“Talk to me, son,” he said, drawing my eyes up from where they bore into my pint of Carling.
I looked right at him. He looked at me; that all-knowing x-ray gaze he had given me since I was fifteen.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t, Geoff. I just need you to be here.”
I couldn’t tell him. He was the one person who still believed I had some good in me.
“Will you show me?”
I frowned, “What?”
He scraped his chair back and stood up, leaving his beer untouched. He tipped his flat cap towards the staff and they waved, saying a cheery goodbye. He took another quick glance at me and walked out of the pub. He was giving me a choice. How did I always get in these situations? Ones where I was completely in the dark, with no idea what the outcome was going to be? I trusted Geoff; if I could rely on anyone to be the safety blanket I needed, it was him. My friend. My mentor. The only father I’d ever really known.
I took a steadying breath and mouthful of beer, and left the pub.
Chapter Nineteen
Juggernaut (noun); a large, powerful and overwhelming force.
You got that right.
September 18th, 2010
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No,” I shook my head, adamant. “I can't.”
We were in Geoff’s gym; a multi-story complex in the heart of town. It was owned by a fitness chain and Geoff rented the top floor for his training school. He used the same letters that had been on the front of the gym back in Kent. I stood still and watched as he made his way to a row of lockers and pulled one open. I heard the rustling of whatever he was doing, but I couldn’t see past the door. My vision began to blur and my heart started to flutter – it didn’t know whether to race with fear or halt in defeat. I was terrified; I knew it, and Geoff knew it. He was going to use it, like he always had. It was part of his lesson. Embrace fear, let it become you, and then use it - it was his most important lesson. Emotion is not something you can conquer. It isn’t something to hide or run from. It’s something to use, something to centre from, to draw from. I just couldn’t do it.
He returned with a pile of clothes under his arm and a clear plastic bag of red leather. Shit.
“Take them off.” He nodded to my suit.
“Geoff-”
“What are you, a girl? Take it off, Kirsty.”
He winked, to try and lighten the mood, but it only added to the weight on my shoulders. I hadn’t looked at my body for a long time; I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror.
I shakily removed my clothes down to my boxers and stood in front of Geoff, feeling more exposed than ever. I could pretend to be anyone I wanted when I was in costume; people stared at the expensive suits or fitted jeans. They never tried to look further because the clothes fed their imagination plenty. But now I was stripped; all that stood between Geoff and my dark soul was the body I despised.
He handed me the training clothes and I frantically pulled them on to cover myself up; sweats that were too short and a plain t-shirt.
“You need to work on your legs.”
“What?”
I was terrified, vulnerable and exposed, and he was looking at my legs.
“You’re top heavy.”
“Thanks,” I grunted.
He unwrapped the plastic and shook the two red balls in his hands. He extended them towards me, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
“Trust me, son,” he said, softly. “Let me help you.”
I nodded. I didn’t really have a choice. I was drowning and those gloves were my only source of buoyancy. I held my arms out towards Geoff and he pushed them onto my hands. I flexed my fingers, clenched my fists and rolled my wrists. The gloves felt warm. They felt safe. They felt…like home.
“Are you ready?”
I shook my head slowly, “No.”
“Good. Come.”
He turned away from me and walked towards the ring. On shaky legs, I followed him; I didn’t want to, but I did. This was home. This was where I belonged. Geoff stopped by a lonely punchbag, hidden in the shadows of the fluorescents.
“Let it go, Curtis.”
I stood in front of the bag and gave it a jab, barely hard enough to make a sound.
“Again.”
I took a deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth. I punched the bag again, the electric vibration travelling through my fist, up my arm and to my heart. I felt the shock.
“Again.”
I blinked slowly, feeling the burn of tears line my eyes. Another deep breath, another punch and another, and another. I dropped my hands when I felt the treacherous smoke move in, the emotion bubbling, the stabbing pain; the bone-chilling prickle of regret.
“Don’t give up, son,” Geoff’s voice broke through the shadows. “Never give up.”
I lifted my eyes, I brought my fists up. I slid one foot back and I let it go. One punch, two; a combination of furious hits. My heart pounded, my mind cleared, lightened, eased. My fists tingled with familiarity, my knuckles throbbed; my heart beat to a rhythm, finally. I wasn’t a failure, I wasn’t a pet; I wasn’t a villain or a criminal or a nobody. I was free. Floating. Fighting. Living. I hadn’t felt this alive in years. My punches found a beat to the soundtrack in my head. The sweat dripped. The world disappeared. It was just me and my opium. I controlled every punch, every hiss that escaped as I connected with the bag.
“Let it out, Curtis.”
I roared, the tears fell and I put everything I had into every punch. The cry rumbled in my chest and left as a guttural scream.
“Good.”
The tears soaked my cheeks and dripped onto my forearms. My head hurt; it pulsed with mind-numbing pain. It began to buzz and I tried to shake the fuzziness free. I could hear the shackles break free, but I felt the demons tighten the ropes. I was bound. I wanted to break out, to feel my bindings tear and disintegrate.
“Curtis.”
