Jake Stetson stared blankly at the pile of reports on the table of his Jangsan studio apartment and sighed. Wearily, he opened the first book:
“Teacher is stupid and me is kill Teacher”
Typical, he thought, and was just about to score out the “is” when he remembered the most recent communiqué from the Ministry of Education; “Is,” it said, was now an acceptable marker for either past, present or future tense, (“I” had surrendered a long time ago.) Jake blithely wondered whether this particular entry was a confession or a threat but left the sentence untouched. Looking out the window onto the greying expanse of Jangsan Old Town, Jake allowed himself a rare moment’s contemplation. Where, he thought, did it all go wrong?
There’d been struggles in the past, but Jake had always thought the Foreigners had won. None of these were clearer in Jake’s mind than the push for citizenship that had galvanised the foreign community in the 20s and resulted in the Universal Franchise Act of 2028. Since then his stake in society had grown while his pay packet had shrunk; the “price of dignity” he’d once convinced a room full of foreigners in the run up to the Bill. Looking around the sparse studio apartment he’d rented for the past decade, he wondered now whether they’d gotten their moneys worth.
When he had arrived in Korea things had been different. In those days people still stared at you when you walked down the street, now Jake reckoned they just looked through you. Work back then had been a joke too. Before ME centralised Hagwon curriculum and management, foreign teachers could almost get away with murder. Gone were the days when a teacher could slump into class still reeking of the night before and fling a worksheet at the students. Now that everything was rigorously standardised, monitored and evaluated, it had gotten so you couldn’t blow your nose in a Hagwon without someone reporting it.
Oh but how he had ranted and raved back then! The pointing, the misunderstandings, the disorganisation – the slightest thing would set him off! Many times he felt like packing it all in and heading home to some sort of normality. But still Jake remained. The truth was, back then Jake felt like he was a pioneer with the world at his feet, a renegade who’d had had enough of society and checked out. He’d found a place where he could live like a king and under his own set of rules. Looking back, Jake realised he’d been something of an idealist.
“Use this place before it uses you” someone had once told him. At the time he’d dismissed it as cynical, but now the words kept coming back more and more. He’d spent the last four decades with his shoulder to a wheel that had been spinning in the opposite direction and his fire was gone. He was beginning to think he might just have wasted it on the wrong thing.
Jake’s eyes wandered over the smoggy Busan skyline. Since the time he’d lived there that same skyline had danced up and down like the bars on an old fashioned graphic equaliser, and still showed no signs of reaching any state of permanence. It was like the city itself was mocking his own entrenchment and Jake wasn’t sure he could live through another reinvention. Although he occasionally thought about going home, there was no guarantee he would get a job and it seemed pointless to return at a time when people were clambering over each other to get away. If the East was the “new West,” where did that leave someone like him?
Perhaps, Jake thought, it was time to teach somewhere new. Africa was opening up in ways he never could have imagined in his youth and seemed like the perfect place to recapture some of the frontier spirit. Sure, it might be a little hard at first but he had moved before and made it work, why shouldn’t he be able to do it again?
So, as he had done every couple of years for the last decade or so, Jake opened up a clean page in his notepad, swapped the reports for the heavy book on top of the wardrobe and opened it up at the first page.
Now, he thought, if I can only get my Chinese up to scratch.
Finishy
Tuesday 2 June 2009
A Divine Intervention
When I was nine years old I thought St Dominic had it in for me. He lived on the wall of the bedroom I shared with my brother and I was terrified of him. It wasn’t that he was particularly scary looking, (with his pale skin and boyish demeanour he actually looked quite harmless,) but there was something in his eyes that reached into the pit of my stomach and made knots out of it, like he knew something about me that I didn’t. Nightly I pleaded with my grandmother to remove him but nightly she refused: St Dominic was a good man, she’d chuckle, and if I’d done nothing wrong I’d nothing to worry about.
I suggested changing rooms, but my brother couldn’t sleep alone and no other room was suitable. I threatened moving out, but my grandmother packed me a lunch and offered to give me a lift to the train station. In desperation, I even took one of my grandfather’s old golf clubs and tried to destroy St Dominic myself. I couldn't however, defeated in the end by his reproachful eyes and my own weak will.
Eventually however I conceived a way in which I fancied I could get rid of my tormentor and remain free from both guilt and suspicion. One rainy afternoon I coaxed my brother into a game of bedroom football, cleverly arranging it so that St Dominic would be directly in the line of fire should I fail to intercept his shot. My plan worked with surprising effectiveness, and within a few minutes, St Dominic was lying on the floor, his frame smashed to smithereens. My grandmother raced to the room and my brother tearfully admitted everything.
“Boys will be boys,” she sighed, eying me curiously as she picked up the fragments, but after mildly chastising us for playing football indoors, St Dominic was packed away without another word. I was free, or so I thought.
Many years later, when my grandmother passed away, the whole family – aunts, uncles, cousins and partners – gathered at her house to hear what she had bequeathed us in her will. I felt the usual unease I associate with events of this size, but nevertheless joined in as the family reminisced about my grandmother and the time we’d spent there. Such was the collective feeling of nostalgia, in fact, I even considered telling the story of St Dominic's accident all those years ago.
Before I could decide however, the executor called out my name and my inheritance was handed to me. To my horror, I discovered it was none other than St Dominic, completely refurbished and reframed! I felt sick - what distress and sorrow had my act caused the poor woman for her to deliver her revenge in this manner after all these years? As I held him aloft and looked into his eyes I once more felt the fear they had instilled in me, only this time I recognised as well the guilt and self-doubt that had always accompanied it! How, I wondered, was I going to dispose of him this time?
While these thoughts and others occupied my mind however, my wife had noticed something attached to the back of the frame. It was a note, written on yellowing paper, in my grandmother’s elegant hand:
"Dear Patrick,” it read, "Please do take good care of St Dominic when I’m gone. He always did remind me of you!”
“How sweet,” said my wife, admiring the painting, “I think we should hang it in the living room.”
I looked again at his sombre eyes, pale skin and worried expression, and agreed. After all, my grandmother always did have a wicked sense of humour!
I suggested changing rooms, but my brother couldn’t sleep alone and no other room was suitable. I threatened moving out, but my grandmother packed me a lunch and offered to give me a lift to the train station. In desperation, I even took one of my grandfather’s old golf clubs and tried to destroy St Dominic myself. I couldn't however, defeated in the end by his reproachful eyes and my own weak will.
Eventually however I conceived a way in which I fancied I could get rid of my tormentor and remain free from both guilt and suspicion. One rainy afternoon I coaxed my brother into a game of bedroom football, cleverly arranging it so that St Dominic would be directly in the line of fire should I fail to intercept his shot. My plan worked with surprising effectiveness, and within a few minutes, St Dominic was lying on the floor, his frame smashed to smithereens. My grandmother raced to the room and my brother tearfully admitted everything.
