“I don’t feel comfortable with you. Think I’ll ask Tom who his therapist is. It’s nothing personal, maybe I’ll click better with a male doctor.”
“OK, we can arrange that—”
“And would you look at this, our time is up. Bye then.” Edward walked to the door.
“Let’s not be antagonistic Edward. Can I do anything to convince you to stay a little longer?”
“You can stop touching me, for a start.”
“S-sorry?” Now, at last, Dr Wells’ voice dissolved into a state of disarray.
“You heard me. All I remember from these sessions is you trying to hit it off with me. I need protecting from predators like you. Approach me again and I will ruin you.”
“Edward, you honestly think you’re the first person to play that game with me?”
“No, but I bet I can be the first person to win the game.” He jerked the door open. “Enjoy the rest of your life, Elizabeth.”
Power trip successful, Edward told himself as he vacated the premises, past an incandescent receptionist on the phone behind her desk.
Outside, he jogged across the field opposite Dr Wells’ office. Without glancing back, he moved as fast as his trembling muscles could carry him. On his phone, the time read three forty-two. Helen and Michael should be at work until five. Elizabeth Wells would need time to rally her troops. Two hours he reckoned before hell on earth would break loose.
First cometh the car. Then commences the carnage.
XXVIII
Helen hadn’t long returned from work. While Michael was busy doing overtime, she showered and applied make-up. Smiling as she admired her hard graft in the bathroom vanity mirror, a sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the front door caught her off-guard. Humming to the beat of mellow easy-listening tunes playing on the radio, she finished buttoning up her blouse and ventured towards the door.
“That’ll be him,” she said to herself, rubbing her hands together with glee.
Her watch showed 16:34.
Life had become increasingly manic and she felt almost like a back-seat passenger in her own reality. Oh! how she longed for the days when she was the queen of her own free will. It had been ages since she was last intimate; even longer since her rebellious streak had last shone through.
She fumbled in her pocket to make sure everything was in place. The risk, the derring-do, this was all part of the build-up play. The thrill that enticed her so.
An empty house. Wine in the fridge. Freshly made bedding. A snap-pouch of prohibited pick-me-up powder in her pocket. An insatiable need for that which many take for granted. A, a—
A pair of police officers at the door. More accurately, two police officers and three other people at the door.
Helen almost believed this to be a very elaborate role-playing fantasy, until she saw Elizabeth Wells, causing her smile to plummet.
“Helen?” It was Dr Wells who first addressed her. Concern was clear in her urgency.
“Edward?” was all that Helen could say.
“I’ve had to get the crisis team together. Edward needs to be taken to hospital. Is he in?”
Helen shifted, uneasy at not being able to give a straight answer.
“I…I don’t think he’s in his room. I haven’t heard anything since I got back from work.” She stymied an awkward cough as some choice lyrics blasted out from the stereo in the master bedroom. Her blushing might have been noticed if not for the thick layers of foundation plastering her face. Almost as an after-thought she added, “Please, come in.”
The crisis team needed no further invitation. A handsome gentleman, tall with short stubble and wireframe glasses, led the group past Helen and into the hallway.
“Jacquie, you and I will head to his room. Elizabeth, are you happy to stay here with Mum?” the man suggested. He was dressed casually in a hoody and faded jeans. Only a pair of blue latex gloves and an ID badge swinging from its lanyard gave him credibility as a mental health professional.
“On you go Steve.” Dr Wells then turned back to Edward’s mother. “Helen, I know this is intimidating and scary but Edward’s wellbeing has deteriorated drastically. The risk of him or others coming to harm is too great.”
“I can’t remember seeing him since about yesterday evening,” Helen admitted. “Uh, who are these other people?”
“Sorry, we should have formally introduced ourselves. Obviously you know me. Steve Idafebi is a specialist psychiatric nurse, who I’ve worked with for many years. Jacquie is our on-call social worker, then there’s PCs Terri Jordan and Nick Greaves—” she nodded in the direction of the constables standing in the porch with their thumbs resting inside their body armour “—and they’re providing support. Should we need it.”