I couldn’t stop. I heard the worry in Geoff’s voice, but I kept going until every muscled burned and began to resist.
“Stop.”
I didn’t. Punch after punch, hiss after hiss. I stopped breathing, focussing only on the pain that began to smother me.
“Curtis!” Geoff reached for my arm and ducked when I swung for him. “Enough!”
I stopped and turned to face him and my body hunched over, my chest heaved, my fists trembled. I couldn’t see through the tears. I had allowed myself to lose control; I had allowed the pain, the guilt, the fear to overpower me.
“I’m sorry,” I dropped my head to Geoff’s shoulder when he pulled me into him. I tried to push him away but I just didn’t have the strength. I sobbed, humiliated but unable to stop. “Geoff, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Ssh,” he soothed. “Let it out.”
He held me while I cried, years of pent up pain and sorrow and disgust only for myself. He held me until I ran out of tears and all that remained was choking, restricted breaths.
He relaxed his hold and I stepped back, using my sweat drenched t-shirt to clean my face.
“What have you gotten yourself into?”
He’d used the punchbag to exhaust me, to break down the walls. He had. I was ready to bear my soul to him, to let him in and ask him what to do. I needed help. Finally, I realised I needed help.
“I’m in trouble, Geoff.”
“What kinda trouble?”
“I…”
My eyes fell on his face and then fixed on something on the wall behind him.
“Curtis?”
I stepped past him, entranced, and walked with purpose towards the wall.
“Don’t,” I heard him whisper, but it was lost. White noise.
I ran my fingertips over the outline of the gold plaque and read the engraving.
“Oliver “Juggernaut” Jones
26th July 1983 – 1st January 2003
Gone, but never for
gotten.
“I can’t fight…My twin sister kicks my ass.””
“Oliver,” I choked. “Ollie.”
“Curtis.”
“He’s dead.”
My mind filled with images of the night his life was torn from him. Because of me.
“Don’t let it overpower you. Oliver wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
“I have to go.”
“No.”
Geoff grabbed my forearm but I tugged out of his hold. It was over.
I pulled on my shoes, grabbed my clothes and left the gym.
I ran. I ran with everything I had back to my building. I tore through the doors of the entrance and headed straight to the stairs. There was no time to wait for the lift.
I threw the door open so hard it cracked the plaster and slammed shut when I stepped in. I stood for a minute and looked around the empty space; I felt the burning rage continue to smoulder within. I tried to control it. I tried so hard, but all I could see was Ollie. He was begging me not to make him fight. He was begging, pleading with me to not let him die. He was begging me to save him.
“She doesn’t know,” his voice echoed in my right ear.
I turned and swiped, my forearm colliding with a vase and sending it crashing to the floor.
“She needs to know,” I growled, swiping again and tipping the sideboard over.
I stepped further into my home, tugging my hair, trying to rid the memories of our conversation.
“She can't know.”
I gripped the dining table until the wood began to crack beneath my fingertips.
“She has to!” The table flew over and everything on it fell to the floor.
I headed to my bedroom next, searching for things to ruin. I swung the doors of the wardrobe open and yanked the clothes off the rails, throwing them across the room.
“She has to know!” I cried. “She has to know!”
Ollie didn’t answer me.
I reached the back of the wardrobe and grabbed the worn cardboard box with both hands. I slid it out as carefully as my trembling anger would allow and I fell to the floor, staring at it.
“So tell her.”
The voice returned, but it wasn’t Ollie’s. It was distorted, almost high-pitched.
“What?”
“Tell me, Curtis.”
“Skye.”
I turned around and looked for her. I needed to see the face of the woman who said the words I had wanted to hear for years. But she wasn’t there. I heard whispering, first in one ear, then the other, before the hushed tones began to surround me. The paranoia set in. I was losing my mind.
“Tell me, Curtis,” Skye said again and a vanilla-scented warmth washed over my skin.
A cold shiver accompanied the warm air and I remembered the sensation. Skye’s hands were always cold and she used to press them to my chest whenever she needed to warm them up. It had the same effect then as it did now. It was a shock to the system, a reminder that I was still alive. I was the only one who knew.
“Tell her,” Ollie whispered.
I brushed my hand over the top of the box, leaving a dustless curve on the lid. Unfolding the flaps, I stared inside at the contents of Ollie’s locker. I’d had to clear it when Geoff closed the gym. It had been untouched by anyone but Ollie before then. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I packed it away and hit it out of sight with the rest of my secrets.
I pulled out everything that was inside; Ollie’s training clothes, his spare pair of match shorts; his metalwork factory clock-in card, his wallet and the chain he got from his father on his eighteenth birthday; an old newspaper that was now yellow and stiff, his water bottle. His training gloves…
His journal.
He used to carry that damn thing everywhere with him.
