Despairing and alone, he chose the only direction he could go in. He would find the only man that mattered. Praying he was going the right way, he began staggering in what he hoped was the direction of Alex’s flat. It seemed impossible that he could help his friend now. Each step he took was the simple extension of a foot to prevent himself toppling forwards. Several times he was not quick enough, and a collection of bruises and cuts began to join the scarlet of his burns. If he had not even the strength to walk straight, what could he do against the far superior power of the creature? Little, he knew. He would try anyway. There was nothing else left to do.
Streets passed him by as his thoughts wandered. People avoided him, averting their eyes. One woman snorted with disgust, muttering that the streets should be cleansed of people such as he. Several times he wandered onto the road, causing cars to pull up short to avoid him. He was oblivious to the complaints of the drivers. The furious cacophony of horns was a background irrelevance. Days may have passed, or merely hours. Whether he slept during his journey he was unable to tell, though he remembered walking through the dark of night. All that changed for him were the colours. The spectrum of day was full and bright, his night a pallid blend of amber and grey.
When he finally awoke from this waking doze, his finger was on a buzzer marked with the name of Alex Carlisle. The sudden transition from the haze of his wanderings to the harshness of reality made him jump. Were it not for the inflamed burning of his hands and feet he might have laughed. The sickness running through his limbs had worked into his blood, and he found that he could not stop shaking. Bending, he vomited onto his own feet. Little more than a clear trickle of puke splattered down, and he wondered how long it was since he had eaten.
He remembered his finger, and took the trembling digit from the buzzer. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he waited for a response. It felt good to transfer some little weight to his shoulder. His legs were weak with walking and pain.
He was so sure that he would get no response, he nearly screamed when Alex’s voice emerged from the speaker. It was small now, frightened, and confused. How far down the road had he travelled?
“Hello?”
Richard thought fast, trying to decide what would get him inside. There was a chance, a single slim hope. He grabbed for it. “Hello.” His voice was a harsh croak, unused for hours or days, and he winced as the smoke damage to his larynx tore him. “I’d like...I need to speak to…” not Alex, he reminded himself. This is no longer Alex. “Gregory Summers please.” He ended with a painful fit of coughing.
At first there was no answer, but then the voice came through again. It sounded harsher than before. “Who are you? How did you find me here?”
Hoping he could fashion an answer before the coughing took him again, Richard hurried his next words out. “I’m a friend. We’ve met before, but you don’t remember me because your head’s been screwed with. I know what’s happening to you. Please let me in.” Another pause, then the buzz of the door being released.
Richard was so grateful to be allowed inside that he hardly noticed the burst of pain from his left hand as he pushed open the door. Stumbling zombie-like up the stairs, he turned towards the corridor housing Alex’s flat.
The door was ajar as he reached it.
“Hello?” Pushing open the door, he took a step into the room. Everything was dark, and he began to wonder if he had the right flat after all. Was it the first or second floor Alex lived on? “Hello?”
A flash of movement to his left, an explosion of pain from the back of his head. Blackness.
CHAPTER THIRTY
REUNIONS
With each fresh spate of unconsciousness he underwent it required more effort to rejoin the world he hid from. Why return? What was left there for him? Everything Summers held valuable was a lie from the start, and now Jameson had nothing either. All that awaited him was pain, suffering, and the fruition of the creature’s machinations. But though he had been through so much, he still did not know why. He wanted the answer to that question very badly. If Alex and he were fated to be doomed men, he would still have that answer.
Reaching up through the void, he broke the surface and pulled himself through. Almost immediately, he began to laugh. The very first thing to draw his attention was not the crippling burns, nor his hostile surroundings, but the fact that he had a headache. Still chuckling weakly, he opened his eyes. Alex’s sitting room. He was sitting on the couch he had infused with blood during his earlier visit, his hands and feet tied with electrical cable. Where it had come from he did not know, but somebody had also bandaged his burns.
“I’m sorry. I was expecting...someone else.” Too weary to be startled, Richard tried turning his head to the kitchen door behind him. Alex saved him the effort by stepping into his field of vision. He wondered how long he had been wandering the streets, for he beheld a changed man. Blond hair hung loose from the customary ponytail, and those fine, angular features were haggard and drawn. Noting his dismayed reaction, Alex forced a half-smile. “You don’t look too good yourself.”
Richard gave a resigned laugh. “I’ve had better days. You don’t remember me do you?”
“I…don’t know. You seem familiar, but I can’t place it. Are you friends with Georgina?”
He snorted. “Hardly. Did you treat my burns?”
“I did my best. They look serious.”
It was an odd level of acceptance the two men shared, each appearing to appreciate the kindred spirit before them. Without knowing what the other was going through, they seemed both to recognise that they were trapped in the same circumstance. Richard knew he should be glad to see his friend, but all he felt was exhaustion. He had come so far, yet what could he hope to achieve?
“You tied me.” Not an accusation, just a statement.
