it. She’d been so nice to me, so understanding up to now.

  “He’s been… peeing some kind of… acid.”

  She delivered the words with an air of pure horror.

  “What?!” Daryl wore a look of utter disbelief, shock and disgust all rolled into one.

  “He came to my surgery yesterday, and I didn’t believe him at first. But then he showed me, Daryl. Then he showed me! And it was real. I think… It was terrible. Unbelievable. He destroyed my wall.” She rambled, clearly afraid, and Daryl was listening calmly, staring at me, a picture of distrust, I might as well have been Osama Bin Laden for the look he gave me. “And I believe it now,” she continued. “He can… I don’t understand how, what’s caused this awful thing to be, but somehow it’s real. It’s happened. I just wanted to help him. I felt sorry for him. I didn’t know he’d hurt anyone. I didn’t know he was dangerous. Oh Daryl, I’m sorry.”

  I stood there watching and listening to them discuss me, feeling the total outsider, the total freak.

  “It’s OK mum,” he said. “It’s OK.”

  Then he turned and gave me another stern look.

  “You,” he said. “Get out.”

  “What about the police?” I said.

  “I don’t care about the flipping police. Just get the hell out of my house! Now!”

  The doc was refusing to look at me. I guess that part about the homeless guy had totally freaked her out. It was as if I no longer existed as that nice lad she had shared pizza with, as if I was just a monster now.

  “Alright,” I said. “No need to shout.”

  I turned to leave.

  “It was only an accident doc,” I said. “The homeless guy. A stupid accident. Thank you for helping me out, your hospitality and that. The pizza was grand.”

  And with that, I left.

  I don’t think I’d clocked the doc properly at all. She had been far more shaken by my demonstration that I had thought, possibly more in a tizz about the whole thing than even me, as unfair as that was. I’d been silly to trust her. Playing the angel, playing mother Teresa, watching Sharknado, eating pizza and drinking wine. It had just been an act, underneath it all I had shaken her world something rotten. The whole thing was just her way of dealing with the strange metamorphosis of my member. All her education and she had not the faintest idea what was happening to me, not only had it ruined her office window, my wee had reduced all her knowledge and learning into purest drivel.

  *****

  I didn’t make it far before the police picked me up. How could I? I was slap bang in the middle of nowhere, early on a chilly autumn morning and with no transportation. Certainly the only mug out walking that country lane.

  The doctor or Daryl must have called them cos I didn’t. I took one look at my ph
one, shuddering and putting it straight back in my pocket when I saw all those missed calls from the afternoon and evening before: my parents, James, Martin, and a bunch of other numbers I didn’t recognise. They all tailed off at around 9 O-clock. Must have given up on me about then.

  The police cars were speeding with all their sirens blasting and bright lights flashing and everything. I could hear them coming miles off, but what was I to do? I suppose I could have legged it to a field, hidden there or something, but I just couldn’t be arsed. They’d get me in the end and the doc was right, the more I ran the worse it would look.