“Boys will be boys,” she sighed, eying me curiously as she picked up the fragments, but after mildly chastising us for playing football indoors, St Dominic was packed away without another word. I was free, or so I thought.
Many years later, when my grandmother passed away, the whole family – aunts, uncles, cousins and partners – gathered at her house to hear what she had bequeathed us in her will. I felt the usual unease I associate with events of this size, but nevertheless joined in as the family reminisced about my grandmother and the time we’d spent there. Such was the collective feeling of nostalgia, in fact, I even considered telling the story of St Dominic's accident all those years ago.
Before I could decide however, the executor called out my name and my inheritance was handed to me. To my horror, I discovered it was none other than St Dominic, completely refurbished and reframed! I felt sick - what distress and sorrow had my act caused the poor woman for her to deliver her revenge in this manner after all these years? As I held him aloft and looked into his eyes I once more felt the fear they had instilled in me, only this time I recognised as well the guilt and self-doubt that had always accompanied it! How, I wondered, was I going to dispose of him this time?
While these thoughts and others occupied my mind however, my wife had noticed something attached to the back of the frame. It was a note, written on yellowing paper, in my grandmother’s elegant hand:
"Dear Patrick,” it read, "Please do take good care of St Dominic when I’m gone. He always did remind me of you!”
“How sweet,” said my wife, admiring the painting, “I think we should hang it in the living room.”
I looked again at his sombre eyes, pale skin and worried expression, and agreed. After all, my grandmother always did have a wicked sense of humour!
Wednesday 18 June 2008
The Passenger
The black countryside split open at speed as the stolen car and its passengers fled through the night like a knife through steam. On both sides, close, spindly hedgerows clawed at the vehicle as it curved, dipped and glided along the narrow back roads, its tawny headlamps lighting up the way ahead a few brief metres at a time. Every so often a lonely farm house would loom up out of the darkness, only to shrink back as quickly and silently as it had appeared, its slumbering inhabitants oblivious to the travellers as they zoomed past wordlessly.
Inside, Michael let his body fall into sync with the journey; a wilful slave to the road’s demands. Stretched out like a cat in the passenger seat next to him, Keira lay with her head leaning back on the headrest, stargazing. Occasionally, the orange beams of the headlights would land on some night-thing - a pair of shining eyes staring back through the blackness - but mostly they were alone.
Hypnotised by the road, it took a while for Michael to register the dull thump thump thump coming from the rear of the vehicle.
“What’s that noise?” he breathed to Keira.
Kiera cocked her ear and listened.
Thump thump thump.
“I’m sure it’s nothing – a car sound.” She replied, her face relaxing back into its regular, complacent shape.
Michael grimaced and tried to believe her, his attention turning once again to the road ahead. Just then another irregular thump reverberated through the vehicle, finding an easy home in the hollow of his chest.
“That’s no car sound!” he fretted nervously, the steering wheel starting to stick as his hands turned clammy and warm. “That came from the trunk!”
He cut the engine and glided the car to a standstill, opened his door and put one foot on the black tarmac. “Let’s go” he whispered urgently. Kiera caught his arm.
“No” she said softly but firmly, “This is our car now.”
She released his arm and without waiting for a response, opened her own door and marched to the back of the car defiantly. Michael followed suit. He slowly withdrew a large pointed screwdriver from his boot, holding it at a level position between himself and the car, while Keira leaned forward and undid the catch just below the rear window. They watched breathlessly as the trunk crept open.
Michael didn’t see anything at first, just a bunch of clothes and junk casually thrown in the back as you might find in any five door saloon. As his eyes adjusted to the dark however, he began to become aware of something not quite right about the fabric and texture of some of the garments. In places they seemed too silvery, too reflective to be clothes. His apprehension temporarily deserting him, Michael ran his hand along the black fabric and let it fall on a black shoe that protruded from the folds. Tentatively he closed his grip around it and gave it a slight tug. It didn’t budge. Searching for the source of the entanglement, he plunged his hand deeper into the folds, closing it on something warm and soft. Instantly he pulled back in horror and swung round to face Keira. Her face was a deathly shade of white and her eyes wide open, fixed on something in the far corner of the trunk. Deep among the folds and shadows, half hidden in the darkness a stretched ivory circle shone at the two friends, then blinked.
Michael’s heart seemed to plunge through his chest, leaving him gasping for breath and groping for the lid of the boot. His screwdriver fell to the ground redundantly, a freezing paralysis spreading out from the tips of his toes, making its way up his legs then spider webbing out through his back and arms. Keira slammed shut the lid of the trunk, dragging Michael round with her to the front of the car.
“Shit” she hissed, “Where did you get this car from?”
Michael tried to recover his breath but couldn’t. She repeated the question, this time a little louder.
“Keep your voice down” he implored, finally finding the words. Then stammering, continued in a hushed voice, “I - I picked it up at a garage on the edge of town. Two guys went into the shop - I noticed they hadn’t locked the door – I saw my chance and took it - who do you think it is back there?
“I don’t know,” Keira replied, “But if you ask me they’re on their way to one place and one place only.” She tapped the tarmac below with her foot and looked down at the ground then up at Michael, her eyes shining
Michael walked back to the rear of the vehicle, picked up the screwdriver, and examined it nervously.
“What do we do now?” he asked Keira distractedly.
“I don’t know but one thing’s for sure,” she replied, “We need to get off this road.”
They got back into the car, leaving the darkness to once again reclaim the lonely roadside.
Back on the road Michael gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car trundled on through the countryside. Jangled and on edge, the rhythm of his earlier drive was gone and instead of sinking into the seat, he sat bolt upright. The car itself felt sluggish and unresponsive, no longer connected with the road and in particular, heavier in the back. He frequently checked the rear mirrors for any signs of them being followed, and every so often glanced over at Kiera, who sat silently chewing her lip, apparently deep in thought. The thump, thump, thump continued as Michael scanned the road ahead for a suitable place.
After five minutes or so driving, a promising dark spot loomed forth against the burgeoning horizon. A large box-like structure set back from the road, it seemed too crudely designed for people and too isolated for animals. Something in the way the building appeared to be leaning in on itself suggested that it was long since abandoned, a suspicion that was confirmed as the car and its passengers rattled up the overgrown lane towards it.
He brought the car to a stop in front of the entrance to the dilapidated building and the two got out. Beneath their feet, the paved ground was slowly losing the fight against nature. Thick, vinous weeds had established themselves in between the cracks in the paving stones and were presently working their iron-like root systems underneath and between the slabs, fragmenting and displacing the formerly ordered arrangement. The building itself faired little better, its rusty hues and rotten wood bearing testament to a long since abandoned fight against the inevitable.
