Screams of Thy Neighbour

by Alexander Cowley

  “Why would you tell me this?”

  “Well I may as well tell you. You’re gonna kill me anyway.”

  “And why would I do that baby?” Edward teased, running the back of his finger down the side of Tom's neck.

  “Because I got infected by Simon. Wainwright.”

  At these fateful words, Edward said nothing, but rose to his feet and headed to his backpack.

  “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Tom asked after an unnerving silence.

  Edward fumbled about in his bag for something, allowing the rustling to breach the eerie peace.

  “I know you’ve been seeing him, too,” he said a short while later. “I wanted to hear it from you. I hoped it would make me feel better, that you told me.”

  He remained standing, facing away from Tom, and the rummaging stopped. “It hasn’t made me feel better.”

  The basest form of dread ate through Tom. He had already determined that Edward would kill him – even through the drugged-up stupor, that much was clear. The issue was how much suffering he would have to endure.

  Edward continued. “It all came together. Each piece of the jigsaw. Now I know exactly how I’ve been betrayed, by all of you. It’s come full circle.”

  Tom tilted onto his side, handicapped by the binds fastening his wrists and ankles. He caught sight of what Edward had collected from his rucksack and his heart took flight.

  “No, Ed, just wait. Listen to me, let’s talk please.”

  “Bless, just what Elizabeth would’ve said.” Hands full, Edward closed in on his target. “But not today.”

  Weight for weight, they were incomparable. Tom had under-exerted himself lately and was skinny. He’d become frailer, whereas Edward had ramped up his physical activity. As he recovered from the beating sustained almost a year ago, he had persisted with keeping fit. Edward’s focus was on ambition, despite his wounds and chequered medical history.

  “Do you remember when we first met, when I looked after you and said you should get help?” Tom was clutching at straws, straws that needed to be strong enough to fight back against Edward’s sadistic urges. He had to summon all his strength to plead for mercy. The disadvantage of having only a slit in the tape to speak through made this so much harder.

  Edward held a mason jar in one hand, which contained a white gloopy liquid. In his other hand, a gas hob lighter. What transfixed Tom and struck him with the most panic was the pair of gloves that Edward had slipped on discreetly. This was not just any new pair of spare woolly mittens.

  “No. No-no, no. Edward please, look at me,” begged Tom.

  Edward did so, with unflinching eyes.

  “Okay, now, Ed, uh, babe, even you said you wanted to talk things through earlier. Let’s talk things through. You think all this was intentional? You think I wanted all this to happen in my life? My parents splitting up, kicking me out the house – look at me, Ed, please – then everything that happened to you. But we were there for each other—”

  Edward nodded, despite not truly listening to what was being said. Then, he administered a new strip of durable tape to Tom’s mouth. He was conscious that next door may become alert to the screams of their neighbour.

  Without waiting any longer, a precision left-right jab was dealt to Tom’s face. Tom squealed noiselessly. Blood congregated on the surface of his pasty skin and fell down his face. The flood became a torrent as Edward struck additional blows with the tack-coated gloves. One strike was so brutal that two of the pins detached and embedded themselves deep in Toshy’s cheek. A razor blade, adhered to a knuckle on Edward’s glove, buckled with the force of the impacts.

  “You knew that mother-fucker beat me to within an inch of my life! And you did nothing. You didn’t come forward, you didn’t even have the guts to face me in hospital. You turned, and I don’t understand why!”

  On that final word, Edward’s fury changed to fitful sobs. Tom’s eyes grew misty too. Blood, not tears, was responsible for clouding his vision. His face resembled a botched crucifixion.

  “I was alone in the ICU, and scared shitless. I almost died twice. And you’re – you were – the only one to ever properly understand me. But you threw it all away. For what? That’s what we should talk about, but you don’t have a fucking answer!”

  With difficulty, Edward grabbed a corner of Tom’s gag and used all his might to pull it free from his mouth. Tom didn’t cry out, rather he groaned. Moaning and writhing on the floor to try and block out the pain.

  A garble from Tom’s mouth. Edward struggled to interpret what he was saying.

  “What was that?” Edward asked, professing complete innocence. His manner was calm, as if he were at peace with the world at this point.

