Screams of Thy Neighbour

by Alexander Cowley

  Edward tried to find the funny side in all of this. “No expense spared here, eh? You sure know how to live.”

  Tom went to the kitchen space and fetched a can of energy drink from a mini fridge. Edward declined the offer of one for himself.

  “It’s cheap, by which I mean I pay nothing. My dad gave me some money he’d kept in a trust fund for my seventeenth birthday. It’s keeping me going.”

  “You could've fooled me, Tosh,” said Edward, surveying the cramped accommodation that was now Tom’s home.

  A sofa-bed was strewn with a mountain of clothes. Some were dirty, others were too big for Tom, all were creased. One T-shirt caught Edward’s eye, a dull grey polo neck with ‘Prescott’s Properties’ emblazoned over one breast. He couldn’t work out why his subconscious was so drawn to that ugly garment.

  “Do they own this place?” Edward asked, referencing it.

  “Hm? Who, oh, them,” Toshy tittered before hesitating. “No, well they own this flat but not the whole block. They gave me a free shirt when I moved in. Generous or what?”

  “What’s more generous is them letting you stay here for free.”

  Tom had nothing to say, except to nod and suggest he was highly fortunate. He was transfixed by Edward’s body. Ravaged though it was, it still attracted Tom towards him.

  And it was Tom who made the first move, lunging towards him and locking their lips. It had been months since they were last intimate; hell, it had been months since they had laid eyes on each other. So much had changed.

  Edward could tell that Tom was just as weak as he. The delicate contact of his lips. Less said about his fermented breath, the better. The tentative touch of Tom’s hands on Edward’s hips. The way he cautiously unbuttoned Edward’s clothes, instead of stripping them clean off his body.

  The dynamics of their relationship had shifted, so Tom’s uncharacteristic meekness seemed to drive Edward on. Motivating Edward to sling off his T-shirt. Their torsos touched; bare, bruised. It was Edward who pulled down Tom’s jeans and boxer shorts.

  “Careful, careful babe, watch it,” Tom said, grimacing.

  Like a red rag to a bull, Edward’s attention was drawn to a tell-tale mark on Tom’s arm. Two of them. What struck him was the appearance of blood spots on the inside of Tom’s elbow. Puncture wounds.

  “What are these?” Edward asked, although he feared he could predict the answer. He hadn’t lived a sheltered life. Hedonistic self-destruction was not for him, but he was confident he could recognise the signs in other people.

  “Let me go down on you. Then you can fuck me,” Tom said evasively. He kicked his boxers away but Edward clasped hold of his arm to halt his advance.

  “What. The fuck. Are those,” he said, emphasising each syllable.

  “Nothing, honest. It’s fine,” Tom pretended.

  “Because to me, they look like needle pricks,” Edward said, his voice quivering. He was so close to Tom on an emotional level that it seemed like Tom was an extension of his own body. Anything affecting Tom, automatically impacted Edward in equal measure.

  “You don’t understand,” Tom insisted. “They’re, they’re from blood tests I had the other day.”

  His nervousness was enough to keep Edward guessing.

  “Can I use your bathroom? I need to prep before we get down to business,” he said cheekily. “I won’t be a minute.”

  “No, wait, let me clean up in there first,” Tom stuttered.

  Edward was true to his word. Emerging from the bathroom seconds later, his expression had changed. A frown had descended, a deathly scowl full of foreboding.

  “I think I’ll go now,” he said quietly.

  “No,” Thomas begged.

  A dark shadow cast itself over Edward’s face, a storm cloud hovering over his head.

  “Baby, please. It looks worse than it is,” Tom cried.

  “How, how even could you?” Edward shouted in despair. “You don’t think I understand? Huh, so let me get this right, ‘cause what it tells me is that you don’t care about yourself. You don’t care about how you treat your body. So what if I do this?” He went up to Tom and began slapping him about the cheeks, lightly to start with but gradually getting harder.

  Tom was taken aback. He moved away from Edward but could not avoid the strikes. He raised his arms to protect his face but Edward batted them away and continued to land blows with his palms against Tom’s face.

