by Mark Ayre
ALL
YOUR SECRETS
MARK AYRE
To Fay,
for working hard growing our baby while I worked hard writing this book
Also by Mark Ayre
THE JAMES PERRY SERIES
1. The Black Sheep’s Shadow
2. All Your Secrets
3. A Mother’s Promise (Coming Soon)
STAND ALONE
Poor Choices
Grandma’s House (novella)
1
That night the sweet spot turned out to be pint 2.51.
James returned the glass to the table, saw a touch over half had been consumed and felt the buzzing begin. Not a nasty buzzing—like static on an old telly—but a light, warm, almost melodic buzz. The kind that whisks into your mind, collecting every dark thought and chucking them aside, at least for the time being. James had found it was possible to maintain such a buzz for an entire evening. A warm blanket over the brain, guarding against the return of those nasty thoughts so recently cast out.
The key was careful maintenance and precision drinking. Drink too much, too fast, and the blanket would tighten, trapping the brain like fish in a net, twisting it into some lost, frightened thing that was near impossible to control. This was an eventuality James had always feared and would avoid at all costs.
Drink too little, though, and the blanket would fray. Holes would appear through which the tendrils of those dark thoughts—James tried to avoid referring to them as memories—would protrude, infecting the mind.
With a smile only partially fabricated, James took the hand of his date. Already he could feel the toe of her foot creeping up the inseam of his jeans, see the sparkle of mischief behind her eyes. James had become skilled at using alcohol to keep the screams at bay. But no system was foolproof, and in any case, James was a belt and braces man. Nina was his braces.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, lifting her free hand over her taken one to collect her wine glass. He watched her finish it while taking her foot in his hand as it marauded towards his crotch.
“I thought that question was reserved for after?” His tone was perfectly pitched. The buzz helped him play normal—another excellent side effect of controlled drinking.
“Good point.” The glass went down. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Skipping the good bit. Why don’t you take me home and I can earn the right to ask?”
Somewhere within, the James that was began tugging at his heart. Reminding him, he believed sex was not the goal, only a side effect of what truly mattered. Love.
Had believed. And where had it got him? A desire for love and closeness and family had twisted him into something ugly. Led to him destroying some lives. Taking others.
Nina and the booze were an antidote to that. The latter stripped away the uptight wreck he had been, the former allowed him to become someone else. Someone not wound up to the point of violence. The tradeoff was he became the kind of man who uses a girl for sex. The type of guy old James had hated.
“Well?” Nina said. He had drifted into his thoughts. Always a problem and the alcohol didn’t help. He offered another manufactured smile and massaged her foot before standing.
“First, you need another wine.”
“You don’t have to get me drunk.”
True, but he smiled and left. The thrill was fading—her ability to distract dimming. With every date, it took a little more booze to create the buzz, while the din from the James that was became that little bit louder, that little harder to ignore.
Who he was was breaking through, and bringing the past with him.
“Let me guess, another white and, for the fella, one more fruity cider?”
The bartender was a friendly man, though James knew this from watching him banter with the other punters rather than personal experience. It seemed James had broken two cardinal rules as soon as he had walked through the door—not being a regular, and ordering a “girly” drink.
“Just the wine, please.”
The bartender gave a nod that suggested moderate drinking went hand in hand with fruity cider. Further evidence James was no real man.
He was okay with that. He left the bartender to pour the drinks and chat to the large man on the stool next door, turning to survey the bar and spotting the man in the corner staring at him.
Already owl-like eyes widened as they caught James’, and the man’s head whipped around so fast James was surprised he didn’t hear the neck snap.
Head bowed, Owl Man stared with determination at whatever was in front of him. A drink, James assumed. He did not look up again.
Probably nothing.
James spun to the bar and placed his palms face down on the surface. A mistake. The bar was so sticky he wondered if he would be able to free them. He did and wiped them on his jeans to remove the worst of the congealed beer and sweat.
Turning again. Owl Man’s head was still down.
Probably nothing.
Then, a twitch. Owl half turned his head, put it back in place. Half turned again, froze, then carried the move on until he was looking right at Nina. She didn’t notice. The man held on her a second, then carried on round.
James returned to the bar before the watcher could see him watching.
Probably nothing. Paranoia ran through James’ veins the way discarded rubbish ran through the city’s river. His imagination was a toddler on his third bag of sugary sweets—prone to playing up. This was almost certainly more of the same.
Deep breaths, relax. All would be okay.
Except the blanket on the brain was thinning. The soft buzz was quietening, and the dark thoughts had sensed it. They came swanning over, looking for the first tear in the protection. At that point, they would attack.
The drink landed on the bar and James almost screamed.
“Woah, bit jumpy there, ain’t ya? Get some more of your “drink” down you.”
James paid and returned to the table. Owl Man was staring at an empty glass.