With the help of his screwdriver, Michael easily prised loose the rusty padlock holding the heavy doors together and with the help of Keira was able to swing back the heavy wooden doors, allowing him to drive the car and its cargo into the building where it would be concealed. As they swung the doors shut again, Michael noticed that the stars were beginning to give way as the first wave of light began to push up against the night sky.
Inside the building was dark, the auburn headlights providing only a few feet of illumination before succumbing to the encroaching dusty blackness. Excepting a few panicked flutters that heralded their arrival, a terminal silence prevailed throughout the building and its surrounds, amplifying every movement and breath.
“Let’s leave the car here,” Michael suggested half heartedly, “They won’t find this place and we’ll be in the clear.”
Keira narrowed her eyes at him. Her tongue flicked briefly across the sharp edges of her canines as she repressed a wry smile.
“Let’s find out who is in the trunk first,” she replied, her voice level and steady. Michael found himself following her to the rear of the vehicle screwdriver in hand and awaiting her instructions. She leaned forward and undid the catch just before the rear window.
The inside of the trunk was much as it had been before, a bunch of loosely arranged clothes seamed together with lighter areas, no longer silvery in the moonlight but pale and smooth and more skin-like. Keira took the screwdriver from Michael’s hands and after a few moments sifting through the folds and poking and prying at the denser areas, she exposed two thin stick-like wrists bound together tightly by thick twine, their spindly fingers flowering out behind like the branches of a gnarled bonsai tree. She put her hands easily around the bound wrists and motioned Michael to do the same where the pointed black shoe betrayed the ankles. Together they lifted the surprisingly light bundle from the car and set it in facing the car, Michael taking pains to avoid looking at the face as the body’s small head lolled about on its neck listlessly.
Using the glare of the headlights as a protective curtain, Michael took the opportunity to survey the body in full for the first time: The black bunches and folds so loosely arranged in the trunk had taken on a thin body shape, their elegant quality and cut done no justice by the thin frame that clung together within. The small head that had seemed lifeless just moments ago now managed to support itself on it’s pencil thin stem. Almost devoid of distinguishing features, the head’s face seemed like it had been stretched across its skull and was being held in place at the back of the neck with pins. Michael was still surveying the coat hanger when its thin lips cracked open and said in a weak voice:
“Don’t kill me.”
Keira, who had been stalking up and down in front of the body replied quickly.
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t done anything wrong,” reasoned the body.
“Doubtful,” replied Kiera sharply, “though that’s really of little relevance.”
The body started to shake violently, culminating in a thick rasping noise emanating from its dry, crusty mouth - a laugh of sorts.
“True,” it pronounced at last, then, looking towards Michael continued “I am at your mercy.”
Michael shifted uncomfortably under the body’s gaze.
“Who are you?” he enquired, mindful of his wavering voice.
The body sputtered another mucus-laden laugh and replied gravely:
“I’m a dead man – am I not?”
Michael kneeled down to the body’s level. As he did so he noticed a few shards of light beginning to form through the cracks in the rotten timber under the doorway and realised it wouldn’t be long until daybreak.
“We’re not the ones who took you” he said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the withered face.
Michael felt Keira’s hand squeeze his shoulder tightly and stood up obligingly
“We’re not the ones who took you,” she continued for him, “but we’re guessing that they will not take lightly to their property being taken from them.
The body grunted acquiescence, Keira continued:
“The easiest thing – the sensible thing – I’m sure you would agree, would be for us to cut our losses and leave this building with this car and this body in it.”
“Where there is no body there is no crime,” opined the body sarcastically
“Exactly” rejoined its tormentor, “But fortune favours the brave.”
The body groaned.
“What do you want?” it asked “Money? I can write you a cheque if you wish -” At this it waggled its fingers suggestively.
The light was nearly at Michaels feet, the dawn creeping imperceptibly across the floor like a luminescent tide. Something made him feel compelled to intervene in the scene but unable to summon the strength.
“Everything” replied Keira, “There can’t be too high a price for what we are giving you.”
The light swimming around Michael’s ankles mingled with the glare of the headlights. Soon they would be obsolete.
“On the contrary,” replied the body, “I believe in a fair price for a fair days work. You already have the car, I am but a mere bonus, albeit a hefty one. Release me and I will make it worth your while but I’m afraid “everything” is out of the question.”
The light was beginning to shine hard through chinks and cracks in the building’s structure, throwing shadows and making spotlights in the gloom. Michael could feel the morning warming his bones, clearing way the night’s doubts and ambiguities like a rebirth, making him strong. If Keira was feeling the same way, she wasn’t showing it.
“We are offering you a second chance” she insisted through grinding teeth.“The opportunity to change your fate.”
“So you’re my guardian angels?” inquired the body mockingly, “There are no second chances. You can’t hide from yourself.
Keira called to Micheal for help. But he wasn’t listening.
Instead he saw himself take the screwdriver from Kiera’s hand and drive it hard into the body’s withered chest. The hilt of the tool hit the ribcage with a dull thump followed by a sharp crack, then a wet sound and a scraping noise as he pulled it out. He inspected the blood on the screwdriver and then drove it into the body’s chest again with another thump.
Then again:
Thump, Thump,
And again.
Thump, thump, thump.
Inside, Michael let his body fall into sync with the journey; a wilful slave to the road’s demands. Stretched out like a cat in the passenger seat next to him, Keira lay with her head leaning back on the headrest, stargazing. Occasionally, the orange beams of the headlights would land on some night-thing - a pair of shining eyes staring back through the blackness - but mostly they were alone.
Hypnotised by the road, it took a while for Michael to register the dull thump thump thump coming from the rear of the vehicle.
“What’s that noise?” he breathed to Keira.
Kiera cocked her ear and listened.
Thump thump thump.
“I’m sure it’s nothing – a car sound.” She replied, her face relaxing back into its regular, complacent shape.
Michael grimaced and tried to believe her, his attention turning once again to the road ahead. Just then another irregular thump reverberated through the vehicle, finding an easy home in the hollow of his chest.
“That’s no car sound!” he fretted nervously, the steering wheel starting to stick as his hands turned clammy and warm. “That came from the trunk!”
He cut the engine and glided the car to a standstill, opened his door and put one foot on the black tarmac. “Let’s go” he whispered urgently. Kiera caught his arm.
“No” she said softly but firmly, “This is our car now.”
She released his arm and without waiting for a response, opened her own door and marched to the back of the car defiantly. Michael followed suit. He slowly withdrew a large pointed screwdriver from his boot, holding it at a level position between himself and the car, while Keira leaned forward and undid the catch just below the rear window. They watched breathlessly as the trunk crept open.
