Night By Night

by Jack Jordan

  Adam looked up, his desperate breaths expelling in clouds.

  He was standing above him, panting too.

  A metal tool lay on the ground. Adam lunged for it and swung it with all his might.

  The man’s kneecap cracked on impact and he fell to his side with a cry, snatching Adam by the shirt before he could make a run for it.

  A fist landed in Adam’s mouth, again on his cheek. His vision spun. Blood coated his teeth. Hands were pinning him down.

  He rose the tool again and swung it through the dark until it met with something hard, the thud of metal against bone. The man fell beside him, spitting something dark onto the road.

  Adam scrambled to his feet and ran for the trees, his shirt stuck to his back with blood, flittering where the glass had shredded the fabric. He ran into the shadows, the man’s words echoing behind him.

  I will find you, Adam. I will find you.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Lakes looked worse than she remembered. The years had been cruel, leaving streaks of mould on the brown bricks, tiles lying askew on the roof.

  Every room stretched across one storey so as not to give the patients a platform off which to jump.

  She didn’t know much about Adam Morant, only what Anna had told her. There was nothing about him online; whatever his story was, it was hidden and hidden well. But if he could tell her anything about Finn’s stalker, it was worth pursuing.

  She stepped inside and approached the reception desk where a woman sat alone, her lips turned downwards.

  ‘Hi, my name is Rose Shaw. I have a meeting with Adam Morant.’

  The woman looked up.

  ‘So you’re the mystery guest.’

  Rose looked down at the name badge on her pale purple tunic: Linda. She forced a smile.

  ‘You with the police?’ Linda asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He in trouble?’

  ‘No, no. I just want to speak with him.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t spoken to anyone in a long time. Surprised the police didn’t tell you that.’

  Would Anna send her to a dead end? She had thought Anna was merely being a coward. She hadn’t considered that she was working against her too.

  ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to see him.’

  ‘Wait here,’ Linda said. ‘I’ll buzz his key worker.’

  Rose signed in to the visitors’ book and walked away from the desk, setting her eyes on the car park through the glass doors, the grey sky reflecting in the windscreens. She could feel the heat of the receptionist’s gaze on her back. Perhaps she had recognised her name.

  A door buzzed behind her and a young man stepped into the room. He had brown hair shaved closely to his head. His face was unremarkable until he smiled. The teeth weren’t straight or gleaming white, but there was a kindness in the way he set his lips.

  ‘Rose?’

  ‘Yes, hi.’

  She stepped forward and extended her hand. He shook it softly.

  ‘I’m Adam’s key worker, Seth. I’ll take you to him.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He held the door for her and waited until she had crossed the threshold before shutting it behind her. They were confined in a small hall between the door to the reception and another leading deeper into the facility. There was barely room for the two of them. The air quickly heated with their breath.

  ‘This is a semi-secure facility,’ he said. He tapped a card against an electronic box on the wall. ‘A lot of stopping and starting, I’m afraid.’

  The door opened, leading to a long, wide corridor with multiple rooms off either side. Seth led her at a relaxed pace, the only sound being the click of their heels on the lino floor. The way he spoke and moved made her think he was a stoner; words drifted from his mouth, his limbs moved glacially. She noticed a hole in the wall, the kind made by the tip of a shoe.

  ‘Are you with the police?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘We wouldn’t usually allow visitors in like this. You must have some pretty high-up friends.’

  I wouldn’t call her a friend.

  She gave him a closed smile.

  ‘Adam is a good guy,’ he said, tapping his card to a door on the left, waiting for the buzz before opening it. ‘He’s been through a lot. He’s mostly quiet, keeps to himself.’

  They continued through the building, passing through door after door.

  ‘How was he found? Has he ever spoken about what happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Adam? No. He hasn’t said a word.’ He hesitated, as though unsure what he should and shouldn’t tell her. ‘You’re working with the police, right?’

  ‘Kind of,’ she lied.

  ‘He was found wandering in the woods, delirious with the cold. They found his car deeper in the woods. Something happened to him out there, but he won’t speak of it. When he relapses, he talks of a man hunting him. His relapses are always spawned by “him coming back”.’

  There was a ring in the air. She had expected many things from her visit, but at no point had she expected silence.

  ‘There aren’t many people around.’

  ‘We’ve got a motivational speaker in the hall tonight, someone who has been through the mental-health treatment experience. It’s good to give patients a light at the end of the tunnel.’

  He slowed before a set of double doors. ‘This is Adam’s wing. There’s a communal area where you can both sit.’

  He opened the doors with a key card and walked into an open-plan living space: a large sitting area with three big sofas and a television, armchairs covered in plastic by the windows that overlooked a small rose garden. A kitchenette hid partially behind a wall on the right. Rose noticed there were no pictures, no rugs or colour, nothing to give the space a personal touch, just a room of furniture echoing their footsteps.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Adam.’

  She watched him head through another set of doors and took one of the armchairs beside the window. The sun was setting, burning the sky. The roses were closing with the coming night. She wondered why the chairs were covered in plastic.