Should we need it. Dr Wells tacked on that final sentence in a futile bid to reassure Helen, whose ‘urges’ had melted quicker than a chocolate fireguard. She slumped on the settee in the living room and supported her head in her hands, leaning over her lap to suppress a feeling of sickness in the pit of her stomach.
“What did he do?” She almost didn’t want to know.
Dr Wells frowned, then spoke quietly. “I had an appointment with him today. I’ve grown concerned at his erratic manner. His friend Tom has come to seek my help recently—”
The rest of the crisis team entered the lounge, causing Helen and Dr Wells to break off their discussion and turn to them. Steve, the nurse, shook his head.
“Nothing. His room is actually pretty tidy. We couldn’t find anything.” His voice had a soft Home Counties accent; plain with a hint of sophistication.
“Can you think of anywhere Edward would go if he gets temperamental?” This was Jacquie, the social worker, asking Helen.
“He would just go to his room, maybe go for a walk around the block. Or head down to the shops on his bike,” Helen said.
Dr Wells crouched to put a comforting hand on Helen’s shoulder, then stood back up.
“I’ll have a look in his room myself. I know him better than anyone else—” she glanced apologetically at Helen, who shrugged. “Steve and Terri, check the kitchen and garage. Jacquie and Nick, stay with Helen please. Let’s make the Missing Persons Unit and the press office aware.”
The team acknowledged their instructions and Dr Wells made her way to Edward’s bedroom.
Inside his room, she too was surprised. No mess on the floor, no dirt on his desk. The bed was made and looked like it had not been slept in lately. Stepping further into the room, Helen looked at the computer screens. They were locked, password protected. No help, just yet. The bin had been emptied, so nothing could be gleaned from there either. Dr Wells pulled out her phone and dialled a number. While waiting for someone to answer, she bit the edge of her fingernail and paced the room.
“Pick up, Tom,” she murmured.
She gave up and was about to leave Edward’s room when she noticed the end her shoes were wet. Nothing from the ceiling. Nothing on the floor, save for a dark patch of carpet close to the foot of the bed. It could easily have gone unnoticed, blending in with the shadow cast by the end of his mattress. On closer inspection, she realised it was a damp stain, emerging from underneath the bed. She crouched down to take a further look.
◆◆◆
In the lounge, Helen and the crisis team were joined by Michael. He had set foot through the door moments earlier and was being briefed by Jacquie. Helen had by now turned the music off and realised that it was just as well her ‘guest’ would no longer be visiting this evening.
“I don’t know what to say,” Michael said hoarsely. “Have you phoned him love?”
“No, why don’t you?” rebuked his wife.
“I’m only asking. Don’t get like that when our son—”
“Oh don’t give me that for crying out loud, Michael!”
“I just got back from a ten-hour shift to find you looking like you’re going out for a night on the town, with music blaring from the radio and police in our front room! And why’s your wedd
ing ring missing?”
The couple’s war of words became more heated before Jacquie adjudicated.
“Neither of you is at fault. I think Eliz is trying to phone both Edward and Thomas. We just want Edward found, safe and well. Eliz has tried to get through without luck so far. Helen, please, we have a few more questions for you. We’ll then ask your husband the same, when he’s finished trying to reach your son.”
Michael pulled out his mobile but did not get the chance to dial Edward’s number. From the next room, a shout. A rallying cry, a call to arms. A loud voice that caught the attention of everyone in the Regis’ home and in the houses next door.
“Terri, Nick, get armed response over here now. And the bomb disposal team!”
PART C – SINS
XXIX
Dawn would break cover on the horizon in the next two hours, and Edward was tired. Had he imagined that collision with the fox? Or maybe it was a deer. Or maybe both. Whatever the case, he needed to rest. It had been an eventful weekend.