Michael didn’t see anything at first, just a bunch of clothes and junk casually thrown in the back as you might find in any five door saloon. As his eyes adjusted to the dark however, he began to become aware of something not quite right about the fabric and texture of some of the garments. In places they seemed too silvery, too reflective to be clothes. His apprehension temporarily deserting him, Michael ran his hand along the black fabric and let it fall on a black shoe that protruded from the folds. Tentatively he closed his grip around it and gave it a slight tug. It didn’t budge. Searching for the source of the entanglement, he plunged his hand deeper into the folds, closing it on something warm and soft. Instantly he pulled back in horror and swung round to face Keira. Her face was a deathly shade of white and her eyes wide open, fixed on something in the far corner of the trunk. Deep among the folds and shadows, half hidden in the darkness a stretched ivory circle shone at the two friends, then blinked.
Michael’s heart seemed to plunge through his chest, leaving him gasping for breath and groping for the lid of the boot. His screwdriver fell to the ground redundantly, a freezing paralysis spreading out from the tips of his toes, making its way up his legs then spider webbing out through his back and arms. Keira slammed shut the lid of the trunk, dragging Michael round with her to the front of the car.
“Shit” she hissed, “Where did you get this car from?”
Michael tried to recover his breath but couldn’t. She repeated the question, this time a little louder.
“Keep your voice down” he implored, finally finding the words. Then stammering, continued in a hushed voice, “I - I picked it up at a garage on the edge of town. Two guys went into the shop - I noticed they hadn’t locked the door – I saw my chance and took it - who do you think it is back there?
“I don’t know,” Keira replied, “But if you ask me they’re on their way to one place and one place only.” She tapped the tarmac below with her foot and looked down at the ground then up at Michael, her eyes shining
Michael walked back to the rear of the vehicle, picked up the screwdriver, and examined it nervously.
“What do we do now?” he asked Keira distractedly.
“I don’t know but one thing’s for sure,” she replied, “We need to get off this road.”
They got back into the car, leaving the darkness to once again reclaim the lonely roadside.
Back on the road Michael gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car trundled on through the countryside. Jangled and on edge, the rhythm of his earlier drive was gone and instead of sinking into the seat, he sat bolt upright. The car itself felt sluggish and unresponsive, no longer connected with the road and in particular, heavier in the back. He frequently checked the rear mirrors for any signs of them being followed, and every so often glanced over at Kiera, who sat silently chewing her lip, apparently deep in thought. The thump, thump, thump continued as Michael scanned the road ahead for a suitable place.
After five minutes or so driving, a promising dark spot loomed forth against the burgeoning horizon. A large box-like structure set back from the road, it seemed too crudely designed for people and too isolated for animals. Something in the way the building appeared to be leaning in on itself suggested that it was long since abandoned, a suspicion that was confirmed as the car and its passengers rattled up the overgrown lane towards it.
He brought the car to a stop in front of the entrance to the dilapidated building and the two got out. Beneath their feet, the paved ground was slowly losing the fight against nature. Thick, vinous weeds had established themselves in between the cracks in the paving stones and were presently working their iron-like root systems underneath and between the slabs, fragmenting and displacing the formerly ordered arrangement. The building itself faired little better, its rusty hues and rotten wood bearing testament to a long since abandoned fight against the inevitable.
With the help of his screwdriver, Michael easily prised loose the rusty padlock holding the heavy doors together and with the help of Keira was able to swing back the heavy wooden doors, allowing him to drive the car and its cargo into the building where it would be concealed. As they swung the doors shut again, Michael noticed that the stars were beginning to give way as the first wave of light began to push up against the night sky.
Inside the building was dark, the auburn headlights providing only a few feet of illumination before succumbing to the encroaching dusty blackness. Excepting a few panicked flutters that heralded their arrival, a terminal silence prevailed throughout the building and its surrounds, amplifying every movement and breath.
“Let’s leave the car here,” Michael suggested half heartedly, “They won’t find this place and we’ll be in the clear.”
Keira narrowed her eyes at him. Her tongue flicked briefly across the sharp edges of her canines as she repressed a wry smile.
“Let’s find out who is in the trunk first,” she replied, her voice level and steady. Michael found himself following her to the rear of the vehicle screwdriver in hand and awaiting her instructions. She leaned forward and undid the catch just before the rear window.
The inside of the trunk was much as it had been before, a bunch of loosely arranged clothes seamed together with lighter areas, no longer silvery in the moonlight but pale and smooth and more skin-like. Keira took the screwdriver from Michael’s hands and after a few moments sifting through the folds and poking and prying at the denser areas, she exposed two thin stick-like wrists bound together tightly by thick twine, their spindly fingers flowering out behind like the branches of a gnarled bonsai tree. She put her hands easily around the bound wrists and motioned Michael to do the same where the pointed black shoe betrayed the ankles. Together they lifted the surprisingly light bundle from the car and set it in facing the car, Michael taking pains to avoid looking at the face as the body’s small head lolled about on its neck listlessly.
Using the glare of the headlights as a protective curtain, Michael took the opportunity to survey the body in full for the first time: The black bunches and folds so loosely arranged in the trunk had taken on a thin body shape, their elegant quality and cut done no justice by the thin frame that clung together within. The small head that had seemed lifeless just moments ago now managed to support itself on it’s pencil thin stem. Almost devoid of distinguishing features, the head’s face seemed like it had been stretched across its skull and was being held in place at the back of the neck with pins. Michael was still surveying the coat hanger when its thin lips cracked open and said in a weak voice:
“Don’t kill me.”
Keira, who had been stalking up and down in front of the body replied quickly.
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t done anything wrong,” reasoned the body.
“Doubtful,” replied Kiera sharply, “though that’s really of little relevance.”
The body started to shake violently, culminating in a thick rasping noise emanating from its dry, crusty mouth - a laugh of sorts.
“True,” it pronounced at last, then, looking towards Michael continued “I am at your mercy.”
Michael shifted uncomfortably under the body’s gaze.
“Who are you?” he enquired, mindful of his wavering voice.
The body sputtered another mucus-laden laugh and replied gravely:
“I’m a dead man – am I not?”
Michael kneeled down to the body’s level. As he did so he noticed a few shards of light beginning to form through the cracks in the rotten timber under the doorway and realised it wouldn’t be long until daybreak.
“We’re not the ones who took you” he said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the withered face.
Michael felt Keira’s hand squeeze his shoulder tightly and stood up obligingly
“We’re not the ones who took you,” she continued for him, “but we’re guessing that they will not take lightly to their property being taken from them.
The body grunted acquiescence, Keira continued:
“The easiest thing – the sensible thing – I’m sure you would agree, would be for us to cut our losses and leave this building with this car and this body in it.”
“Where there is no body there is no crime,” opined the body sarcastically
“Exactly” rejoined its tormentor, “But fortune favours the brave.”
The body groaned.
“What do you want?” it asked “Money? I can write you a cheque if you wish -” At this it waggled its fingers suggestively.