“Sorry. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why you’re here.” Alex took a seat opposite him. “My life has been subject to some...unusual developments. I need to protect myself. Whoever provided this flat is going to regret the damage to the rather fine vase I hit you with, but I have to be careful.” Richard nodded. Better than anybody else alive, he could appreciate the fear and confusion Alex felt.
“Greg.” He hated himself for perpetuating that lie, even for a moment. “You’ve found your identity has come under a certain amount of confusion. Your wife doesn’t recognise you anymore. In fact, she probably thinks that she’s married to another man, also calling himself Greg Summers. All of your ID labels you as Alex Carlisle, to whom this flat apparently belongs. I wouldn’t be surprised if the police have also confirmed that identity. You have nowhere to go, nobody to help you. You might suspect some grand conspiracy. How am I doing?”
Alex paled with each announcement. “How...how…?”
“Been there. Done that. Until a few days ago I was Gregory Summers as well.” Alex shook his head, not understanding. “My real name is Richard Jameson, but I was the sixth man in London to be convinced otherwise. You’re the seventh. I remember the coffee scald we’re supposed to have received when we were six, just here.” He indicated a spot halfway up his left arm. “I remember mum’s death and the lack of guilt we felt. What we wanted to do was peel back her eyelids and see her soul. We married Jennifer Sharpe after meeting her on the day of our graduation from Newcastle University. We honeymooned in Florida. You have these memories, don’t you?”
Alex nodded, thoughtful and serious. “You mean to suggest that I really am Alex Carlisle, manager of the Ramkin Hotel? That Gregory Summers is an entirely fictional man placed into my head by some outside agency?” Richard was surprised at this rather blasé acceptance. He had expected resistance, tears, and denial. Was Alex so much stronger than he had been?
“Yes. You are. You believe me?” Richard held the eye contact he had established, then faster than he could follow a fist lashed out and broke his nose. It crumpled easily beneath the taller man’s strength, bringing the damp of pain to his eyes as his head snapped ba
ck.
“Who are you!” Alex screamed into his face. Richard recalled his own reaction when he had met Stewart in the restaurant. This was no real surprise. Shaking his head, he tried to will his nose to stop bleeding.
“Hey babe, no need for violence.” At this voice, he did jump. It was Georgina. The thing. It had been there all along, watching, listening to him talk, ready to step in if he showed signs of success. “It’s the same guy who came to see me. Tried to tell me some weird shit about not being who I am or something.” She was behind him, close to his left shoulder. He couldn’t move, but he willed her not to touch him, not to make physical contact with his body. Her fingers brushed the lobe of his left ear, sending a repulsive, delicious shiver down his spine. He was glad he had emptied his stomach already. As it was, he retched weakly. Increasing her grip, using her nails to draw blood, she held him in place. How much blood do I have left, he asked himself?
“I told you I thought he was something to do with it. We should take him to the police and let them sort it out.” Despite the trust in Alex’s eyes, Richard knew they would not be visiting the constabulary. It appeared that he had at last reached the final stage. Alex’s version of Greg had obviously used Georgina for the support that Richard had found in the hotel manager himself. How long had she been waiting for him at the flat, knowing that he had nowhere else to run? She probably went there straight after leaving his apartment. A knot of failure tied his gut, and he realised he had failed at the hotel. Alex was vulnerable and weak, if she wanted to violate him he would have welcomed the physical comfort. Just as Richard had.
“I’ll get the car.” Alex turned to leave, and Richard felt a flush of panic.
“No! Don’t…” She squeezed his ear again, cutting off his words as he hissed with pain. Alex hesitated, worried about leaving his lover in the company of this madman.
“I’ll be fine babe, you tied him tight.” He nodded and was gone, leaving Richard alone with the thing.
Releasing his ear, she sat opposite him. “Good of you to join us. I apologise for your stay being so brief, but we have an appointment for which we’re already overdue.” She eyed him with irritation. “It seems I overestimated your ability to deal with the fire at your apartment. I am sorry for that, but rest assured I will be punished.” She grinned as his singed eyebrows crawled upwards. “Oh yes, you shall have answers soon enough, believe me. Soon your suffering will reach an ultimate end.”
Answers. So many that he needed. “My family?” he breathed. “How?”
“Hardly difficult for one with my talents.” As Richard watched, the flesh of her face became molten and flowing. Setting itself in the mould of his own familiar features, her body altered with it. Shapes slid and pulsed beneath her clothing, bulging and reforming. When the grim process was complete, she had become him. Even her weight and height were identical to his own. Unable to take his eyes away, he listened to the doppelgänger explain further. “I, or rather you, simply phoned them and invited them for a late breakfast. They were eager. You really should check your messages more often, you had them terribly worried. I convinced the doorman that I had locked myself out, and he furnished me with a spare key. The screams were a little tricky to explain to your charming neighbour. I calmed her though, have no fear.” Was that how she had felt as the fireball blew her from her feet? Calm? Fearless? “If you’ll excuse me, you’ll have to wait for the rest of your answers. Alex, or rather Greg, will be back in a moment. Please try not to alarm him. You already know that I’m stronger than he is, and I would not desire him to come to harm.” Melting again, his reflected image became Georgina. Forcing his stomach to remain still, he turned his head to avoid the sight.