  “I can explain, hear me out,” Toshy pleaded. “You don’t understand how stressful it’s been since I got kicked out. Doing that shit has been my only release from this fucked-up world. I’m not hooked or anything, it’s just an occasional escape.”

  Edward ignored him. “And now, let’s say I do this.” He grabbed the flossy hair on Tom’s scalp and forced him onto his knees. Edward then stuck his stiff penis into Tom’s mouth and thrust until Tom gagged and tried to push him away.

  “What about if I do this,” Edward withdrew and swivelled Tom to face the opposite direction, “while making you do this?” Taking a belt from the mass of clothes on the sofa bed, Edward slung it around Tom’s neck like a lasso, tight enough to make him struggle for air.

  “See, how d’you like me now? ‘Cause you’re just my little bitch!” With that, Edward spat on Tom’s bare backside before inserting his dick.

  Slapping on Tom’s back, banging harder and faster, yanking on the belt, Edward gurned. Tom lay limp as a rag-doll and offered no resistance.

  “You don’t respect yourself, so why should I?” Edward shouted over the sound of Tom choking and the sound of thighs bouncing off splayed butt cheeks.

  “Please stop, baby. Stop!” Tom rasped. The rhythmic splatting sounds became more intense as Edward ploughed on. Clasping a fistful of bare arse cheek in one hand and the belt with his other, it was Edward who had a four-month load to jettison since they last fucked.

  “Please no,” Tom repeated, his voice subdued, as though talking to himself in a dream-like haze.

  With a final, climactic lunge forward, Edward groaned and closed his eyes. His face lit up as he bust his nut and the waves of pleasure rippled throughout his body.

  Edward’s manhood was filthy when he retracted it from inside Tom. He hobbled over to the pile of clothes, grabbed the grey Prescott’s T-shirt and wiped himself with it. It reeked, so Edward finished cleaning himself over the kitchen basin, applying a liberal dose of washing-up liquid to his penis. Throughout, he said nothing, preferring to dry his groin and dress himself in peace.

  Heavy breaths came from Tom, who erupted into a coughing fit after removing the belt from around his neck. He attempted to draw the strength needed to stand up. Giddy, his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to the cold floor.

  “You lie there and recover. I think you probably need to take it easy after that,” Edward advised drily.

  Cleaned and dressed, he headed to the door. He turned around to see Tom, bereft of all dignity, crawling on his stomach towards him. His legs were evidently dead weights, as he dragged himself along the mouldy carpet with his spindly hands. To Edward, he resembled a ragged Gollum, only with more hair. Wide eyes stared vacuously ahead. Greasy hair stuck to his blemished, pale forehead. Vestiges of a once proud and beautiful boy diminished to a sickly mess.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” Tom began, pausing to catch his breath. “I don’t want to lose you now. Don’t go.”

  Edward stayed beside the door, caught between his intention to leave and hearing what Tom had to say. Tom’s helplessness fixated him.

  “My biggest regret,” Tom continued, “is that I didn’t see you in hospital. Things between me and my parents kicked off so much. I had the pressure of exam modules and head boy responsibilities on top of everything else. You were, I mean you still are, the one constant in my life. The thought of losing you was something I tried to ignore. Like a coward.”

  He cast his bulging eyes away from Edward, fixing a downtrodden gaze on the floor directly beneath him. Out s
tretched his hand; maybe suggesting Edward should help him up, maybe asking for a simple sign of affection. Edward did nothing.

  “Staying away didn’t help. I only got lonelier. My parents practically disowned me. I worried I might never see you again. That’s when, I…” Tom trailed off. “I think there’s something I should tell you. Probably the main reason I feel so guilty now.”

  Before he could continue, Edward hushed him. The vulnerability in Tom’s face tugged at Edward’s heart strings. He backtracked to the kitchen and took a glass from the cupboard.

  “Just have a drink and take it easy,” Edward said.

  “Please, there’s something I gotta say Ed. Just hear me out,” Tom said, his voice shaking for fear of triggering a further backlash.