The light was nearly at Michaels feet, the dawn creeping imperceptibly across the floor like a luminescent tide. Something made him feel compelled to intervene in the scene but unable to summon the strength.
“Everything” replied Keira, “There can’t be too high a price for what we are giving you.”
The light swimming around Michael’s ankles mingled with the glare of the headlights. Soon they would be obsolete.
“On the contrary,” replied the body, “I believe in a fair price for a fair days work. You already have the car, I am but a mere bonus, albeit a hefty one. Release me and I will make it worth your while but I’m afraid “everything” is out of the question.”
The light was beginning to shine hard through chinks and cracks in the building’s structure, throwing shadows and making spotlights in the gloom. Michael could feel the morning warming his bones, clearing way the night’s doubts and ambiguities like a rebirth, making him strong. If Keira was feeling the same way, she wasn’t showing it.
“We are offering you a second chance” she insisted through grinding teeth.“The opportunity to change your fate.”
“So you’re my guardian angels?” inquired the body mockingly, “There are no second chances. You can’t hide from yourself.
Keira called to Micheal for help. But he wasn’t listening.
Instead he saw himself take the screwdriver from Kiera’s hand and drive it hard into the body’s withered chest. The hilt of the tool hit the ribcage with a dull thump followed by a sharp crack, then a wet sound and a scraping noise as he pulled it out. He inspected the blood on the screwdriver and then drove it into the body’s chest again with another thump.
Then again:
Thump, Thump,
And again.
Thump, thump, thump.
Sunday 6 April 2008
Dead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 1
Blackford awoke feeling like someone was shining a spotlight straight through his body. His eyes cooked under tender lids, the heat pinning him down like an ant under a magnifying glass. Next to the bed an overloaded ashtray and a half eaten tuna sandwich competed for the contents of his stomach as he gradually became aware of a sharp rapping at the door. Dazed, Blackford quickly pulled over the curtains and lumbered toward the door, his body bruised and battered.
The brunette pushed past him and straight into the bedroom.
“Jenny didn’t come home last night.” she stated, matter of fact, her back to him as she surveyed the gloomy room. Blackford steadied himself against the door frame.
“So?”
“So when did you last see her?” She replied, her tone almost accusatory.
Blackford took a guess “At the party, isn’t it a bit early for the third degree?” He backed out of the bedroom, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
In the kitchen Blackford tried to disentangle the night before; He’d gone to the pub straight after work as was usual for a Friday, rinsed the week from his bones with the rest of the office mob. Just before ten he’d bought a carryout, playing it safe with a six pack and half bottle of Buckfast. Then, heading west from the city centre, he’d dropped into a few more bars. Instead of going back to the flat, James came to meet him at a bar on Woodlands Road; scrubbed, well fed and trailing Blackford by more than a few and showing it. At closing time they’d got a taxi to the party.
Soon after that the night slid into a few blurry snapshots; an empty Buckfast bottle - white lines - awkwardness and hostility. Jenny had been there, they’d only broken up a month ago.
He lifted the teabags out of two cups, poured in the milk and brought both through to his bedroom. Angel was sitting on the edge of her bed studying her fingernails. He handed her a cup and sat down beside her.
“It’s not like her Blackford,” she said after a moment, her tone softer now.
“Yeah?” Blackford replied, taking a sip of tea, “she’s probably just crashed out somewhere, I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” Blackford didn’t want to mention the other possibility, he still felt raw.
Angel considered this for a moment, then dismissed it, “She would have texted me.”
“So why don’t you call the police if you’re so worried?” Blackford retorted, slightly more mockingly than he had meant to.
“I called this morning,” she replied unfazed “they won’t do anything for 48 hours.”
“For good reason” Blackford flared up, “they can hardly chase up on every tart that drops her knickers can they?”
Angel’s eyes flashed; perhaps his tone had been a little harsh.
“I know I’m probably overreacting. But she’s naïve Blackford.”
She looked down into her cup and Blackford took the opportunity to study her as they sat in silence. He wondered whether she’d put on make-up this morning or whether it was left over from last night, it looked new. There was a time when he thought something could have happened with Angel, but when he’d started going out with Jen all that had been swept under the carpet.
“So you want me to go look for her I take it?”
“Would you?” Angel’s eyes flashed again, this time from under heavy lashes. She took his hand in hers.
“Yeah ok, I’ll ask around.”
Angel smiled. “Thanks Blackford, nice shiner by the way.”
Blackford ran into the bathroom to check his reflection in the mirror, a dark circle was beginning to appear around his left eye. His mind raced for an explanation but by the time he came out Angel had already left, the front door closing behind her with a click.
Dead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 2
Blackford got dressed. His black jumper was missing, left at the party most likely. Taking his green hoody instead, he grabbed his keys and left the flat.
Outside
Even at this time the park was filling up. Kids on skateboards jostled for space in the Skate park, while young, stylish parents smiled indulgently as their little swaddlings toddled along behind them. Over on the big hill, groups of students lay back on the grass with their blue bags and cigarettes, some no doubt coming straight through from the night before. Already, the strains of a sound system could be heard.
Screwing his eyes, Blackford recognised a group of people he knew and walked over.
“Hey Blackie how you feeling today” smirked one of the number, eliciting a few murmured laughs. Blackford shifted uncomfortably as a dozen eyes lighted on him from behind outsized sunglasses, then sat down self-consciously beside a guy he knew called Colin. He hadn’t remembered them being at the party but this didn’t surprise him too much. Colin offered him a beer and Blackford accepted, the can shop cold and heavy in his hand. He opened it and took a grateful glug.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Jen about today?” he eventually said to Colin.
“Naw man, not since last night,” Colin replied “what happened your eye?”
Blackford ignored the question and asked another one of his own:
“What about James?”
“Last time I saw him he was with you,” Colin said, then “D’you catch up with Jenny?”
Blackford answered flatly, “No”
He lay back and lit a smoke, trying to play it cool. More groups were now arriving at the hill. Some had brought footballs and Frisbees but most just flopped down on the grass. After a while Colin turned to him.
“Maybe you should try
Blackford sat up, “Was she buying?”
“Maybe, but it looked like she was just hanging out.”
This pricked Blackford. Hayden Watt dealt weed, coke and pills to half the West End of Glasgow out of a flat on the edge of Maryhill. Blackford bought stuff from him occasionally and found him personally repugnant. The first time he’d gone to North Woodside Hayden had bragged over a joint that he made a few girls clean his flat in exchange for drugs. Hayden was friends with some dodgy people and more than a few times Blackford had left a party as the atmosphere around them turned nasty.
Colin hesitated, then spoke again. “Look man, if you want my advice you should just leave it alone. You were pretty upset last night.”
Blackford drained his can and stood up, his knees creaking, “Thanks, I gotta push on”
As he walked away, Colin shouted out behind him: “Come to the tunnel party tonight. Kid Vicious is supposed to be playing.”