The thing timed the transformation perfectly. Alex entered as the final muscles shifted into place beneath settling skin. For a moment he stared at her, unsure of what had been wrong with the image he had just seen.
“Something wrong with the car, honey?” Her face was a perfect show of innocent concern.
“What? No. No, it’s ready. Is everything okay?” Come on, thought Richard, work it out. Ask the questions. Alex let it go, hovering in the doorway as he waited for her to join him. Richard wondered if he had been this docile when he had been the victim.
The creature spoke to him, voice low. “You are to be untied. You will not try anything so foolish as a bid for freedom. You are in no condition to run, and Greg here could easily overpower you. Nothing would be accomplished except your further pain.” The warning was unnecessary. She had already given him the only promise that mattered now. Answers.
So he did not struggle when she removed the cable binding his hands and feet, though he winced a little, for it pulled at his burns when she tugged the knots. Alex approached him warily, but gave him a shoulder to lean against as he rose. Limping, expelling sharp rasps of breath with each step, Richard followed his friend’s lead as they left the flat. When they reached the car, he sat in the back as the creature rattled the engine to life.
Nobody said anything for the first part of the journey. Georgina drove with a silent air of triumph. All her eggs lay securely about her now, and she knew she was about to succeed. Alex was a little anxious, no doubt wondering whether the police would really be able to help him. Every few minutes he swung his head round to check on Richard, unnerved to have the person he assumed responsible for the strangeness in his life sitting right behind him.
Richard was restless, eager to end the journey. He knew there would be two stages to the evening. At the prospect of the first he was excited. There was a reason, and he would be told what it was. He was to learn why he had suffered so. Whatever happened next would have a point, however insidious that might be. Of the second part of the evening, the part where he would join the medical statistics in the study at Fontside Avenue, he was devoid of anticipation. Nothing he could imagine would prevent his death, and if there were a solution he had no will to take it. Nothing remained to fight for. Everything that he remembered, apart from the last two weeks, was nothing. His only real life had involved his fight against the creature, and he was tired of it now, exhausted beyond the ability to struggle. He wanted an end, one way or another.
“Which police station are we taking him to?” A note of unease coloured Alex’s voice. They had been driving for nearly fifteen minutes in utter silence, and for the first time it had crossed the man’s mind that something was far from right. Richard pursed his lips in a hard smile. It was about time.
Georgina did not even turn her head. “Shhh. First we have to visit somebody who can help us. They know things we can use.” Alex stared at her, confused. Richard was also intrigued. He knew about Jennifer of course, but were there more people involved than just the creature’s human servant? He had seen no evidence of a wider conspiracy, but the inference hung tantalisingly before him.
“Who?” Alex voiced the question but Richard knew they would get no answer.
“Tell you later. Don’t want to get him upset.”
Alex turned to look at him, perplexed and frustrated. Catching Richard’s own puzzled expression, he nodded and chose silence.
There was nothing to do but sit back. Watching the amber glow of passing street lamps, Richard let his mind drift. Had he, the real Richard Jameson, ever walked those streets? Perhaps he and a lover had wandered hand in hand through London districts, exploring and enjoying. He realised that he had no idea where he was actually from. Was he local, or from further afield? Where had he grown up?
Feeling dampness on his cheeks, he wiped the fast forming tears from his eyes. Only then did the extent of his failure really strike him. Richard Jameson was not to be rescued from the dark place where he was trapped. Even if he were, it would be an escape to heartache and pain, the very turmoil Summers had felt as his fantasy life had been stripped from him. Richard would wish that on no man, least of all himself.
Alex too was lost. A brave, compassionate soul who had committed no crime but to aid a man he had just met, his fat
e was as certain as Richard’s. Perhaps this was the greater failure, for if Richard had not spurned him in the cellar of the Ramkin Hotel he might be safe. Why had he spurned him? He adored him.
Had the two met under different circumstances they could have been lovers, and this brought fresh tears to Richard’s eyes. He had identified at least one point where the cycle might have been broken. After discovering that Jennifer did not know him, he and Alex could have left, could have made a new life for themselves away from these troubles. It was a fantasy, but a painful one. Just one opportunity to turn back the clock, to continue kissing Alex, to flee with him and enjoy him.
He punched the car door hard, replacing tears of might-have-been with droplets of pain. Alex swung his head about again.
“You’re not going to start trouble are you?” It was a worried enquiry, but it held a note of warning. In the darkness of the car, Richard could just make out the concerned glint of Alex's eyes. A hard wrench yanked his heart across his chest as he remembered when that concern had been coloured with care.
“No,” he said. “I’m sorry for everything. I enjoyed our kiss.”
A sickened twist warped Alex’s features. “You…what are you saying?”
They were talking at cross-purposes now, but Richard continued regardless. “That I’m sorry.” It felt good to say the words, and when Alex turned to the front with a contemptuous shake of his head he knew this to be the reaction of Greg Summers alone. Perhaps, wherever he was confined, Alex Carlisle had heard the words and was glad.
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