  It took an enormity of effort for Tom to speak clearly. “He. Hooked. Me in.” Each word, each syllable, another wheezing breath. Tom could say no more than that without gasping from exhaustion.

  “He hooked you in to what?”

  “The drugs, the sex. They were…his condition…for letting me stay here. Rent. Free.” The adrenaline took the edge off the pain but Tom knew his injuries were life-changing. He presumed they were only the beginning. “No way did I really want it. It started…then…grew from there.”

  Edward pressed for more. “I want to know how you met him. How did you two hit it off? People say it’s a small world, but you and him happening to bump into each other – that’s gotta be more than coincidence.”

  Tom’s face had swollen up. Flaps of skin and puddles of blood formed on his face. His nose was broken, his eyelids torn and cheeks puffy. Behind the blood in his mouth, holes were present where teeth had stood proud not three minutes earlier. Edward stooped to pluck an incisor off the carpet and slipped it into his own pocket.

  “Maybe I’ll check your phone.” Edward saw the device on Tom’s bed and reached out to grab it. “Wow, look at these notifications. Eleven of them. What’s your passcode?”

  Tom closed his eyes and breathed in heavily. And out, heavily. And in again, heavily. And out again, heavily. Through the pain, he just wanted to rest easy. His fight, his will to live, was disappearing.

  “I met him.” Breathe. “At school.” Breathe.

  “You met him while you were at school? I met him at school. We all met each other at school. Tell me something I don’t know.” Edward’s patience was wearing thin. “What’s your phone PIN?”

  Tom’s eyes were closed and his focus was on trying to breathe. In and out. Long breaths. Just breathe through the pain and try to fall asleep.

  “Three.” Edward let Tom’s phone fall back onto his bed. Having fondled the hob lighter and jar of mysterious fluid, he unscrewed the lid and ignited the contents of the vessel.

  “Two.”

  “He turned,” breathe, “his life around.” Breathe. “He helped me,” breathe, “when I was,” breathe, “on my knees after getting,” breathe, “kicked out by my parents.”

  “One.” Edward stood over Tom and allowed gravity to pull a few small drops of the burning liquid on to Tom’s bloodied scalp.

  “Aargh!” he moaned. “Oh fuck. Just kill me. Kill me now. Get it over with.”

  The hot wax solidified rapidly after landing on his skin, caking his open wounds with a scalding artificial scab.

  “Your time will come,” Edward whispered ominously. “How did you both meet?”

  Tom said nothing for a minute or so. On each inhalation, he gasped. On each exhalation, he wheezed. Edward shook his head and slid Tom’s trousers and underwear down to his bound ankles.

  Gasp. “We both went,” wheeze, “to the Martlets.” Gasp.

  Edward remained quiet, an impassive gaze looming over Tom’s helpless body.

  Gasp. “He needed help.” Wheeze. “Whatever he’s done to you, me, the two of us,” gasp, “he’s had a shitty life.” Wheeze. “I’m not defending him.” Gasp.

  “I think you pretty much are doing just that,” Edward countered.

  Wheeze. “We were both made,”
gasp, “head boys at school.” Wheeze. “I owed him for putting in,” gasp, “a good word for me.”

  Edward flared his nostrils. In doing so, his face contorted into one of ugly rage. Fists tight, he leaned over Tom, blocking out the dim light from the ceiling.

  “Pity him, after all I’ve been through. Your PIN number, now,” he demanded.

  Gasp. “You don’t understand.” Wheeze. “He was on,” gasp, “his way back from,” wheeze, “a clinic appointment,” gasp, “when you saw him last.”

  “An appointment to do what? Manually descend his testicles? Three.”

  Tom twisted on the floor. The adrenaline was receding and the pain began growing exponentially.

  Gasp-wheeze. “He’d visited a psychiatrist.” Gasp-wheeze.

  “He’s a nutcase. What news is that? Two.”

  Tom gulped as his tongue swilled in a pool of blood collecting in his mouth.

  “I recommended him my own therapist.” Gasp-wheeze. “She held clinics twice a week.” He couldn’t stand the taste of his own blood, forcing him to retch and splutter, hacking up a steady stream of burgundy fluid onto the mangy carpet on which he writhed.