But Blackford’s mind was already on other things.
Dead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 3
Hayden’s house lay at the other side of
It seemed like he’d made some sort of scene last night, causing Jenny to leave the party prematurely. In his drunkenness he decided to follow her, with James probably going along to make sure he was alright. Colin had asked about his eye, meaning it must have happened after he left the party. He also asked whether they’d caught up with Jenny – Blackford couldn’t be sure. He called James on his mobile, it went straight to voicemail. Something else niggled at him. He’d already told Angel the last time he saw Jen was at the party, but if he’d gone out after her this wasn’t strictly true. He checked his watch, in approximately 44 hours the Police could be asking him questions he didn’t necessarily have any answers for. Blackford pushed this thought to the back of his mind as he came up on the row of red brick Semi’s where Hayden plied his trade.
The houses were unusual for
He rang the bell and was buzzed in almost instantly. Closing the door gently behind him Blackford ventured into the living room of the flat, the shop floor. The sun was shining hard through a crack in the curtains, eviscerating the dust and the gloom but otherwise the room was dark. It took a few moments for Blackford’s eyes to adjust and when they did it was clear he’d walked in on something.
Hayden sat in an old grey lazy boy wearing a raggedy black dressing gown, his eyes heavy and red. The coffee table in front of him was strewn with junk Blackford recognised as the tools of a heavy night; crumpled skins, a rolled up ten pound note, cling film. Two mobile phones sat on the table side by side. Across the table Hayden’s flatmate, a steroid soaked meathead in a vest and red tracksuit bottoms called Davies sweated out the morning, while in the corner of the room a girl with dreadlocks was busy assembling what looked like an IKEA CD rack. Both Hayden and Davies were set on edge.
“What?” Davies growled.
Blackford addressed Hayden directly: “Any chance of half a G?”
“Coke?” Hayden drawled back.
Blackford nodded. Hayden looked at Davies who grudgingly disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with a small folded up square of paper in between his fingers. Blackford dug into his pocket and pulled out two tens and a five pre-folded together for convenience. Davies snatched the money from Blackford and handed him the damp wrap. Blackford stood there for a moment.
“Thanks, I don’t suppose either of you have seen Jenny today?”
They both looked up sharply. Blackford continued unsteadily:
“It’s just I heard she’d been up here a bit recently -”
Davies sprang from his seat and put his face up close to Blackford’s, as if straining against an invisible leash. Blackford half expected to come into contact with his sweaty forehead at any moment.
“Who told you that” he barked, spraying Blackford’s face with flecks of spit.
“Just someone at the park,” Blackford replied, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Who at the park?” He was closer now, a waft of body odour turned Blackford’s stomach, refreshing his hangover.
He made up a name, tried to keep his voice from wavering: “Mike.”
“Mike -” Davies started but was interrupted by one of the phones vibrating on the table.
“Saved by the bell,” he sneered, answering the phone and walking through to the back. Hayden took over:
“I think what my friend was trying to say was that no, we haven’t seen Jenny, now fuck off.”
As Blackford made to leave the doorbell rang. Hayden looked toward where his friend had exited from, then reluctantly stood up and made toward the door.
“What are you waiting for?” he gestured. The doorbell rang again
Blackford went down to tie his lace, buying some time. When Hayden went to answer Blackford saw his opportunity, snatching the remaining mobile phone from the table and stuffing it into his pocket, making sure the dreadlocked girl hadn’t seen him. He passed Hayden in the hallway, sheparding a few of the park faces through to the living room and went through the door.
Blackford stepped out into the sunshine and exhaled. The day was really heating up and he could feel his hangover oozing through his skin. It wouldn’t be long before Hayden noticed his phone was missing so he couldn’t waste any time. As he walked he scrolled through the received messages on Hayden’s phone. Most were business messages; short orders in clipped language. Nine or ten messages in however he saw it:
HI HAYD, WILL BE AN HOUR LATE, HOPE THIS ISN’T A PROBLEM. JEN X.
The message was dated yesterday evening at 7:23pm, Blackford located the sent message folder, quickly finding what he was looking for.
FINE
Blackford looked back up at the row of houses he’d just come from, then put Hayden’s phone back in his pocket and took out his own. He tried to phone James, again with no luck. Quickening his pace, Blackford crossed the river at the small fat bridge just past Kelvingrove underground station and doubled back the way he came. He was on the path that snaked along side the River Kelvin, a lush and tranquil seam in an often overbearing city. When he found a suitable place, he looked around to check no-one was watching, then left the path and climbed up a steep bank, settling into position beside a tall Silver Birch. From where he sat he had a commanding view across the
I WILL KILL YOU BLACKFORD.
Blackford switched it off and stuffed it back into his pocket
Dead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 4
From his hideaway tucked up on the bank of the Kelvin Blackford had a good view of everyone who came and left Hayden’s flat. It struck him how easy it would be for the Police to monitor the house, and wondered if his past paranoia had been justified.
For the first time that day Blackford started to properly worry. He hadn’t really taken Jen’s disappearance that seriously , but as he sat watching the dealers house a chill washed over him. Angel was right, for Jen not to get in touch was way out of character, and if Hayden was involved who knew where she could have ended up. This thought was like a wedge in a crack, opening up his mind to all sorts of images. He thought of Jen’s parents, and whether he would call them or let Angel do it. Jen had gone back there for a week after they’d split up and had probably told them the lot, they had that kind of relationship. He then thought of a police interrogation room, hours of questioning leading him round and round facts he couldn’t quite recall. Most of all he thought of his own drunken stupidity and selfishness. He fingered the small square in his pocket and continued to stare intently across the river at Hayden’s door.
Davies was the first to leave the flat, his arms swinging from side to side as he barrelled down the road. Blackford let him go. After about 30 minutes the door opened again and Blackford saw the front wheel of a bike emerge, followed shortly by the rest of the bike and the dreadlocked girl pushing from the saddle. She looked left and right, closed the door and mounted the BMX.
Blackford scrambled down the bank in an avalanche of dust and debris; he hadn’t counted on her being on wheels. Hitting the ground running, Blackford fought to keep one eye on the path and the other on the bike as it undulated in and out of his vision on the other side of the river. He kept abreast of her for 100 metres or so then broke into a sprint when he saw they were approaching the tunnel under
She didn’t show. Realising his mistake Blackford spun around and pulled himself up the steps leading up to
Then through a curtain of mangled hair and tears he saw the silver BMX propped up against the wall outside a newsagent’s on the other side of the road. Without thinking he ran across the road, snatched the bike and wheeled it around the corner.
Blackford steeled himself for a fight as he stood around the corner from the shop, the bike pressed between his back and the wall. After a few moments a short gasp came from the other side, followed by a chaotic patter of flip flops as the girl started down
“Oi” he called out, a little too loudly and for want of anything better to say.