I held it in my trembling hands and ran my thumbs over the front of the black leather bound notebook. A clap of thunder made me jump when I popped open the catch on the front. I turned to look over my shoulder as a bolt of lightning flashed and pellets of rain began to pound against the double doors that led out onto a balcony, perfect for watching the frenetic energy of the city below. Skye was out there somewhere. I had to find her. I turned back to the journal and opened it to the first page. I sagged back against my bed and brought my knees up. My breathing was shallow and ragged, and renewed tears threatened to fall once more as I read the scribbles of a frightened eleven-year-old boy who had no idea what to do with the secrets he had just been exposed to.
I had to find Skye.
Chapter Twenty
Nothing. I had nothing…and nothing could mean anything. Anything could mean everything…and everything could be bad. Really bad.
Are you with me?
September 20th, 2010
“Mr Mason?”
“Yes, Angelica?”
“Ms Tattersell is on her way up.”
“Tell her I’m not here.”
“But-”
“Just do it, Angelica.”
I hung up the phone and got back to reading. I’d bought myself a journal to take notes in; Ollie's mind was a mess and I had to decode every thought.
So far I had three places to start, but no names; Ollie knew who he was talking about and never intended on someone having to complete his mission for him, so he hadn’t given any names. Not a single one. I’d have to piece everything together from scratch and try to decipher what he’d found.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I looked up to see Charlie standing over me. I folded my arms over the journals.
“What part of I don’t want to see you did private school not teach you to understand?”
She smiled. Sneered. It was definitely more of a sneer, “What part of you don’t have a choice did a lifetime of delinquency not teach you?”
“Get out, Charlie.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she hissed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh, this?” I nodded at my folded arms. “It has a lot to do with none of your fucking business.”
“Oh, he’s trying to be funny,” she cackled and began to walk around the room, running one index finger over every surface. A sign of ownership. “Don’t quit your day job.”
I saw the look of paranoia flash across her eyes. I smiled. That’s the problem with holding someone against their will – almost. That’s the problem with hating, despising the person you’re with. There’s no trust. And when you stoop as low as Charlie Tattersell did; when you break the law and rely on nothing but your poisonous words and cock-sucking skills to stay in control, betrayal can strike at any minute. Her filet mignon would morph into inmate-cooked meals before she even had the time to check her fingernails to see if she needed a manicure. I’d never thought about that before. I was Cut Throat fucking Curtis and I had bigger fish to fry that Charlie Alexander Tattersell. I rose slowly from my chair as her eyes met mine. She knew I’d figured it out and it was the first time I saw fear, real fear, in those empty orbs. She turned to face me and shifted uncomfortably as I approached her like she always did to me. The tension suffocated her and she held her hands behind her back in submission…but it was too late for that.
I took hold of her shoulder and edged her backwards until her back hit the door.
“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you, baby?” I snarled. “That you control me only because I let you. I have the power to take it all away. Your time is running out and I have my thumb on the stopwatch, my fingers on the pin of the grenade.”
She squirmed but I held her firmly. Her heat enveloped me and I wanted to take her; fuck her until she passed out.
“I can blow your entire operation to dust, Cat,” I lowered my head and spoke in her ear. “Don’t think, for one second, that I’ll hesitate to do it. I own you and I let you control me when, and only when, it suits me. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes what?”
I stepped back and looked into her eyes, watching
her cower beneath my glare.
“Yes, Cut Throat.”
“Good,” I pulled her away from the door and opened it. “Now get the hell out of my office.”
I shoved her over the threshold and heard the gasps from everyone on the floor as I slammed the door behind her.
My heart was racing as I walked back to my chair. I’d won that round but she could still pull the rug out from under me and I needed her. I needed to figure out what was going on with Ollie and I had a feeling I’d need Charlie around to help me.
I would find Skye, but not until I had the facts to catch her if she fell. Telling her what I knew now would only leave her with more questions, and I wanted to be the one to answer them; I had gotten her into this mess and I had to be the one to fix it.
I couldn’t think straight. I flicked through the pages of Ollie’s journal and back to my notes, but nothing made sense. I couldn’t calm my heart; the adrenaline pumping around my system wouldn’t let up. I was finally doing something with my life; I finally had a purpose and the Charlie-Skye-adrenaline concoction just gave me a vacuum between the ears and a hard on between the legs.
I sat back in my seat, unzipped my trousers and closed my eyes, desperately searching for the numbness physical release always brought.
***
I called Angelica as I shoved my things into my briefcase and told her to call for the car. I pulled on my jacket and scoured my desk for evidence. Satisfied there was none, I locked up my desk drawers and left.
“What do I say if Ms Tattersell comes back?” Angelica asked as I pushed the button for the lift.
“I’m the boss, Angelica, not Charlie.”
I stepped into the lift and composed myself as it descended.
My car sped along the A2 and I gripped the wheel with a strength and energy I hadn’t felt for a long time, if ever. I was going back to where it all began and it made me feel sick; I pushed the nausea aside and stayed focused. I had Ollie – or as much of him as physically possible – on the seat next to me and I was hoping to see his thoughts from a new perspective. I turned onto the A229 and saw signs for our town. I pulled the lid off my bottle of water and gulped down the contents, hoping each swig would calm my nerves. I had no idea where to start so I headed to Geoff’s.
Revival Page 9