  ‘Rose,’ Seth said, returning a few moments later. ‘This is Adam.’

  She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t the man who stood before her. He had the frame of an undernourished teen, far too little fat for a man so tall. He stood with a slight hunch, as if to make himself smaller, curling in on himself, and his skin wasn’t pale, but stark grey. His eyes, although a warm emerald, had an emptiness to them. She wondered how much of the man he used to be was still behind those eyes.

  ‘Hello, Adam,’ she said softly. ‘My name’s Rose.’

  Seth led him to the armchair opposite hers. He sat down with almost no sound, just the soft ruffle of his clothes against the plastic.

  ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’ Seth asked him.

  Adam didn’t say anything, simply set his gaze on the roses.

  ‘I’ll make us all some,’ he said, and looked at Rose. ‘Or we have coffee?’

  ‘Tea is fine. White, no sugar. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ Seth said, and patted Adam on the shoulder. There was no response.

  Seth crossed the room to the kitchenette, unlocking cupboards to retrieve mugs; even the kettle was shut away.

  ‘Adam, I’m a friend of a man called Finn. A woman called Anna from the police station suggested I meet you, as you and Finn have similar stories. Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?’

  His attention never left the window. The blazoned sky reflected in his eyes.

  ‘Finn is missing,’ she said. She looked back towards Seth. He was standing checking his phone as the kettle boiled. ‘He has been missing for a while. I’m trying to find him.’

  She waited for a flicker of a response in his eyes. Nothing.

  ‘He seemed to be having trouble with a man. A man who treated Finn the way. . . the way your attacker treated you.
’

  A muscle twitched beside his mouth.

  ‘I. . . I don’t know what happened to you. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’m trying to find out if the man who hurt Finn might have been the same man who hurt you.’

  His eyes darted to hers. His mouth fell slack.

  ‘Is there a possibility that the man who—’

  ‘No. . .’ he said. His voice was soft but broken. She wondered how long it had been since he last spoke. ‘No. . .’

  ‘No what, Adam? It’s not the same man?’

  His eyes shifted left to right, shimmering with emerging tears. He murmured so quietly that she couldn’t make out the words. His whole body trembled. His lips opened and shut as he tried to speak, strings of saliva connecting his lips.

  ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t want to upset you, I just—’

  She heard incessant drips of water, and instinctively looked for rain on the other side of the window. The glass was dry. She looked down. Urine was dripping from his seat. A dark patch was soaked into his crotch. Now she knew why the chairs were covered in plastic.

  ‘Adam, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only want to know if it’s the same man. If it is, I promise I will find him. I promise—’

  ‘He’s back,’ Adam whispered. Tears fell, one after the other. Spit bubbled on his lips. He held himself tightly, pressing his fingernails into his arms until the skin turned white. ‘He’s back!’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Seth said, placing the plastic mugs down on a nearby table before he approached. ‘What’s up, mate?’

  Adam turned and clawed at Seth, pulling his clothes.

  ‘Don’t let him get to me. Please. . . please, don’t let him get to me!’

  ‘Hey, you’re safe here, you know that. Come on, mate.’

  Rose flinched as he made the first hit. Adam launched his fist into his own face. Once. Twice. She heard his knuckles clash against his cheekbone, the crack of his own nose. Seth snatched his wrists.

  ‘No, mate, don’t do that.’

  ‘He’s going to get me!’ Adam looked wildly around the room, a small trickle of blood running from his nostril.

  ‘No one’s going to—’

  ‘He said he would. He said he’d find me!’

  He yanked one wrist free and clawed his face, just enough nail growth to leave jagged scratches in the skin.

  ‘Press the buzzer,’ Seth said to her. ‘On the wall!’

  Rose leapt up and rushed to the button. An alarm sounded over her head.

  Adam thrashed in the chair. The tighter Seth held on, the more Adam fought.

  ‘Get off me!’ he spat. ‘Get off me!’ He bared his teeth, attempting to bite himself free, just as the doors burst open. Three people in purple tunics headed towards them, forming a circle around the chair.

  ‘Let’s get you to your room, Adam.’

  He kicked. He screamed. He spat. The carers jumped on him, holding him so that he couldn’t fight back. Adam had gone red in the face, blood slowly leaking from the claw marks in his cheek. His eyes were bulging from their sockets.

  Rose pressed herself against the wall and watched them escort him from the room, his feet barely touching the ground. But even when the door closed, she could hear the haunting echo of his screams.

  He’s going to get me. Please don’t let him get me.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Something fell from Rose’s lap with a clatter. She looked around in a daze. Empty seats, windows fogged up with breath. Strip lighting flickered above her head. It had been light when she got on the bus, but now the sky was dark with the night, thick blackness pressing against the windows. The journal was lying open on the floor where it had fallen from her lap.

  Ever since getting the journal back from Anna, she had been reluctant to part with it, and carried it around with her like a necessity: phone, keys, wallet, journal. She picked it up and tried to press a bent page flat before stuffing it back into her bag. She looked around. The only people on the bus were the driver and a youth sitting at the back with his hooded head pressed against the window.