The girl turned and seeing her bike ran towards him. Relief gave way to confusion as she recognised Blackford but before she had time to react Blackford had reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her close.
“What the fuck?” she cursed in his face.
Blackford spoke quickly and quietly. “I don’t want your bike, I just want some information about my friend Jenny, she’s been missing since last night. I need you to tell me what you know about her and Hayden. I hear they’ve been going around.”
She struggled in his grip, “What if she has?”
“Like I said I just want to find my friend. Did she come around to the flat last night?”
Again she resisted: “What makes you think I know anything about it?”
The girl wasn’t giving anything away in a hurry. Blackford took a gamble.
“If you want your bike back you do.”
She laughed at him.
“You take that bike and it’ll cost you your other knee. Hayden knows you stole his phone.”
Blackford went to plan B. He reached into his back pocket with his free hand and pulled out the small paper square and waved it in front of her face. She smiled and stopped struggling against him.
“You should have said. She’s been round at the flat.”
She reached for the wrap but Blackford drew it back quickly.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
The girl rolled her eyes. Blackford tightened his grip.
“Okay, Okay. Hayden and your girl were working a business arrangement.”
Blackford tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, “Drugs?”
“What do you think? Your girl came to Hayden, told him she had a pill source. Times being how they are Hayden was pretty keen on tapping it.”
“So what, she was selling bulk?”
“Not exactly. As far as I know she didn’t have that kind of cash to throw around. That’s where Hayden came into it. She was acting as a…what do you call it...?”
“Conduit?”
“Whatever, anyway the drop was scheduled for last night, only your girl didn’t show. Hayden’s been trying to call her ever since, figured she’s skipped with his cash.”
“I don’t understand,” Blackford ventured “Why would Hayden give her money up front?”
“Don’t ask me, maybe he was boning her.”
Blackford flinched,
“Do you know where the drop was supposed to be?”
“No, but I hope for her sake she’s far away now, Hayden doesn’t forget.”
He released her and pressed the wrap into her hand, stepping away from the bike as he did so.
“Me neither,” he rejoined after a pause, but the girl had already split.
Blackford slid down the wall and thought on what he’d heard with a smoke. According to dreadlock girl Jenny and Hayden were doing business. It was feasible – she had connections inDead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 5
Angel and Jen lived in a ground floor flat on one of the avenues branching off
Inside Blackford shivered. He’d practically lived there at one stage but now he felt like an intruder, stalking through on tip toes. Making straight for Jen’s bedroom Blackford didn’t waste any time, rifling through the wardrobes and drawers like a practiced thief. It didn’t look like any of her clothes were missing and Blackford noted that the bed was unslept in. If anything, the room was uncharacteristically neat, as if she was expecting a visit from her parents.
His phone rang. It was Angel. Blackford filled her in on his afternoon of activity.
“I don’t know Blackford,” she replied when he told her about his chat with the girl, “That doesn’t sound like Jen.”
“That’s what I thought,” Blackford agreed, “So I came round to yours to check if anything was missing and it all seems to be in place.”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line:
“You’re at mine? I already checked her room this morning.”
“Yeah sorry I let myself in, I couldn’t wait until you answered, not with Hayden scouring the streets.”
“Of course.” She sounded distant, “This is starting to sound bad Blackford, I say we go to the police with what we know. They’re sure to take more interest if they know Hayden’s involved-”
Blackford winced.
“True, but what if we’re wrong and Jenny turns up tomorrow? Then we’ve got Jenny in trouble and we’ll have Hayden on our backs. Do we want to take that risk?”
“I don’t care Blackford, I just want to know where she is.”
“Ok” Blackford stalled her “Maybe we should just wait until we find out a little more, see if there is away we can leave the drugs out of it. We don’t even know if she met Hayden last night. You keep checking the bars and I’ll stay here for a bit – see if I can turn up anything you might have missed.”
They said goodbye and promised to touch base later. Blackford looked around the room. It was pretty much as he’d remembered it, minus a few photos here and there. Again he was struck by the tidiness of the room; Jen was usually an unrepentant slob. He moved on to her dresser and turned over the drawers. The silver necklace he’d bought for her birthday last year was still there, as were her favourite rings and all her make up.
Finding nothing out of place, Blackford walked into the hallway. His eyes flitted around the mostly empty room, finally resting on the phone table. In amongst a stack of unopened bills and doodled notepaper a black leather-bound address book lay open. Blackford immediately recognised the careful handwriting as Jen’s. One number leapt out at Blackford from the page – James mobile. He was just about to dial it when a loud pounding noise interrupted him. Looking up Blackford saw a dark shape through the frosted glass in the doorway. He quickly fell to the floor and crawled back into Jen’s room on his hands and knees. He pressed himself up against the skirting and kept as still as he could.
After a few moments the rattling stopped and a shadow appeared on the wall in front of him. He lowered his head as far as his neck would allow and held his breath. The shape was pressed against the window. After a long minute the shadow got smaller and disappeared.
Blackford crawled out of the room and into the kitchen at the back of the house. Climbing over the sink, he opened the window and dropped out onto the overgrown grass below. Picking his way through broken toys and burst bin bags, he hoisted himself on top of the bin shed at the bottom of the yard and then lowered himself into the alley below. A solitary figure was loping up the far end of the alley. Blackford thought he recognised the uneven swagger but couldn’t be sure at that distance. The figure looked up and started to run. Needing no further cue, Blackford turned on his heels and fled. Without looking behind him once he was on
Dead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 6
Blackford wheezed in the back of the Black Taxi. Keeping low in the seat, he asked the driver to take him back to his flat. What he’d seen at Angel and Jen’s troubled him. It didn’t fit with the girl’s story. If Jen had done a runner she surely would have packed a few things. He also tried not to think of the presence of Jame’s phone number as anything other than a coincidence, but was having a hard time convincing himself.
The journey took him down
Arriving at his house Blackford paid the driver and darted into his building. Once safely inside the flat he lowered himself down on to the unmade bed and buried his face in the duvet, imagining himself sinking further into the bed and trying to suppress the urge to close his eyes and give up the day. Before he got too comfortable, however, Blackford managed to hoist himself up and turn on his laptop. As he waited for the computer to load up he walked around the flat. The two cold cups of tea sat where he left them in the kitchen, one practically untouched. The rest of the kitchen was a mess. Food had set like concrete on almost every plate and the floor was in need of a wash. He pushed open the door of James room. By contrast the room was spotless. Standing by the window, Blackford tried to phone James, again with no luck. He was getting an increasingly strong feeling that James held the key to this mess and the longer he couldn’t reach him the deeper the pit in his stomach grew.
