by Shaun Baines
"You made me." Daniel turned to his father. "He made me take it out of the box, Dad."
"Enough," Ed said, dismissing Daniel with a wave.
His father crouched down and Daniel smelled the whisky on his warm breath.
"You're not allowed on the island, so what are you going to do?"
Daniel looked at him blankly.
"Don't be a tool all your life, son. You have to fight back." Ed stood and Daniel watched his face. Dilated pupils. Reddening skin. Rapid breathing. No blinking. The messages were clear, burrowing into his brain. Daniel had learned how to read micro-signals before he had learned to read a book. People lied, but their faces didn't. He knew what his father wanted.
Daniel closed his eyes. "It wasn't my fault," he said between sobs. "You have to help me."
There was a moment of stillness where Daniel hoped his father might rescue him. The dread of another beating lifted and he opened an eye to see Scott raising a fist, his mouth cutting a straight line through the blood.
His father jutted out his chin and swirled dark whisky around his glass. "I am helping you, son."
Daniel woke to the clink of his father's ice cubes hitting glass. He massaged his aching chest, as if his brother still had him pinned to the ground, but Scott was dead. He'd been killed in the house where Daniel now lived. Murdered by a man called Bronson, Daniel's best and only friend.
Scott was gone, but not forgotten.
Turning on his side, Daniel forced the nightmare to the back of his mind. He had barely slept since the day of Fairbanks' death; the mastermind sociopath who had brought his family to near collapse. Fairbanks had been dealt with, as had many others, on Daniel's quest for vengeance.
But there had been more to those fateful days than simple murder. In his struggle with Fairbanks, Daniel had learned he and his brother Scott were adopted; a fact only known to two missing women.
His own child had been with him on that rainswept embankment. Eisha had beaten Fairbanks with a stick, thrashing him like a cowering dog. She'd saved Daniel's life, but if he hadn't stopped her, Eisha would have killed Fairbanks and her life would have been changed forever.
Of all the horrors Daniel had performed in his life, it was that which scared him the most.
He traced shadows on the ceiling, listening to the warnings he hadn't heeded at the time. Eisha was willful. Stubborn. Tempestuous. But she was more than that. No-one had prepared him for her true nature. Eisha was his flesh and heir, but what had she inherited? Daniel had been coached in cruelty by a man who wanted to use him as a weapon.
Why did it come so easily to Eisha? What had he passed on to her? And what had his real parents passed on to him? The questions taunted him night after night, feeding a hungry guilt.
Rubbing his face, he kicked bedsheets from his legs, swinging them to the floor.
He jumped at the shape in front of him.
"Are you awake, Daddy?" Eisha swayed in the darkness, her slender form darker than the night.
Daniel glanced at the bedroom door. "Of course I'm awake, darling. Do you want something to drink?"
She shook her head and Daniel waited. Outside came the shriek of a vixen.
"That's one of ours, isn't it?" she asked.
"They've been here since I was your age. If you see them in the daytime, you know not to get too close, don't you?"
Eisha's silhouette grew taller. "I'm not allowed to do much, am I?"
"No, you're not." Daniel remembered he was naked and gathered the bedsheets over his body. He looked to the door again. "How did you get in here?"
"The way I always do."
"You walked in?"
Eisha stepped forward, her bare feet slapping on the floorboards. "Can I sleep with you tonight? I got scared."
"It will be morning soon. Let me get some clothes on and I'll take you back to bed. Okay?"
Eisha went to the door, opening it with ease. For a moment, Daniel saw her captured in the opening, studiously checking the lock. Hanging her head, Eisha's shoulders rose and fell. She glanced back at him, her eyes fastened to his. The vixen cried one last time and Eisha disappeared down the corridor.
Daniel leaned over to his bedside cabinet and pulled out the drawer. Inside was a brass mortice key he used to lock himself in It was part of his night-time routine. He couldn't settle unless it was done, fearful of what might creep into his bedroom.
