Gothic

by Steve Hester

CHAPTER 13

  The party was loud. Jason's uncle was a wedding DJ and had very gracefully allowed his nephew access to his speakers. The effect was like being battered in the face by a jet engine. Couple this with the mass of bodies crammed into a relatively small terrace house and it made for a very uncomfortable atmosphere, perfect for a party!

  It was still early but least one person had been sick already. The person in question was Lou who only needed half a beer to feel iffy but had drunk two to show willing. Combined with the antihistamine tablets he was on for his long list of allergies, the drinks had made sure he'd spent the last fifteen minutes bent over a previously empty plant pot in the back garden. It wouldn't be for some time that anyone would realise that it had a hole in the bottom.

  Rob and Jason weren't students anymore but they had been and so had a lot of their friends. They had all learnt the finer arts of getting very drunk on a budget and as such the kitchen was full of bottles of cheap booze and a big bowl of punch that Jason had already needed to fish a damp cigarette end out of.

  He was currently in the back garden smoking a dry one and watching Lou being unconscious. A few of the other party goers had started to play “drunk buckaroo” and were balancing various items on him, the loser being whoever put the last one on before he woke up.

  Rob staggered out into the garden and Jason put his arm round his shoulder.

  “Hey! How you doin' man? Wha' g'wan?”

  “Nowt much. Just wanted a bit of fresh air. Is that Lou?”

  They looked at the recumbent figure that was now wearing several magazines, some empty cans that rolled off each time he breathed and a paper cup that someone had taped to his head.

  “It is indeed.” Said Jason.

  “What's he doing here? He knows he can't handle his booze!”

  “Ah, he'll be fine in an hour when he clears his head.”

  They watched as one of their friends came out with a black marker pen.

  “Make sure you hide the mirrors, mate!” said Rob.

  He drained his can and went back inside. As he opened the fridge Jason could hear his friend say something but it was drowned out in the cacophony coming from the house.

  “Sorry, what was that?” said Jason.

  “I said you haven't lost any jewellery have you?” said Rob coming back with a fresh beer.

  “Jewellery? Nah mate. Why?”

  “Cos I found this on my bedroom floor earlier.”

  He pulled the chain out of his pocket and showed it to Jason. An odd feeling descended on the air like a slight build-up of static before a storm. The chain glinted in the gloom, lit only by the light from the open kitchen door and window but somehow amplifying it. The metal in the chain seemed to be too shiny for the light and the odd symbol pendent even more so.

  It was three horizontal lines over a vertical, curved at the ends like the edges of a shield.

  Jason turned it over in his hand.

  “Nope... Nope, not mine. Not one of your mums is it?”

  “She doesn't wear jewellery. Never has done. Only thing she has is her wedding and engagement rings.”

  “Is it your dads?”

  “He doesn't wear any either.” Said Rob. “Doesn’t even keep his wedding ring on when he's at work, too dangerous.”

  “Yeah but he might have started cross dressing on weekends.”

  “Fool.” Rob playfully punched his friend on the shoulder.”Look at it though. It’s.... Familiar, but I swear to you that the first time I saw this chain was today.”

  Jason leant over Lou and stubbed his cigarette out on a plate on the windowsill.

  “Yeah I’ve had that.” He said. “Found a transformer when I was packing my stuff for uni at the bottom of my wardrobe. I dunno where that came from either, wasn’t mine!”

  Inside the lounge a small group had gathered. They were sat on the couch or on the couple of threadbare beanbags Jason had brought with him when he'd moved out of his student accommodation a few years ago. The focal point was a man known by everyone as Sausage.

  He was a skinny guy and an old friend of Rob and Jason. Many people had an idea as to how he'd got his nickname, there were many stories and most had been wildly exaggerated but right now several girls were hoping to find out first hand later in the night.

  Currently though he was the centre of attention because of what was in his hand. He was making a roll up cigarette and judging by the smell he wasn't filling it with tobacco. He put it to his mouth and stowed a small plastic bag away into his pocket.