  The reality of Tom’s words dawned on Edward with the force of a runaway locomotive. He straddled Tom again, whose backside was exposed and whose penis was pressed firmly on the blood-soaked carpet. Gas lighter in his left hand, fury on his right, he plunged it into Tom and up as far as it would go.

  “You say he fucked you. Let’s see if this turns you on!” Edward sneered.

  Shuddering with pain, Tom struggled to remain lucid.

  “My dad took away my trust fund. I had nothing; I couldn’t say no,” he wailed.

  Edward multitasked by peeling another strip of durable tape off the spool and sticking it to his mouth. Tom howled from within; the screams were caught on the tape that bound his mouth shut. Then Edward pulled the trigger on the lighter. Tom spasmed like a demon, but Edward kept riding him. He bore down with his fingers on the trigger of the hob lighter, buried so far up Tom that the flame practically licked his stomach and almost set fire to the contents within.

  Somehow, Tom summoned the superhuman strength needed to twist away from Edward. This relinquished Edward’s hold on the trigger, leaving the object stuck in his rear passage but without the flame roasting his bowels.

  Edward reacted by stretching across the floor to grab hold of the jar full of boiling paraffin. Tom tried to curl up into a foetal ball, trying to holler “No!” from behind the tape, trying to repel his demented assailant. The futility of it all forced him to conserve his limited strength, and brace for the inevitable.

  A liberal dollop of searing wax landed on his exposed genitals. Tom’s primal reaction was to tense (grunt) and relax (grunt). Seize and ease up. He felt dizzy, nauseous. He couldn’t breathe. More blistering white fluid trickled down the length of his spine. By the time Edward had applied the jar’s entire contents onto his victim’s fragile skin, it appeared as though a confused cult of onanists had taken the opportunity to defile Tom’s bare body.

  “Now it’s time for the real end-game,” Edward announced. “Like I told you and Elizabeth, I’ve chosen which path to go down. It won’t be pretty, but I have now found my calling.”

  He pulled out a postcard-sized photograph from a back pocket and forced Tom to look at it. As Edward pinned it to the back of an armchair directly ahead of him, the terrified hostage rocked back and forth over the floor. His resistance was to no avail, as Edward took aim at the picture with his flick-knife poised in one hand.

  “Cheers for your help, Tosh. At least now I know where to find him,” Edward continued. “Guess I don’t need your phone’s PIN code after all.” Looking down at the screen, he mused, “I wonder who ’Private Number’ is.”

  Without another word, he stood up and made good his escape.

  There Tom lay staring hopelessly at Simon Wainwright’s social media profile picture, secured to the back of his armchair with a precise head shot from Edward’s blade. Amidst the searing agony, he flinched and arched his spine. Despite his senses having taken a tremendous battering, he detected an uncomfortable burning taking hold of his back. He could even smell his gross, blistering skin. The sound of gentle sizzling mixed in with other over-riding sensations. He visualised wisps of smoke drifting into his line of sight. The charring spread down his spine.

  Had he already passed out? He was on the verge of falling asleep again. Indeed, by the time he finally found peace, he still had not registered the source of the smoke and crackling flame that licked at his once beautiful skin.

  XXXI

  Edward awoke with a start to the irritating sound of a seagull cawing on the roof of his car. Uttering an obscenity, he sat up and checked the time. 07:40.

  A brightening sky heralded the arrival of the new school year. Over the course of about half an hour, cars were parked and out stepped teachers and support staff. They navigated their way towards the foyer at the front of the imposing main building. Ready for the challenges that lay ahead.

  By quarter past eight, pupils began arriving. While most were dropped off by school bus, a handful were given lifts by their parents. A small number of sixth formers took advantage of the mild weather to cycle in. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the sand-blasted brick buildings at the far end of the car park.

  When Edward had fully awoken, he stretched and poured himself a mug of lukewarm hot chocolate, to which he had added a double espresso shot and a couple of pills. He pulled the unwieldy rucksack towards him from the back of his car. As he took out his firepower and equipment, he reached for the stereo and tuned the dial until he heard the local station. Relief set in as he was just in time for the eight-thirty bulletin.