  Edward filled the tumbler with water. Then he sat on the floor, resting Tom’s head on his lap and helping him sip the water, in the same way a doting adult would take care of a miserable infant. In one go, Tom had finished the water. They stayed put for a little while longer, both staring into space.

  Tom spoke again out of the blue. “Can I tell you what I have to say now?”

  “Let me tell you a story of my own,” Edward began. “I’ve been on death’s door so many times. It’s made me appreciate how valuable life is. Death is a reality that I don’t want to confront. Call me the coward, call me crazy, I don’t care. If there is no getting away from death, I can’t sit around and pity myself. My only hope is to live on with a legacy that resonates for all the right reasons. Or all the wrong reasons. This is where I came up with my idea. I call it my Omega Plan.”

  Tom was unsure where Edward was leading with this soliloquy. “Have you spoken to your therapist about it? Or anyone, to be fair?”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Edward snapped. “Since waking up in hospital, I’ve invested in crypto. You know, virtual currencies and all that. No one knew, not Helen and Michael, not even you. At first I thought it was all bullshit. But – get this – it turns out I started at the right time, because I’ve made myself a decent amount already. Ever since I came round in ICU, my smartphone has been trading for me.”

  Tom’s empty eyes were no match for Edward’s unblinking focus, which did not waver as they seemed to penetrate Tom’s subconscious. Tom suddenly felt more vulnerable, like he was being mentally undressed.

  “While I’ve been recovering at home over Christmas, I’ve got to work. I’ve used that money to get hold of resources. I used a fake name and kept in touch with some contact. I had parcels delivered next door. I intercepted them each morning when the post came. No one’s suspected a thing. I did it all while my parents were out, when no one visited me. Everyone expecting me to just lay in bed 23 hours a day. Sleep, and occasionally eat or shit, no one would expect anything else. I hid myself away preparing for my Omega Plan.

  “It’s like our stars have aligned Tosh. You’re self-destructing and don’t give a fuck. And I'm aspiring to new-found notoriety, by getting revenge on the bastard who’s caused me so much grief.”

  Edward closed in, near enough for Toshy to feel his breath rush against his battered face. It made Tom shiver.

  And Edward whispered, “I’m going to find Simon Wainwright. I’m going to cut him until he convulses, spewing blood from every orifice. I’m going to sever his tendons, one by one, as he lets out the death rattle. I’m going to burn him alive and have his family watch. They’ll be tied and gagged, but Simon will just be gagged. Because by the time I’m through with him, there’ll be no limbs left to tie up.

  “You hate him, I hate him. We can share in getting off on his suffering. Together.”

  A hush descended on the pair of them.

  Tom spoke eventually. “Uhh, boy that’s deep. And that’s going to get you your legacy?”

  Edward dodged this and laughed. “I’ll worry about my legacy. You just give the Wainwright thing some thought, OK?”

  He did not bother waiting for a response, as he sprang to his feet and made for the door. “By the way, what was it you wanted to tell me earlier? Before I started rambling.”

  Tom managed to clamber to his feet and had pulled up his pants to redeem some modesty.

  “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just to say I made head boy in school this year.” He forced a smile and aimed a thumb in the direction of the kitchen counter, where his head boy lapel pin-badge stood.

  Edward’s face brightened as well. “Nice going baby, you’ve deserved it! Tell me more about it later, alright?”

  Before Tom could respond, Edward had left. Brisk footsteps echoed along the corridor. Tom surveyed his flat, mouthed a profanity and collapsed with exhaustion on his bed. Flailing his arms towards his bedside cabinet in a burgeoning fog, he sought out something. His phone; some painkillers; or failing that, a needle.

  XXII

  Night was fast drawing in when Edward got home. His parents were beside themselves with worry, which he had anticipated.

  “You didn’t think it would be a good idea to let us know where you were or when you planned on coming home?” his irate father complained.

  “Edward, honey, you’re still weak and need to take care of yourself,” Helen chastised him. Edward was in no mood to fight his corner.