Had he done it last night? Daniel was exhausted. He wasn't focused. He might have left it in the door. Eisha could have let herself in and returned the key. Fumbling in the darkness, he grasped the metal key. It was cold. No-one had held it since him.
His fingers grazed the Heckler handgun he kept close for the same reason that he locked his bedroom. He touched the handle and squeezed his eyes shut.
The handle was warm.
Chapter Two
A milky light permeated the sea spray at Roker Pier. The pier stretched out into the water for half a mile. Waves collapsed against its crumbling stonework, hurling pebbles at rotting wooden struts. Seagulls circled overhead, riding the wind and searching the water for floating sewage. The cobbled promenade was laced with treacherous algae. One slip and a body might disappear, picked clean by underwater creatures.
At the end of the pier, Angel Maguire sat in the passenger seat of a transit van, tugging at the skin around her fingernails. She was in her late twenties, overweight with mousy hair parted down the centre. She wore thick glasses and sensible shoes. Her jacket was fur lined against the weather.
The driver's side door opened and Angel flinched against the salty air flooding the van.
"Could you close that please?" she asked.
The door slammed shut and Hope settled into her seat. She was the same height as Angel, but broader in the shoulders. Underneath her fashionable clothes was a body forged in the boxing gym. Her blonde hair was matted into dreadlocks. Dark eyes stared out from under a fringe streaked with blue.
Angel tucked her feet away, hiding her sensible shoes. "Any sign of the boat?"
The seat creaked as Hope stretched out her legs. She patted Angel on the knee. "Don't worry, sis. It'll be here."
"Where do you think it is?"
Hope pointed to the sea. "Out there somewhere. I don't know. I'm not Captain bloody Bird's Eye. Relax."
Angel faced the side window, watching water droplets thicken on the glass. The sea fret was getting heavier, cloaking the end of the pier. Soon everything would be consumed. The pier. The van. The reason she was there. She'd be left drifting above the water, waiting for the foaming fingers of the sea to reach down her throat and snuff her out.
Her knee was released from Hope's gentle hold.
"You're talking to yourself again," Hope said, climbing out of the van with a sigh. "I'm not here to babysit you."
The salty air kissed Angel's face, but did little to cool her blushing cheeks.
Hope hunched up her coat against the weather and disappeared into the mist, leaving Angel behind, her mouth clamped shut. She pulled out a photograph from her pocket. The edges were curled and frayed, the colours drained with age. Her father had left Ireland as a young man, alighting on English shores in the 1970s. He'd worked as a hod carrier in the construction business, his broad back carrying twice as many bricks as his English counterparts. He was fired because of it. With no family or friends to support him, he went into business for himself, doing whatever he could to survive.
He stared up at Angel, his expression warmer than she remembered.
"Not long now," she said and folded him into her pocket. Steadying her hands, she slapped herself across the face. And again and again, her head jerking with every blow.
Are you going to stop that? asked a voice.
Her skin tingled from another slap, the impact sounding like a cracked whip.
When are you going to stop?
"Stop what?" she shouted.
Angel did up her coat, fumbling with the buttons in her haste. She jumped from the van, almos
t falling through the door. The mist collected on her clothes and skin, weighing her down. She flipped her hood over her wet hair and walked toward a railing bordering the pier. Its paint was raised in flaking scales, exposing rusted metal beneath. It didn't look strong enough to support its own weight, never mind Angel's too. The sea churned below and she took a step backwards.
"Are you still there?" she asked the voice quietly.
"I'm over here," Hope answered. "Didn't think you'd come outside. Stay where you are. I'll come to you."
Appearing through the mist, Hope skidded over the cobbles. "What are you doing?"
"I'm sorry about…" Angel looked at the van. "It happens when I'm stressed."
"No, I'm sorry." Hope wrapped an arm around Angel and gave her a squeeze. "You're too sensitive, baby sister."
They stood together, keeping each other warm and staring over the sea. A foghorn blared in the distance, warning of hidden dangers. It rattled Angel's bones and she pressed into her sister.
"It looks so bleak," she said.
