Chapter 11.
“Jesus, Joshua, why the hell would you want to see it?”
For a moment Joshua didn’t know what to say, but he recovered quickly. “I don’t know, a macabre curiosity I guess.” He shrugged.
“What are you going to do now?”
Nat sighed. “You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe I should just, like, go to the police. I mean, I don’t even know if I did it, really. Like you said, maybe something else happened. Maybe I should just come clean. What else am I going to do, go on the run? I mean, Jesus, look at me, I wouldn’t…”
Joshua put his hand quickly, firmly over Nat’s arm. “Listen to me, Nathan, do not go to the police. I am serious.” He paused, thinking. “Look. I can’t tell you much, but there are things that I know. Please don’t ask me how, but I have … connections. You will never, I repeat, never, get a fair hearing from the police. Especially given everything that you’ve told me.”
Nat shivered. “What are you saying? I don’t understand…?”
Joshua leaned into Nat, dropped his voice to a whisper. “Come on, Nathan, what I’m saying is clear.”
“What…” Nat shook his head. “The police are… corrupt? I mean…”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying” Joshua whispered fiercely. “Those two – that you mentioned. Maker and Dredd. They’re amongst the worst. They’ll look for the angle for themselves, exploit it, exploit you – and you’ll be in a cell before you know it. You’ll be lucky ever to get out.”
“But…” Nat found himself whispering too. “But… I mean, that’s just not true. We don’t live in some dodgy country, I mean, this is… I mean. We have a fair system, you know, judges, courts, everything. I’d get a lawyer, they’d investigate, they’d find it wasn’t me and…”
“No, no, no, Nathan. Terri – you don’t know who she was. How do you think they were on to you so quickly? Look – it’ll take me a long time to explain. But we need to move quickly now. You don’t have the luxury of time.” He stopped again, as if considering something, nodded to himself, as if coming to a conclusion. “Look, Nathan. I’m going to help you. I feel a little guilty, I feel that I have somehow put you in this position, left you with her, before you did whatever you did…”
“I’m not sure I did anything.”
“Hush. Focus. This is important. You need to get rid of the evidence. Then you need to go back to your apartment, tidy it up and act as if nothing had happened. Deny everything. They have no proof she was there with you, and I promise that I won’t say anything. We met for a beer, here, first time. There’s nothing they can do to prove it. You understand?”
“Erm... I think so.”
Joshua nodded. There was an urgency about him now. “Of course, the key evidence that you need to dispose of is the finger. They have nothing else.”
“What about my flat?”
“What about your flat?”
“Well, wouldn’t there be, you know, DNA evidence, stuff like that…”
“No, no, no, don’t worry about that. Clean it all down when you tidy up your flat. They won’t find anything. No. The finger is the key. If they find that on you, you have no hope. You understand?”
“Can I have another drink?”
“Listen” Joshua’s voice was fierce. “Now is not the time for drinking. You need to keep your wits about you. Look. I’m prepared to do this. Give me the finger and I’ll get rid of it for you. They’re not looking for me.”
Nat gulped. “You think they’re looking for me?”
“Well it’s possible, isn’t it?” Joshua had become impatient. “And then if they find you, and you still have it. You understand?”
There was a short silence as Nat tried to take this in. “I guess” he started, “but…”
“No buts. Come on, Nathan. Be bold. We need to take action. Look, just pass me the finger now, inconspicuously.”
“But…”
“Come on.”
Nat sighed and reached into his pocket, gripped the finger and shuddered involuntarily, thinking about the dead flesh. He closed his eyes, yeah, this was probably a good idea, get rid of it.
“It… it won’t move”
“What do you mean, it won’t move?”
Nat was pulling hard, but it was as if the finger had glued itself to the inside pocket of his jeans. “It’s like… it’s stuck there” he panted as he yanked at it.
“Quiet!” hissed Joshua. “Come on, let me try.”
“Jesus, no! I’m not going to let you put your hand into my jeans!” People are looking.” They were.
