“Andrew?”
“I’m doing okay,” he said, glancing across at Dr Trent sitting so smugly in his armchair, arms folded across his pastel blue cardigan.
“How’s your sleep? Are the new pills helping at all?”
He saw Caroline’s face looking up at him in his mind, the panic in her eyes as she tried to prise his fingers off her throat.
“Not really.”
“Well keep taking them. These things take time. Have you thought anymore about the holiday I suggested?”
“I’m not sure it would do any good.”
Dr Trent removed his glasses and began polishing them with a yellow cloth. “Andrew, I’ve been treating you for three months now and I think I’m getting to know you a little bit, would you agree?”
He continued talking but Andrew had stopped listening, thinking to himself: I could reach over and kill you in under a second. Just snap your neck and then sit back down without even breaking into a sweat. I kind of want to as well. That’s the worst part. It’d wipe that smug condescending look off your face, that’s for sure.
“Still with me Andrew? Not fallen asleep on there?”
“I’m awake.”
“I really think a holiday would do you some good. Have you mentioned it to Caroline yet?”
“We…we’re no longer together.” The sound of her desperate gasps filled his ears. God, he needed some sleep. He’d been on the single bed in the spare room since that night, unable to apologise, unable to explain, just wishing that terrified look wasn’t there every time she looked at him, wishing he could take it back, take it all back.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Trent said, scrawling something on his notepad. “How do you feel about breaking up?”
He wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about her mouth opening and closing as she stared up and him and tried to speak, tried to tell him to stop, her cheeks turning purple, his hands gripping tighter and tighter. “I don’t know.”
Trent sighed. “Well we still have thirty minutes. We really should talk about something.”
Silence. A long silence. Trent cracked first. He always did. “Maybe you should go on the holiday on your own. Give you both some space, forget about things for a while.”
Of course you think that. You’d be glad if I never came back here again. And what kind of a doctor tells you to just forget about everything? Like it’s that simple. He swung his legs off the sofa and stood up.
Trent blinked at him in surprise. “Going somewhere?”
“I’m done with this.”
“We have until twelve.”
But Andrew had opened the door already. He left without looking back, walking down the stairs and out onto the street, trying to calm himself down. Bloody doctors are all the same. They weren’t there, they didn’t see what I saw, didn’t have to watch their friends get blown to pieces for no good reason.
He pulled up short as he passed an advert on the side of a bus shelter. Dan Curzon – The Best Of. Christ on a bike, I haven’t listened to him since…
He was instantly a teenager again, laid on his bed listening to Curzon’s first album. What was it called? Death by Killing, that was it, a pure blast of sound that his parents had hated as much as he’d loved it. His tape player was buried under a mountain of cassette cases, each one lovingly labelled with his own handwritten track listings. Music had been his refuge from the world back then and none more so than the tape she’d given him. He’d almost worn it out listening to it so often. It wasn’t just the music that held him in awe, it was the fact that this cassette belonged to her, to Caroline Watson, the angel he’d worshipped since he’d started secondary school and first caught a glimpse of her at the far side of his form room.
Her hands had actually touched this tape. Her breath had gently fallen onto the rectangle of plastic currently playing. She’d let him borrow it too. It was incredible. A throwaway gesture for her, sure, but for him it had taken his worship of her and turned it into an even stronger infatuation. He’d lay on the bed, listen to her tape and dream of her. In the dreams they were always at a Curzon gig, squashed together right at the front of a heaving mass of screaming fans who surged forwards, crushing Caroline against the steel barrier, all of them with wandering hands heading towards her perfect body. Then Andrew the hero would emerge triumphant, Kung Fu kicking one, knock out punching another, taking Caroline by the hand as the rest of the crowd backed away in fear.
“Come on,” he’d say as she smiled adoringly up at him. “Let’s go meet the band backstage. They’re friends of mine.”
“Oh my hero,” she’d reply before planting a kiss on his cheek. Then the two of them would walk hand in hand towards the door at the side of the room, people parting before Andrew the incredible warrior. The bouncer would smile at him. “Andrew, good to see you,” before turning to Caroline. “Sorry love, can’t let you through.”
“It’s all right,” Andrew would say. “She’s with me.”
The door would open and then they’d be alone in the long corridor behind the stage, Caroline looking up at him with those doe eyes of hers. “Andrew,” she’d say, “I’ve been waiting a long time to say this. I…I think I love you-“
A car horn blared and the memory vanished in an instant. Andrew looked round, trying to work out where he was and surprised to find himself standing in the middle of the road, cars swerving round him. Jumping back to the pavement with a start, he continued walking, trying and failing to bring the daydream back. Perhaps he should take a holiday, a trip to the seaside maybe, see if the Spa was still there, the site of the first Curzon gig he’d gone to. Maybe revisit some of his other childhood haunts, breathe in that North Sea air that froze the lungs and healed the soul. Leave Caroline behind.