  “Sorry guys,” he said coolly. “I went round to see Tom. He wasn’t himself, in an even worse state than I’ve been.”

  He went into detail about his encounter with Tom’s mum and having to find his friend’s new address in the notorious estate. Details about his antics in Tom’s flat were spared.

  “We got a phone call from Tom’s mother earlier. She was absolutely distraught and telling us you’ve been ruining Tom’s life and distracting him from his schoolwork,” Helen said, scratching her head. “Which doesn’t make any sense to us because you’ve been in hospital and haven’t seen him since September.”

  “She’s a psycho,” hissed Edward. “I only wanted to check on him because, as you say, I’ve not seen him in months. His mum’s talking bullshit.”

  His adoptive parents were not convinced. Edward listened as they vented.

  “You’re seventeen years of age. Start acting like a grown-up. You should know better and take responsibility for your actions!” Helen ranted.

  Michael picked up on this. “Especially visiting that area where you say Tom is living,” he remonstrated. “There’s stabbings and muggings every week around that part of town. God knows it’s bad enough me going there to audit the letting agency every six months.”

  Edward was about to give up and excuse himself to his bedroom, when idle curiosity stopped him in his tracks. He looked at his father, who continued to glower his way.

  “The letting agency?” Edward enquired.

  Sensing that the main crux of his argument was failing to sink in, Michael huffed and clenched his teeth. “Most of the flats in the tower blocks are sub-contracted by the council to Prescott’s. And a right nasty company they are as well. Horrible father and son pair who run it. Always urging me to fiddle the numbers. Moaning if I complete the audit outside their impossible deadlines. Scummy agency, I feel for Tom living there.”

  Edward remembered the T-shirt with the company’s logo on Tom’s sofa. “He’s got the place rent-free,” he pointed out.

  “Ha! With old Baron Bobby and his druggie son in charge? I think not. No chance of anyone getting it free. Sooner pigs will fly than Prescott’s will offer paid-for accommodation!”

  “Tom wouldn’t even have been eighteen when he moved in,” stated Edward.

  His father cradled his forehead in his hand, exasperated. “Oh fan-fucking-tastic. Two weeks before I’m due to sort out their accounts and now I have this bollocks to contend with.” he fumed as Helen tried to calm him. “Sake!”

  “You won’t get him kicked out, will you?” asked Edward.

  “If he’s living under the radar of the authorities,” Michael began. Seeing Edward’s expression, he sighed and went on, “I don’t have any powers to kick people out of their home, or
to enforce any rules. I’m being paid purely to check their finances and advise them on their legal status.”

  Edward took this non-committal reply as a victory and started to walk out of the room. “What’s his son’s name? I’ll probably have seen him on Facebook,” he said.

  “I think it’s Simon something.”

  “Simon Prescott, obviously,” Edward chuckled, edging out of sight beyond the living room doorway.

  “No, he’s Bobby’s stepson. I think his surname’s Wainwright or something stupid like that.”

  In that instant, a cold chill descended over Edward. The hallway seemed to move out of his reach; he grabbed hold of a radiator dramatically with both hands. His head was a searing network of frayed electrical cables, all sparking and short-circuiting.

  He couldn’t process anything. Having heard those words, he tried to join the dots. He struggled to pull himself together, but the quizzical stares from his parents caused him to take refuge in his room, where he flung himself onto the bed and worked backwards, forcing his mind to regain composure. To think laterally.

  The drugs in Tom’s flat. The T-shirt given to Tom by the letting agents. Tom’s rent-free accommodation. His disappearance from Edward’s life. His angry mum claiming Edward had ruined Toshy’s life over the last few months – which would have been impossible given that—

  And the For Sale sign outside the Osbournes’ old house? It was over four years ago, but it precipitated to the front of Edward’s consciousness. ‘Sold – Subject to Terms. Courtesy of: Prescott’s Properties.”

  Simon Wainwright. Son of Bobby Prescott. The company sweater that Wainwright wore when Edward was walking to the clinic to see Dr Wells. Prescott’s Properties.