"There's a car waiting back on dry land. Why don't you take it and go home? I can sort this out."
"I asked you here to help, but this is my deal."
"Are you sure?"
Angel shrugged off her sister's hold and stamped her foot. "I hate it when you talk like that. I'm not a child anymore."
Hope leaned over the rusted railing, peering into the grey below. "This life isn't for everyone. You know what would help?"
"Not this again."
"You need to get a boyfriend. A man will sort you out. Bedrooms are for more than nerdgasming on your computer."
"Please, leave me alone."
Hope wiped salt water from her face. "Alone is for ugly people and you're not that bad. As soon as this is done, me and Marco are jetting off to Costa Rica for a holiday."
The railing wobbled and Angel wobbled with it, her stomach squirming at the sight of the sea.
"Mam told me," she said. "Who's Marco? What happened to Simon Big Balls?"
"Too big as it happens," Hope said. "The problem was – "
Angel ignored her, pointing into the murk. "What's that?"
A shape cut through the water, as grey as the mist that surrounded it. There were no lights, only the rumble of an engine. It crested the waves, keeping a steady course to the pier. As it grew closer, the shape morphed into a fishing boat. It was squat with a thick rubber rim around its circumference. Tyres clung to its sides like black limpets. Where it had once been white, rust pockmarked the paint giving the impression the boat was infected with boils.
The vessel bounced into the pier, causing the cobbles beneath Angel's feet to quake She swallowed, avoiding her sister's eye.
This was the boat Angel had gambled the rest of her life on.
Chapter Three
Eisha's bedroom was next to Daniel's. Her bedside lamp was on when he arrived, shedding light over pale pink walls. The carpet was thick, flattening under his broad feet. On one side of the room was a television, DVD player and a computer console he didn't know how to work. On the other was a toy chest he had painted blue. In a fit of artistic licence, he'd drawn a storm of clouds, but the paint had run. White spidery legs dribbled to the base of the chest, turning his clouds into monsters.
Eisha watched him from under a pink duvet. "I like my toy chest, Daddy. Don't feel bad about it."
"I was a bit ambitious," he said, sitting on the side of her bed. His weight compressed the mattress and she rolled into him. He pulled her into his arms and she lay her head on his chest, her chestnut hair covering her face.
"Your heart always beats fast. Is that normal?"
"Not really, no," he said, worrying at his lower lip. "Can I ask you a question, Eisha?"
"I told you. The door was unlocked."
"But I lock it every night."
"Well, you must have forgot."
Bracing himself against the wooden headboard, a carving of a unicorn jabbed him in the back. He tried to get comfortable, but everywhere he moved, something rose to irk him.
Eisha laid a hand on his thick chest. "Your heart is going faster now."
"Did you touch my gun?" he asked.
"I'm getting very tired of this, Daddy," Eisha said, brushing hair from her face in an angry swipe. "I heard you screaming in your sleep and I was scared, okay? I came in to help."
She threw herself into her pillows. "We shouldn't be alone like this."
"What do you mean?"
Eisha held onto her bedsheets, her knuckles turning white. "Where's Granda? Or Granny?"
"You know where they are. They're gone."
Daniel couldn’t see her face, but he imagined the lines around her mouth and the blaze in her eyes. He looked the same whenever he was angry.
"But why have they gone? It's not fair."
Tucking the duvet under her chin, Daniel patted it into place. He let his hand linger, hoping she might take it. When she didn't, he went to turn off the bedside lamp. The shelf above Eisha's toy chest caught his attention and his finger paused at the switch.
"Turn the light off now, Daddy."
Daniel left it on.
Eisha kept her dolls on the shelf – plastic ones, woollen ones, anything he could order over the Internet to make her happy. They sat in a row, presenting their backs to the room. All except one.
It was a fairy princess dressed in a glittery gown, but it was not as he remembered. The gown was in tatters. The doll's synthetic blonde hair was missing, torn out at the roots. The bottom half of the face was daubed in red ink, like Scott's face in his nightmare, but it was the eyes that chilled Daniel the most.