That night he began packing a suitcase on the bed, his wife watching from the landing, flanked by her two brothers. Cramming a last jumper into the case, he pushed the lid closed before standing up and turning to face her. “Look Caroline, I-“
Her older brother David stepped forwards. “Just go Andrew. You’ve done enough damage already.”
Andrew looked at David, the all too familiar rage building up inside him. But then he looked at Caroline’s face and the rage drained away, replaced by shame, not just for what he’d done to her but for everything he’d done since being discharged from the army, the shouting, the silent treatment, the drinking, all of it.
“Bye then,” he said, picking up the case and pushing past the three of them, not looking back. He climbed into his car and set off. How far was it from here to Seaford from here? Two hundred miles? Three hundred?
He drove until long after the sun set before stopping at the last services before the motorway ended. He bought a coffee that he didn’t drink and sat at a crumb covered table. His mind was torn. Part of him wanted to run back to Caroline, try and patch things up. But a bigger part of him, a part he didn’t really understand, told him he had to go to Seaford and it had to be now. Eventually he got to his feet and that was when he noticed a woman smiling politely from the foyer. He managed a nod, knowing how quickly her smile would turn to disgust or even fear if she knew what he’d done, what he was capable of doing.
After she left he waited a while before returning to his car, slipping back onto the motorway, somehow feeling as if everything would be okay once he reached Seaford, once he was home again. In the back of his mind there was something niggling at him though, something that he thought he should remember but whenever he tried to think of it, the thought would skitter away and hide again, avoiding his gaze, keeping to the shadows.
Once off the motorway, he followed the rural roads towards the coast, passing the ‘Seaford – 10 miles’ sign without registering it, driving on automatic as he thought about Caroline, what she might be doing right now, whether she’d ever be able to forgive him.
He almost didn’t see the broken down car until it was too late, noticing the flashing hazard lights at the last second. “Christ,” he mu
ttered, yanking the steering wheel to one side and slamming on the brakes, skidding to a halt on the wrong side of the road.
He shifted into reverse as his breathing returned to normal, driving slowly backwards to slide in behind the other car. He hadn’t even turned the engine off when a woman pulled open the passenger door and threw herself inside. “Oh thank God,” she said, looking across at him. “I thought…oh, it’s you.”
“Sorry?” Andrew replied, flicking on the interior light by the rear view mirror. “Do I know you?”
“At the services. You…Jesus Christ, is that you? It is, isn’t it? Andrew Boyle!”
He examined her more closely. How does she know you? He took away the age lines, the change of hair colour and style, tried to visualise her as a teenager. “Marie Summers? Is that you?”
There was a noise outside the car, audible over the wind. “What was that?” Andrew asked.
“Just drive!” Marie said.
“But-“
“Drive!” she screamed as something thudded into the side of the car, making it rock from side to side. Andrew started the engine and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, jerking the car forwards as the engine roared with noise and they raced forwards.
“What the hell was that?” Andrew asked as he changed gear, looking up into the mirror to see the hazard lights vanishing into the distance behind them.
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“Just keep going. I’ll tell you when we get there.” Outside the wind howled, growing stronger with every passing moment. Andrew gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to think. He’d only caught a glimpse of the person outside the car but it was enough to make him sure he never wanted to see him again. But somehow, he knew him already, he’d seen him before somewhere. Why couldn’t he remember?
“Where are you headed?” he asked as Marie slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“Same place as you,” she replied. “We’re going home.”
5
Graham looked at his hand, surprised to see it was shaking. He’d just slipped his phone back into his tuxedo pocket and was trying his best to get a hold of himself, leaning towards the bedroom mirror, taking one deep breath after another. He’d taught himself this method of calming down as a teenager and it still worked more than forty years later. In two three, out two three. So two three, this two three, is two three, it two three. He looked directly into his own eyes. You’re going to kill someone tonight.
“Graham, are you all right up there?” His wife’s voice reached him from the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t answer. She could wait. Straightening his bow tie, he took a step back to check his outfit. Appearances had always been vital. After all, it was his diligent attention to appearance that had got him where he was today, ensured everyone trusted him, loved him, laughed at his jokes. Ever since that first interview for hospital radio he’d always made sure he looked at his best. And now he was a national treasure as the papers insisted on calling him, it was even more important.
Checking his clothes were just right always calmed him down and by the time he’d adjusted his cufflinks one last time, his heart rate was back to normal.
“I thought you’d died up here.”
He turned to find Mary standing in the doorway, her arms folded. “Hi,” he smiled as she picked up the lint roller and ran it down his shoulders.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she asked.
“It’s a corporate award ceremony for a bunch of grey haired men with wandering hands.”
“People like you, you mean?”