  The doorbell rang. Sausage got up from his beanbag to answer it, stopping briefly to light up his smoke. He took a deep drag and opened the door...

  Two uniformed police officers were stood on the doorstep.

  “Hello sir.” said one. “Are you the homeowner?”

  Sausage's face twisted, his eyes bulging with the sudden effort needed to avoid breathing out. He whipped the joint behind his back.

  “Are you all right sir?” said the officer.

  Sausage nodded slowly. The smoke was burning up his lungs and various chemicals were now charging around his brain. A small tick had developed on his face.

  “Try breathing out. Sir.” grinned the officer.

  He couldn't hold it in anymore. A cloud of smoke exploded from his mouth accompanied by a racking cough. The officers stepped into the house one gently guiding Sausage onto the couch.

  Word of mouth had spread faster than wildfire to the back yard and Rob and Jason jogged in.

  “Oh shit...” said Jason.

  …

  A black saloon had pulled up just in time to see the police officers enter the house.

  “Police.” said Michelle. “This is going to complicate things.”

  “Not really.” said Clark. “We don't know what they're there for yet.”

  She grinned.

  “Being that age I can guess. Remember when you were that age?”

  “Nope, I never was. I was born at thirty.”

  She looked across at him. He had a face that looked like he'd been carved out of marble and she couldn't ever remember him cracking a smile.

  “Yeah, it shows.” Michelle said. “We'd just better hope he's still in there.”

  A man was staggering along the street ahead of them. He looked like he was drunk but he kept clutching his stomach and trying to pull himself along by grabbing the low walls of the front gardens. He stumbled and fell onto his knees, pausing for a moment to pull himself back together before standing again on wobbly joints. He was quite clearly in a lot of pain.

  “You see that?” said Michelle.

  “Yeah... Guy looks like he's in a bad way.”

  There was a pause as the two wondered what to do.

  “You stay here; keep an eye on the house. I'll go check him.” said Clark.

  He stepped out of the car. Another one was heading towards him along the road, its headlights bright and blinding him momentarily before it drove past. He'd instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes and when he lowered it he could see the man stagger into a passageway between two of the houses.

  Michelle watched as her partner disappeared up the passage after him, his long coat flapping as he went, and then returned her gaze back to the house. The noise of the stereo had gone replaced by an almost eerie silence.

  She thought back to her student days. There had been plenty of parties in the halls of residence, that many teenagers away from home for the first time were bound to let off steam and get rowdy. A brief memory of one drunken night in her room surfaced and she smiled. Good job Clark isn't here to see me blush, she thought.

  A few minutes passed, then a few more and he still wasn't back. Maybe this guy was in a worse state than he'd thought. If that was the case then she knew he would have put a call out for an ambulance. She looked at the small computer in the middle of the dashboard and checked. Nothing had been called in during the last half an hour to anywhere near them.

  She was just about t
o get out and check when the door opened.

  “Well? How wa...” was as far as she got.

  Her breath was suddenly taken away by the knife that was stuck into her chest. It had cut through her left lung and the tip was now lodged in her heart. She could feel the pain that was accompanying her last few beats but couldn't make a noise as blood started to fill up inside her.

  She stared wide-eyed at the man sitting in the passenger seat.

  The Sympathetic Man twisted the knife before pulling it out, enjoying the sensation as it scraped across her ribs. He leant back and watched the front of the house as Michelle spluttered beside him. She was stronger than he thought and her shaking hand moved unsteadily to the gun in her holster.

  He swung his right arm back and hit her in the sternum with a powerful blow from his elbow. She coughed and spasmed before finally succumbing to the inevitable.

  He lifted her head up gently, closed her eyes and after a quick search, pulled a packet of tissues from a small compartment below the steering wheel. After he wiped the blood from her mouth he leant her head back against the window.

  “Sleep well.” He said.