They were missing, too.
Eisha pulled the duvet from her face. "She's my favourite. Just like you, Daddy."
Her head nestled into the pillow and she closed her eyes. He waited until her breathing slowed and he was sure she was asleep. How many times had his daughter watched him sleep in the same way he was watching her now? And how had she got into his bedroom? With a second glance at the doll, Daniel walked out of the room, down the oak stairs to the main hall.
It was the first room visitors to Five Oaks encountered, designed as an ode to the splendour of the Dayton empire. The split-level staircase had been carved from an oak tree killed and blackened by a lightning strike. A vast chandelier hung like a crystal teardrop from the ceiling and the walls were decorated with oil paintings in golden frames.
Daniel shuffled through the hall, careful to avoid the dirt tracks on the parquet flooring. The silver thread of a house spider brushed against his face. He batted it away and continued to a painting he had removed from the wall in the early days of his occupancy.
The frame was gilded with roses and vines studded with thorns. Ed and Liz Dayton stood in the centre holding hands. At either side of them were Daniel and Scott. They were in their teens and already taller than their adoptive parents. Where Ed and Liz wore their finest clothes, Daniel and his brother wore awkward smiles.
The painting leaned against a wall and Daniel folded his arms as his shadow fell among its inhabitants. He was there and not there, part of the family and not. Eisha had not been born when the painting was commissioned and he felt her absence.
There was one other person in the painting, inserted later after a family spat. Ma Dayton was his grandmother on his father's side. She sat on a chair, her legs too old to support her for long, or so she'd claimed.
Ma Dayton was what remained of his family. The others had moved on, whether in this world or to the next. They had been scattered by desperate winds, a fleet of ragged boats separated by a tornado with no map to bring them home.
Daniel inched backwards, better anchoring his shadow to the painting, his monochrome self slotting behind a family that wasn't his.
Chapter Four
"It smells of wee in here, Daddy."
The woman behind the desk glanced up from her computer and gave Eisha a stare. Her name tag read 'Sharon' and she looked to be around
twenty. A grey cardigan fell over her green tunic.
"That's what old people's homes smell like," Daniel said to his daughter. "Try to be polite."
Sharon tapped on her keyboard harder than necessary. "Silver Linings is a retirement village, not an old people's home, Mr Dayton."
Daniel looked around the reception area. It was well-ordered and pleasantly decorated. The walls were painted white. The carpet was a hard-wearing synthetic and recently vacuumed. On the reception desk were leaflets for bingo nights, canasta evenings and even a Zumba class. It didn't seem like an old people's home, but the scent of urine was everywhere. Sometimes a rose by any other name didn't always smell as sweet.
A side door opened and a man in orange overalls appeared. He looked at Daniel and stopped, his mouth dropping open. He was in his late forties, balding with a round stomach that spoke of too much beer. Next to his right eye was a tattoo of a small, grimacing skull.
Daniel pulled Eisha behind him.
"Mrs Audrey Dayton?" Sharon asked.
The tattooed man pressed a single button on his mobile phone and raised it to his mouth. He spoke in hushed tones, his eyes never leaving Daniel's face.
"Mr Dayton?" Sharon asked with another strike of the keyboard. She followed Daniel's gaze and her eyes tightened. "Fred, you're not in the exercise yard now. Go do something important." She shook her head and turned back to Daniel. "Now, Mr Dayton, you're here to see your grandmother?"
"What?" Daniel looked at her. "Yes. Ma Dayton. Get her here."
There was the click of a closing door. When Daniel returned his attention to Fred, he was gone.
"Well, usually, appointments are made in advance," Sharon said. "This isn't a drop-in facility."
Daniel chewed the inside of his mouth. "Yes, I know. It's a retirement village."
"But our residents get so few visitors, we find it hard to refuse."
"Do you know who that guy was?"
Sharon raised her eyebrows.
"The bloke in the orange overalls?" Daniel asked. "You called him Fred."