Going into exile is nowhere near as glamorous as in the movies, he thought.
Ambient electronic music filled his ears as he reached a crest in the road. It was fortunate that he had been able to set aside a small sum of cash to buy this clunky heap of scrap metal. It had all the finesse of a three-legged camel bobbing along the Kalahari. Even though he hadn’t been asked to show a licence (or any ID for that matter), the seller had been a nosy and belligerent old bastard.
He replayed in his head the frenzied time he’d spent gathering his stash. His ‘go bags’ were now safely stowed in the boot. Other paraphernalia occupied the back seats. Only a crinkled note had remained under his bed. He had been clumsy in preparing himself at such short notice. A spillage of acetone on his bedroom floor was unintentional collateral damage.
His target lay off the main road, down a narrow lane that could barely accommodate two cars abreast. On either side were rows of hedges and trees that obscured the moonlight. The last trace of darkness would ensure that no one should interfere. Edward passed a sign that read:
“Martlets Grammar School for Boys. Simul autem hereditabunt terram. (Established 1891). Head Teacher: Philip J Deacon, Ph.D. Deputy Head: Lauren Garvey.”
Around the corner from this sign, a raised barrier gave access to a car park. It was partially surrounded by high wire-mesh fencing and a collection of buildings, fields and outdoor sports courts. Closest to where Edward brought his car to rest were the basketball courts. Artificial turf covered the adjacent hockey field. Pitches for rugby, football and cricket skirted the Goliathan complex. At the school’s heart were modern red-brick buildings. The traditional façade of the main building stood imperious in the campus centre.
It was in the corner of the car park that Edward switched off the ignition. According to his dashboard clock, the time was 04:13. He reclined his seat, drifting away into a patchy but much-needed slumber, dreaming of what had happened a day or two ago.
What happened in Toshy’s flat, stays in Toshy’s flat.
XXX
The knock on Thomas Osbourne’s door was subdued; he barely heard it over the sound of his music and adverts on TV. He dropped his empty dishes in the soapy kitchen basin and went to inspect his unexpected guest through the peep hole.
Nothing. A semi-illuminated corridor, empty and soulless.
Did I imagine it? he thought. In forty-eight hours’ time he would have to get up, dressed and ready for the start of a new academic year. The apprehension he felt tied his stomach in knots. It was possible his sleep-deprived brain was fooling him.
Ah, whatever. He unlocked the door to reveal—
Out of nowhere, a figure clad in dark clothing shoulder barged through the doorway and bundled Tom over.
“What the—?” He did not have the chance to finish, for a gloved hand wrapped itself around his mouth and compressed against his cheeks. Tom’s airway was blocked, causing him to swing his head from side to side in a desperate bid to shake his attacker’s grasp. He’d knocked his head on the ground and the pain forced his eyes tightly shut.
“Shush, I’ll help you,” came Edward’s voice, feigning compassion. In the act of tumbling over with Tom, his hood had slipped off his head, revealing the series of scars ingrained across his face. Some of the wounds were fresh and shared the same pastel-pink colour as his lips. One deep cut in particular ran for half an inch along his defined jawline, like a trench or fault-line in the ground. It oozed a little, but Edward was used to the pain, and the perpetual stinging no longer troubled him.
Edward kicked back with the sole of his boot to slam the door shut.
“No need to struggle, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to talk to you. Yes, talking is what they say adults should do when there’s conflict. Elizabeth would have told us both to talk things through. Wouldn’t she, baby?”
From within one of the many cavities of his large rucksack came a strip of thick tape. Out came a pair of cable ties, too. Out came a strip of cloth. And out came a vial of some chemical or other. He attempted to put Tom’s fears at ease.
“Aw, come here baby, don’t look at me like that. Please, you break my heart,” he said, managing a faint smile. Tom interpreted an element of sarcasm in the voice of his former soulmate and best friend.
By the time Edward had closed in, a thin and lop-sided smile showed up the dimples that helped to make him appear younger than his years. Then darkness set in, and Tom knew nothing more.