When the computer finally loaded Blackford went straight to the BBC website, scouring the recent news section. He clicked through to the more localised
They related to the previous nights party. The photos were all fairly similar, most of the same people pouting into the camera and looking like they were having too good a time, but two photos in particular sent a shiver down his spine. The first showed James and Jenny, smiling through tight lips at the photographer. They both looked deadly serious and the picture gave the impression that the camera was an unwanted intrusion. The second photo was of Blackford himself. He was lying against a wall outside the flat, his face was tilted up at the photographer and wearing a blank, vacant expression. Blackford shuddered as he looked into the unrecognisable eyes of the man in the photograph and felt pangs of self loathing. He noticed another aspect of the photograph. He was wearing his jumper, the one he thought he had left at the party. He had assumed that he’d taken off his jumper inside and left it there but the photo seemed to show differently. It was possible that he’d gone back inside and then taken it off but for some reason he knew this wasn’t the case. As he pondered this he received a text from Angel;
HAVE NEWS ABOUT JEN, MEET ME AT TUNNEL AND I’LL EXPLAIN. DON’T WORRY.
Dead bodies weigh heavier than broken hearts - Part 7
The last pools of sunlight were rapidly shrinking as Blackford made his way through the park for the second time that day looking for Colin. It was possible Colin could fill in some of the gaps between the photos, and he didn’t want to enter the Tunnel alone. The families were gone, as were most of the skaters, leaving only sun-stroked stragglers and those with nowhere else to go stewing amongst the empty bottles and blue plastic bags. Realising Colin wasn’t among the few remaining groups, Blackford hurried through quickly without stopping, the place always took on a sinister and lawless dimension after dark and he didn’t want to be caught short. Coming out onto Woodlands road, Blackford made a quick tour of some of Colin’s haunts. In each bar, red faced and slurry park refugees swayed and jostled with eachother but there was no sign of the man he was looking for. In the last bar he checked however, Blackford got word from an acquaintance that Colin was drinking at a flat on
The party was spilling in between the house and the street when Blackford arrived. He made a few enquiries and found out that Colin had already left for the Tunnel. Most of the rest of the group were heading in that direction however so Blackford found it easy to slip in amongst them and travel en mass to the entrance of the party under
The object of everyone’s attention was a disused railway tunnel that stretched from a section of the riverside path, to deep under
As the tunnel swallowed him up the girl in front reached back and took his hand in hers. He did the same with his free hand behind him as the group formed a human chain, steering each other through the darkness, the only illumination coming from small fairy lights dimly lighting the path below. Giggles rippled up and down the line and the person in front squeezed his hand with mock fear. He squeezed back, almost forgetting the reason he was there. In the distance, he could hear the faint throbbing of music, getting louder as they progressed up the tunnel. The music was soon joined by intermittent flashes of red and green momentarily lighting up the tunnel walls, before receding back into the darkness. As music got louder and the flashes more common, the line disintegrated and they entered into the main throng of the party.
Blackford surveyed the scene. The Tunnel was about as wide as two buses, the walls rising damply to meet each other in a half circle above his head. The ground felt loose under his feet, and seem to be made up primarily of chipped gravel. Blackford could smell petrol fumes and a quick glance around located a chugging generator towards the far end of the tunnel. In front of this and slightly to the left DJ equipment and a makeshift lighting system had been rigged up. Everywhere around him people danced, drank and urinated against the dark tunnel walls.
Blackford looked around for Colin and Angel, squeezing between people and keeping his head down. At one heart stopping moment he thought he saw Davies leaning back against one of the walls of the Tunnel, but the lights changed quickly and he couldn’t confirm it. More people were arriving all the time and Blackford was finding it increasingly difficult to move.
All of sudden the lights and music cut. People were shouting all around him and he could feel the crowd rippling and swaying through him. After a few almost panicky seconds, a faint low sound came from the DJ Booth, rising in pitch and volume. In an instant, the tunnel was flooded in light, illuminating every crack and spider web. Fists shot into the air as Kid Vicious took the stage, arms outstretched in a messianic pose. In the few seconds of brief, brilliant light, Blackford made out clearly a face he recognised, before the tunnel was plunged back into music and darkness as the crowd exploded. Blackford fought through the heads and limbs as he pulled himself towards the face in the crowd.
Angel was dancing when Blackford reached her and spun her round, her face registered momentary surprise and he saw her mouth his name before he pulled her away to a quieter spot.
“What is it?” he demanded when they reached somewhere they could speak. “Why did you want me to meet you here?”
Angel through her arms round him and drawled into his ear, “I’ve been trying to reach you – Jenny texted me, she’s fine!”
Blackford put his relief on hold while the girl explained herself.
“She wouldn’t say where she was, but that she’s sorry she hadn’t got in touch and that she would be away for a while.”
“Why did we have to meet here?” Blackford repeated, cupping his hand around her ear as he did so. She didn’t reply, instead pulling away and flashing him a wicked smile. She motioned him to stay where he was and disappeared into the crowd.
Blackford leaned back against the wall and let the news sink in, he took a large gulp of buckfast and surveyed the scene around him. Angel reappeared and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the depths of the crowd. When she found a suitable place, Angel put her lips up to his ear, “I’m sorry about today Blacks,” she purred, “I don’t know what came over me. Thanks for all your help, I really appreciate it.”
She pulled away and smiled shyly. It was Blackford’s turn to speak: “It’s cool” he said, trying to sound casual, “I quite enjoyed playing detective.”
He noticed as he said this that she was pulling him closer to him and didn’t resist. She slipped something into his hand. He turned it over in his fingers, recognising instantly what it was. They locked eyes.
“Let’s go talk somewhere” she offered, holding his gaze.
Blackford nodded his agreement and let her lead him through the crowd by the hand, making their way towards the opposite end of the tunnel from where he’d arrived. They cleared the crowd but kept walking further down the tunnel, past the DJ and the generator and into the darkness, the music getting fainter and the light dimmer. Neither said a word. Blackford strained to look at Angel through the diminishing light, she seemed to be scanning the path ahead and her expression was pained. When she realised he was looking at her however, her faced broke back into a smile. Blackford stopped in his tracks.
“Come on, let’s find somewhere more private.” She urged, pulling at his hand.
As she said this, a sound came from further down the tunnel. Blackford looked in the direction the noise had come from then back at Angel. She was looking at him anxiously and pulling harder at his hand.
“I think its ok here” he ventured, unsure of what her response would be. She looked down the tunnel then back at him, this time with a look bordering contempt.
“Come further,” she insisted, gaining a hold on his lower arm with her free hand and pulling at him. He heard the noise again, only more regular, like someone running towards them. Angel’s eyes gleamed expectantly and her mouth contorted into a sneer. She took a deliberate step away from him at the same time as started back down the tunnel at a quick pace. He heard her shout his name behind him in vain as he made his way back to and beyond the lights and music.
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