It was nothing. He was paranoid. It was fine.
“Hey,” he placed the wine in front of Nina and grabbed his drink. “Why don’t we go?”
As though trying to prove a point to the bartender, James downed his remaining half, almost choking as he did.
“Not sure we’d be able to get there and back before the party. What’s the time?”
Drink all gone, James lamented the collapse of his buzz. Through the unravelling blanket flowed a river from another city, followed by the screams of lost children and desperate mothers.
He took his phone from his pocket and showed Nina. She made a noise that suggested they might make it home and back—but wouldn't have time in between to do what she had in mind.
“A walk, then?”
Nina sipped her wine.
“What’s the rush?”
“No rush. But it’s a beautiful evening. Seems a shame to waste it.”
It sounded dumb, even to him, and Nina rolled her eyes, but the paranoia was mounting. The air in the bar seemed restricted, hot and stale. James was sure he could feel the eyes of the watcher burning into his skull. At a table in the corner, he could see Toby—his long lost childhood friend.
“Please? I need some fresh air.”
Concern flitted across her eyes for the first time. Channelling her inner magician, she made the wine disappear.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Taking her hand he led her from the pub, spending the journey across the ancient carpet focusing on not rushing. Keeping casual even as slipped out the door, glancing over his shoulder to see Owl Man’s eyes on him again.
“Come on. This way.”
Outside, James had instinct
ively taken a left, but Nina held firm to his hand and dragged him in the opposite direction.
“Car’s this way,” he said, pointing.
“You said you wanted to walk. So let’s walk.”
Paying little attention to the steady flow of traffic, Nina charged into the road, dragging James from pub to opposite pavement, where a line of trees blocked whatever lay beyond.
“Quick, quick.”
A horn blared, and James almost tripped on the curb diving to safety. Memories from a village abandoned ten months ago flooded him. In the trees, he saw the face of Charlie, another missing boy. Closing his eyes, he fought for composure.
“What is wrong with you?” Nina asked.
“Nothing. When do we have to leave for this party?”
Nina grabbed his hand again, dragging him along the path.
“Don’t worry about that. I wanna have fun.”
She led him along the line of trees, inspecting each as though looking for something carved into the bark long ago. James glanced back to the pub as they went. He had spent ten months working towards a healthier, more balanced James. With the help of a little too much booze and more sex than he had ever expected to encounter, it had been working. Even if it had meant abandoning all hopes of becoming the man he had dreamed of growing into during childhood. Then someone looks at him in a pub, and it all comes to pieces like wet tissue.
Sanity, it seemed, was like a healthy relationship. James was unable to hold onto it.
“Here we are.”
Nina took a sharp left into the trees and James flinched, half expecting to go careening into a trunk. But, no. Nina had brought him to a hidden path and, ducking to avoid low hanging branches; they emerged onto a long stretch of grass occupied by teenagers and couples enjoying the early evening air. Basking in the never-ending summer’s day. Looking onto—
First Owl Man, now this.
Beauty is what most would have seen, but to James the glint of the sun on the water’s surface did nothing but highlight the river, which acted, not as a calming presence, but like a maniac coming for him, wielding a knife laced with black memories, sliding into his heart and sending him back to—
Nina’s hands were on his cheeks. If she could see the turmoil the river had thrown him into it didn’t show. Her eyes still glinted with mischief, and as she brought her lips towards his, he laced his arms around her waist and held tight, kissing her as though the world might end if he stopped.
“Wow,” she said, pulling away, a little stunned. “Someone’s in the mood.”
James looked over her shoulder, then his. There were not hundreds of people around, but enough. Already a couple of teens were looking, having noticed the kiss. Nina followed his eyes, caught his thoughts, and widened her smile.
“Come on,” she said already dragging him. “We can find somewhere.”
Towards the river. Each step like triggering a landmine of memory, exploding with a flash of some horror from his past. His childhood friend tumbling down a hill towards that rock, his uncle lying bleeding on the floor, his adulthood friend disappearing into the river.
James tried not to look at his hands.
He didn’t want to see the blood.
They reached the path which ran alongside the river. James came behind Nina and pulled her close, kissing her cheek, then neck. It made walking troublesome, but he was searching for distraction. She turned her head; their eyes met, then he saw the man in the hood charging.
“Nina.”
Even in his terror, James tried to shield her. He wanted to shout, but the charger was already on them. Big meaty palms led the way, and James was able to make out the sweat between the fingers before they crashed into his chest and sent him sprawling backwards.
His head hit the ground and span. Somewhere nearby he could hear the rushing of the water and had to force his mind to focus on the situation above.
“Hey, stop—“
The attacker had grabbed Nina’s bag and arm. The former he yanked, the latter he swung, sending it and the body it clung to tumbling to the ground.