  “Police are investigating after a man’s body was discovered in a burned-out flat on Saturday morning. Emergency services were called to reports of a fire at the Hilldon Rise apartments when the grim discovery was made.”

  No trace of emotion crossed Edward’s face. He wasn’t fidgeting anymore; the newsreader’s monotonous voice was the subject of his undivided concentration.

  “In other news, police have launched an urgent appeal for information relating to the disappearance of a vulnerable eighteen-year old man.”

  Vulnerable? Ha! Edward was incredulous.

  “Edward Kreus was reported missing after failing to return home from an appointment near Newton Bridge, on Friday afternoon. He is described as white, six foot, of slim or athletic build, with short black hair and distinctive scars on his face.”

  “Cheeky arseholes,” he said out loud. Nevertheless, he found himself cupping a bulge in his khaki fatigues. He threw his head back and gurned as he massaged this indicator of his inflated ego.

  “A man has been ridiculed on social media after reportedly mistaking his neighbour’s pet cat for a burglar last week…”

  Sixteen seconds, was that it? The protrusion in his lap retracted in a ripple of disappointment. Thinking ahead to what may lie ahead in the evening headlines, Edward smirked again. From under the front passenger seat he picked up a respirator and balaclava. After fixing these to his face he strapped on a helmet. Attached to the helmet was a rigid visor.

  “The mayor of a small town has apologised unreservedly for driving through a red light while on his way to a social engagement…”

  He spat the c-bomb to denigrate the mayor, before jabbing a finger at the radio to turn it off. In the peace of his cramped vehicle, he debated whether to take his rucksack with him. Some of the less important objects from the inner compartments were taken out.

  The car park was calm, save for a handful of stragglers trudging to class along a wide footpath before the first bell. Two men loitered near the drop-off point ahead of his car. Both were tall and well-built, dressed casually. Edward assumed these teachers would head back into class after their cigarette break. That said, he couldn’t tell if they were holding anything.

  On the dashboard, the clock struck precisely a
few seconds after 08:46. The first bell would have rung. Students would be registering and filing in to assembly. Edward glanced into the rear-view mirror, psyching himself up. It was as though he was in the midst of an out-of-body experience. A black-clad figure looked back at him from behind numerous layers of heavy-duty clothing and equipment.

  Fifty yards ahead, the two men continued to linger. They appeared to be talking amongst themselves, but Edward couldn’t be certain. They stood either side of the paved walkway, which led away from the drop-off zone to the main hall. He started twitching and getting restless. There was no other way into the main complex of school buildings.

  Come on, what’re you doing? he thought. 08:48.

  He edged the car closer to the entrance. The men weren’t budging, and Edward couldn’t help noticing how scruffy they were dressed for a pair of teachers. Both wore hooded tops, zipped up and ill-fitting for their stature. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Sweat began to build and Edward felt himself flushing. One hand was wrapped around the wheel, with his other hand lying on top of his Colt. A nervous glance at the front passenger seat where his Uzi and pyrotechnic canisters lay.

  Thirty yards away. 08:49.

  One of the men nodded in the general direction of Edward’s car. His colleague followed the man’s gaze and Edward saw him lower his hood. They unzipped their jackets to reveal a holster around their waists. In perfect synchronicity, the figures drew a side-arm with one hand and pressed a finger to their head-mounted radio. Only then could Edward be certain that these were not teachers of any sort.

  Twenty yards away. 08:50.

  Now or never, Edward told himself.

  “Police, stop!” the first cop yelled. Edward hit the accelerator and one of the plain-clothed marksmen was thrown to the ground. With a sickening thud his head came to rest on a paving slab. A gunshot rang out, then another two in quick succession. One of the passenger windows smashed.

  “Fuck! Tango-Charlie Two-Nine, code zero. Officer down, Martlets Grammar. Repeat, Tango-Charlie Two-Nine, officers in need of assistance!”

  Edward applied the handbrake and alighted from his car. Uzi in hand, he turned to the stricken marksman, lying prone and defenceless on the ground. He applied a moment’s pressure on the trigger and the cop moved no more. Streams of blood bubbled slightly out of his bald head; bone and brain matter exposed. The second undercover officer ran towards cover and fired a fourth round. A fresh squeeze from Edward’s finger and this cop crumpled too, never to awaken.