  She pulled her phone from her bag and checked the time. It was gone ten. She must have been on the bus for hours, travelling round and round the town. So many people could have seen her, slack-jawed against the window. Lily had the right to be ashamed. But at least she had finally slept.

  She sat up in her seat and righted her clothes where they had twisted around her and got up from her seat, stumbling from pole to pole towards the driver. She stared out of the windscreen but didn’t recognise the road.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked croakily.

  ‘Coming up to the last stop,’ he said, his eyes on the road.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Didn’t want to wake you,’ the driver said. ‘The shelters get so full now, sometimes this is the only place for you guys to sleep.’

  She looked down at herself: the loose hooded sweatshirt, old, faded jeans. Her hair was a mess from her sleep.

  ‘I’m. . . I’m not homeless.’

  The driver cleared his throat and pressed his foot a little harder on the accelerator.

  She would have been offended, if she didn’t fit the look.

  She swayed with the motion of the vehicle and thought back to where she had been. Adam Morant. The carers had practically dragged her out of the Lakes. She hadn’t meant to push Adam over the edge – she’d simply wanted to find out more about Finn’s stalker. If she could, maybe he would lead her to Finn. All she knew now was that the man responsible for Finn’s harassment had ruined not just one life, but two.

  ‘Last stop!’ the driver shouted, jolting her back to the present.

  The bus pulled up on the side of the road with a whine. The doors opened, letting the cold night drift in.

  She peered out from the doorway and looked up and down the street. Shops were closed for the night, their steel shutters shimmering under the full moon. There was no one else, nothing but the howl of the wind.

  Rose got off the bus and headed down the street, stumbling every few steps. She blinked furiously to wake herself up, breathed in the night. The bus rumbled up the street until the night fell quiet again.

  Footsteps echoed behind her. The youth from the back of the bus must be walking the same way.

  She instinctively searched her bag for her keys. If she ever found herself out late at night, she slipped one between her fingers like a weapon to make her feel safe. Behind her, the footsteps grew faster. She picked up the pace, her search growing more frantic. A hand landed on her shoulder, hard like a slap.

  She turned just in time to see the hooded figure inches from her face and pushed against his chest, missing the kerb. She fell and her head smacked against the tarmac with a crack. Bright sparks of light burst and spun in her vision.

  The hooded figure stood over her, panting visible breaths.

  It wasn’t a hooded youth.

  It was the man who had dropped the journal, she was sure of it.

  He lunged towards her and searched her body, grabbing at her pockets, her bag that had been caught beneath her in the fall.

  He was after the journal.

  ‘Get off me!’

  She tried to get away, clawing at his clothes and kicking out her legs. The man pressed his whole bodyweight on top of her, forcing every bit of air from her lungs. When she tried to call for help, the word escaped only as a hoarse whisper.

  He pulled her bag from beneath her and the contents burst out across the path, rolled into the gutter. Her keys caught the light of the street lamp. She snatched them, slipped the nearest one between her fingers and launched it into the man’s ribs. Spittle landed on her face as he cried out with the impact. He coughed with the second blow and gasped for air, stealing upwards as he struggled for breath.

  This was her chance. She slipped one leg from beneath him and launched it into his crotch, pushing herself from under him with the force. He buckled over, holding his
ribs with one hand, his crotch in the other, and stumbled to his feet just as she did. She held her bag to her chest and staggered. Her head was still spinning; she could taste blood in her mouth. They eyed each other through the darkness, breathing in clouds.

  ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked.

  She tried to see his face behind the shadows of his hood. The bridge of his nose pierced the darkness, but nothing more. He was Caucasian, that she could see.

  ‘Finn Matthews. . .’ she said breathlessly. ‘Did you kill him?’

  The man hesitated for a moment. He lowered his hands, his fingers twitching by his sides, as if preparing to lunge at her again. She clenched her keys in her fist in case he suddenly struck.

  ‘Answer me!’

  He stumbled back and ran up the road, limping from the attack, until it was just her in the street, clutching her keys and panting for breath. Only when she was alone did she let the fear rise to the surface. Her fury simmered and tears filled her eyes. She could still feel his weight pressing down on her chest.

  Finn’s stalker knew who she was.

  And he knew how to find her.

  Rose reached the driveway just before midnight with her bag still clamped to her chest. The straps had broken in the struggle. She knew that if she looked at the skin on her chest, it would be bruised from where his arm had pinned her down. The back of her head was throbbing with her pulse.

  The keys had remained in her fist the entire way home. She was too shaken to get a cab, to face questions from a curious stranger eyeing her quivering body in the rear-view mirror. She had to be alone with her thoughts. She had to let the reality sink in: she had wanted to find the stalker, but in the end, he had found her.

  A car she didn’t recognise sat in the drive behind Christian’s. She stopped in her tracks. Would he invite his mistress to the house? Had she really let things go this far?