Someone yelled, and James realised he was supposed to be acting.
Too fast he jumped to his feet, leaving little time for balance. A breeze came, and he wobbled like a Weeble, panicking as gravity threatened to tip and reclaim him. Keeping upright was such a relief he forgot where he was.
The meaty hands hit him again. A replica of their first attack and, as before, he flew backwards.
Except, this time, there was no ground to save him. Once more the rushing filled his ears, and the water followed as he smacked the surface and was sucked beneath, as though the flowing river had a will of its own.
Panic.
He was sinking fast and, although he was sure he could swim, he had forgotten how. As he tried to engage his brain, he found only memories. His life flashed before his eyes. Not because he was dying. This was merely something that happened to James whenever he was sober, not engaging in sexual intercourse, and unable to fully concentrate on blocking his memories from overwhelming him.
Sinking. He had his eyes and mouth firmly shut. His ears were full of water, but through it echoed the cries of lost friends and family. If he allowed himself to see, the water would have been red.
Had he continued dropping, he surely would have drowned. The panic was complete, and the water offered no jolt to bring him back to sense.
Luckily, the river was not deep here. Through the water he had assumed was never ending he felt the gentle tap on his back of the hard ground. A gentle reminder of what remained above. Of the real world.
His eyes opened.
The water stung, and he could see nothing but the light of the world somewhere above. His lungs began to ache.
He needed to move.
Placing his hands on the ground, he pushed. Calmly, his body rose, and he twisted, so his head was up, his legs down, becoming a rocket rather than a plank. For once his memory produced something useful and, as he recalled he could swim, he began kicking. He could feel the water relinquishing its grip. He could see the growing light as he rose up and up and—
Fresh air rushed to greet him, and he drank the oxygen faster than he had ever drunk a pint. He allowed himself to drift a few seconds then was kicking again, moving for the bank, grabbing at the dirt and hauling himself up.
Weakness greeted him as he tried to stand, pulling him down as the water had. A second on his feet was enough to convince him kneeling was fine for the time being. He looked ahead. Saw oncoming legs.
“James, oh, James.”
Nina dropped to ground and dragged him onto her lap. Tears attacked her eyes as she rocked him, and he reached as if to touch her cheek but missed.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, then jerked her thumb into the distance. “That arsehole took my bag, but I’m okay. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Still she rocked him, and James looked past her to see a small crowd watching. Those that had come to try and stop the mugger, who had failed and now had no idea what to do. James wanted to give them a reassuring look but failed. Then he was looking into Nina’s eyes.
“Are you okay?”
This time it was she who asked. He reached for her again and his wet hand found her hair. She didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m fine.”
Ten months since he had walked away from the village that had almost broken him. Ten months spent trying to forget not only that but all the dark deeds of his past. All the bloodshed, all the destruction he had caused.
Ten months, and there had been booze and meaningless sex as stopgaps to sanity, but he had convinced himself that was okay. Stopgaps were all they were, part of the rebuilding process. And rebuilding had been working. Or so he had told himself. He was feeling alright.
Then a man looked at him in a pub, he saw a river and was shoved beneath its surface. There had been no danger other than the threat of realising the truth.
It had
all been a lie.
Whatever else he knew, one thing was for sure.
James Perry was not alright.
2
Lavish, glass-paned doors led into a grand ballroom, rented out at exorbitant prices to the rich and powerful for weddings, shareholder gatherings and sweet sixteens.
“It’s ridiculous,” Nina scoffed as they entered. “I’m not saying Jane isn’t wealthy. Course she is. But this place’ll bankrupt her. It’s all for show.”
James might have told her the only reason anyone would hire a place such as this was for show, but he had noticed the bar. A pint poured, a woman smiling and laughing as she raised her glass.
“James, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, course.”
But he wasn’t. He was thinking of the lost buzz, and if there was any chance he could reclaim it. After the river, they had gone back to Nina’s and showered together. He’d held her tight against the cool wall and tried to lose himself in the motion, in her eyes, in whatever was available but it hadn’t worked. He feared nothing but drinking himself into stupor would.
“Come on, this way.”
She was pulling him through the crowd, but he resisted, reaching to the bar like a child for his mother.
“Sure, let’s get a quick drink first though.”
“You lush. Wait five minutes, can’t you?”
He could. Want, that was another matter. For the first time he was thinking forget the buzz—go for oblivion. He would regret it in the morning, but for now—well he would do anything to forget who he was, and what he had done to get there.
Nina was all determination though, so he would have to forget alcohol for the time being. Putting his back to the bartender helped. As did focusing on the swaying behind of Nina and the fear of where they were going. Who they would be meeting.
Towards one corner of the room, two men occupied a round table. One talking animatedly, the other trying not to look bored. Beside them stood a woman in her forties James had met before and a man pushing seventy he had not.