◆◆◆
Tugging on his shackles, Tom raised his head to catch a glimpse of his tormentor. The tight grip of the parcel tape snared his mouth, and the after-effects of the vapour – whatever that was – left him nauseous and groggy. All he could process were the basic facts of his current state: he was fucked. Figuratively speaking, he was screwed.
Edward stood over him in a commanding position, lending Tom a look that spelled at once pity and understanding. It was his large, helpless doe eyes that held Edward’s wrath in check. So deep, so mournful. He was just sitting there, on his knees, swaying hypnotically as he came around from the drug. So full of pain. Edward could almost share in his agony. He had a job to do though, did Edward.
“Here, this is for the best. We can be blood brothers. We shared so much, we had so much in common when we were together Tosh. Now we can have a common destiny. An endgame,” Edward said softly.
Tom was not immediately clear what Edward was talking about. All became clear when Edward retrieved a flick-knife from his back pocket. Opening it out, he then raised a palm – ungloved – and slid the sharp side from the base of his thumb to the base of his little finger. As the blade drew across his skin, he winced. So did Tom, who was horrified and perversely captivated by what he saw.
“It’s OK Tosh, I’ve taken enough sedatives to numb my whole body. Enough to take out half the British fucking army.” Edward gulped and laughed nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was pale and clammy, yet he did not flinch while cutting through his own hand.
Then, Edward rested on his haunches, level with Tom and just inches to spare between them. Blood pooled in the creases of his hand, accumulating into a burgundy stream that dripped onto the floor.
“Here, it’s your turn now,” he said, his voice distant.
He shimmied to Tom’s rear and swiped at one of the bound hands with his blade. Tom recoiled in pain and threw his legs back and forth as an instinctive reaction to the stinging sensation. The gag did not stop him trying to scream until his lungs felt like they were close to rupturing. It was hopeless and his distress was conveyed no louder than a whistling kettle.
From behind him, Edward cocooned their bloodied hands together.
“I can’t have you leave me, babe. Not without knowing what we’re missing out on.”
Crouching forward, Edward forced Tom onto his stomach, then pointed the knife at his captive’s mouth. The apex of the blade touched the bridge of Tom’s nose. Tom shuddered and whined, like a terrifie
d puppy. With a deft swish, Edward brought the knife slashing across the gagging tape, from left to right. The opening, stained with blood from where he'd caught Tom’s lips, allowed him to gasp and pant.
“Whad do you wand?” Unable to shout for fear of repercussions (and partly down to the lingering effects of the incapacitant), Tom slurred and struggled to raise his voice. Edward tilted a water bottle against his mouth and Tom slaked his thirst. “What do you want?” he spluttered.
“I have a hunch that you’ve been revealing secrets and getting one up on me,” Edward said, sniggering maniacally like a schoolgirl on helium.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom wheezed.
Edward pressed down harder on Tom’s back, squashing him and making each breath more strained.
“Me thinks the Tosh doth protest too much.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tom insisted.
“I saw her yesterday in fact, and she seemed to almost read my mind. Even the best shrinks in the world can’t master telepathy.”
Tom clamped his eyes shut. A wall of tears precipitated on the brim of his eyelids.
“I did it for you, Ed. I badly wanted you to get help, then we could still be together. Broken but together. We loved each other and I don’t wanna shake those feelings we had before.”
“I also have another sneaking suspicion that you…no, wait,” Edward faltered and lay prone above Tom. He sniffed and cackled. Cushioning the side of his face against Tom’s cheek, Edward whispered, “I’m HIV-positive. And I wanted to share that with you.”
Edward’s complete lack of distinction between normal and immoral behaviour, the utter sincerity with which he spoke, terrified Tom even more.
Tom grimaced under the strain of his captor. “So am I. Got diagnosed a few weeks after taking smack.”
Screams of Thy Neighbour Page 20