“Exactly. You’d hate it.”
“Like I hate you,” she smiled, planting a kiss on him.
“You don’t hate anyone like you hate me,” he smiled back. “I’m scum. Now how do I look?”
“Same as the day I married you.”
“Fat and ugly then.”
“Oh stop it,” she replied, playfully hitting his chest. “You’re my handsome TV star and you always will be.”
“So you won’t be in bed with a football team when I get home then?”
“Maybe. Although I am quite tired so maybe just a hockey team.” He let his jaw drop in shock and she giggled. “Now come and and say bye to the kids before you go.”
He followed her downstairs into the dining room. Adrian and Naomi were still finishing their dinner. Graham looked at the two of them, both tapping on their phones as they ate. “How do I look kids?”
“Fine,” they replied in unison without looking up.
“Well that’s unanimous then,” Graham said, ruffling Adrian’s hair as he passed. “Thanks guys. Right, I better be off.”
“Have fun,” Naomi called after him as he headed along the hallway.
“Bye love,” Mary said, opening the door for him.
Graham kissed her goodbye and climbed into his car, only letting his smile fade once he was out of sight of the house. He glanced at his watch. Time to kill.
As he drove he thought about the situation he was in, how it had come to this. He’d tried paying off the first person who’d blackmailed him and it hadn’t worked. She just kept coming back for more and more and in the end he’d had no choice, she’d backed him into a corner and he’d reacted, same as anyone would.
It had been an incredible feeling too, watching the light fading in that bitch’s eyes had been intoxicating. When the second one tried it, he didn’t even negotiate, just set up the meeting at 11 at night and emptied her body out of the boot before it even reached midnight.
Best of all, he knew that if she ever surfaced from the lake, there would be nothing to link her to him, just another prostitute the world didn’t give a shit about. And there was about to be another one joining her down there. This one was the worst of all. The first two had been guests at one of his special parties and they’d thought they could get some easy cash by threatening to talk. But this one was so much worse. He’d looked after her for a long time, treated her right, paid for so many things for her. But was she grateful? No. Were any of them ever grateful for what he did for them? Were they hell. They just kept trying to take him for a fool and Graham Southwell was nobody’s fool.
His phone rang as he drove. He hit the answer button on his steering wheel, feeling himself tensing up as the voice spoke through the speaker system. “I’ve changed my mind. I want another ten.”
“We agreed on fifteen.” Let her talk. No harm in stringing her along. She could ask for a million and he’d say yes. Anything to make sure she turned up at the flat.
“I want another ten. Or maybe I’ll drop it off at the studio. See what they think of it.”
“All right. Twenty five. But that better be it.”
“In cash.”
“No shit. I thought you’d take a cheque.”
“I thought TV presenters didn’t use foul language. What would your audience think?”
Graham hung up. Did she really think people carry that much cash around just on the off chance that a blackmailer increased their price? Just how stupid was she? He drove in silence for another twenty minutes until he reached the flat.
He walked up the path and unlocked the door to the block, heading up the litter strewn concrete stairwell to his hideaway, the one nobody knew about but him and her. Once inside the flat he poured himself a glass of whiskey and set it down next to the armchair. He checked the wardrobe for the replacement tuxedo, just in case. It was still there of course, ready for him to change into once this outfit was sullied and disposed of. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the clear disposable gloves, wondering if she’d notice he was wearing them. He felt sure she wouldn’t, her eyes would be filled with pound signs. The others hadn’t noticed until it was too late. She’d be the same.
He sat in the armchair and sipped at the whiskey whilst he waited. Eventually he heard footsteps on the stairs so he drained his glass. It was time. He stood up as a key turned in the door. It swung
open and he took a single step forwards before stopping dead when he saw who was standing there.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’ve come for the money.”
Graham couldn’t believe it. Not only was she blackmailing him, she’d sent this…this pathetic specimen of manhood to do her dirty work. How old was he? Nineteen? Twenty? Scrawny as hell, was this her choice of protection? He was furious with her. He was only going to kill her but now, now she was going to suffer. He forced a smile onto his face. “You’d better come in.”
The kid eyed him suspiciously, glancing round the room as he walked forwards. That was it, just another few steps. Graham looked at him, how old was he? “What’s your name son?”
“Just give me the money. Don’t try and pretend you’re my best mate. I know what you did.”
“All right fine, be like that. It’s on the table.”
The kid glanced across the room and that was all the time Graham needed. He leapt forwards, grabbing the kid by the shoulders and twisting him off balance, sending him to the floor with a flick of his foot. He kicked the door closed before turning to see the kid sprawled on the floor.
Graham ran forwards before the kid could get up. He swung his leg back and put his full force into bringing it forwards, landing the end of his boot in the kid’s face, snapping the arm that was held up to protect that acne covered face.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 12