“Okay, okay. Well, look, let’s go into the gents, then you can rip that part of your jeans out and then…”
“Joshua… I’m not going to rip my jeans up here. I mean, I can’t go home with a big tear in my trousers can I. I mean, I’m conspicuous enough as it is.”
Joshua sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Okay, all right, let’s go back to your hotel and you can take them off there, all right. Okay, it’s decided, we’ll do that.” And without waiting for Nat to answer, he jumped up, swept over to the bar, had a quick chat with Marco, and pulled Nat out into the evening’s warm glow.
“We’ll get a taxi.”
“It’s only five minutes’ walk.”
Joshua looked at Nat, looked down at his shoes and then around him. It was empty. It was as if everyone had gone inside (judging by how busy X2, or whatever the bar was called, perhaps they had) and the streets were deserted. No people, no cars, definitely no taxis. Joshua shrugged. “Lead on, my friend.”
Nat had that stone-cold-sober-after-being-brought-back-to-earth-very-quickly-when-drunk feeling that most people will know, the pavement did sway a little but he thought he could manage. Joshua walked confidently beside him showing no signs of being any the worse for wear.
“It’s just up here, and around the corner at that traffic light. Then just through the park and those woods and we’re there.”
“Yes, yes, I know it, modest little establishment” murmured Joshua, only half listening. “Listen, my friend, when you have handed the finger over, I suggest you stay in the hotel for the night. Sober up, return to your flat in the morning and start cleaning. I doubt very much that anyone will be looking for you tonight.”
“You think…?”
Nat stopped. Something had caught his attention, a flicker, a movement somewhere, something slight and intangible. He turned quizzically to Joshua, who had stopped too and was staring straight ahead. “Did you…” he started, but Joshua put his hand on Nat’s arm, gripped tight, his hand cold as ice.
“What…?” he followed Joshua’s gaze and saw, ahead of them, standing at the traffic light, the silhouette of a man. He was motionless, and though it was hard to tell, it felt like he was looking straight ahead, straight at them. The way he seemed to be dressed entirely in black, the way that the light from the traffic signal cast a soft glow on him, the way his eyes seemed to glint in that light, the way his small frame seemed to be half in darkness, half in light, it felt surreal and spooky.
“I… erm” Joshua started. He turned to Nat, still gripping his arm. “I, just remembered, I left… I mean, I need to. I mean, I didn’t pay Marco for the drinks. I’ll just go back and do that. I’ll, erm, I’ll see you at the hotel.” Joshua’s face had gone white under the glow of the streetlamps and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“What is it? Who is that?” but Joshua was gone, running back down the street, straight past the entrance to X2, and around the corner. Nat turned back and the man had gone.
“Joshua!” Nat cried. But it was all so quick. Joshua was gone, and here he was, alone, with the finger in his pocket, with his dirty clothes, looking towards a street that suddenly seemed dark and a pathway that seemed unforgiving, and some man who seemed to have scared the living daylights out of Joshua.
Seriously, was this day going to get any stranger.
“Joshua!” he half shouted, half hissed to the empty street
, not sure why he was doing it or whether he wanted to be heard or not, but for all Joshua’s weirdness he could just do with some company now. Maybe a drink before he started the journey? He looked back at X2 but the lights suddenly seemed dimmer, the place slightly foreboding, and so he turned and trudged forward into the night.
He reached the lights where the man had stood and look around warily. Just buildings, shops shuttered for the night, lights off. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to disappear to. He looked at the little path that wandered into the woods for half a mile until it reached the hotel and he half thought of walking around, the long way, down the roads and round the back; it would be lit, at least.
I mean, seriously, Nat, how old are you, he thought. I mean, afraid of the dark? If anyone should be afraid of the dark, it’s them, I mean you’re the one who killed someone. I mean, may have killed someone, he corrected himself quickly. And he walked onto the path, and for some reason he didn’t know, he was clutching the finger tightly in his grasp.
And without really realizing it he started jogging, into the blackness, the gravel of the path crunching underfoot as the alcohol and the excitement and the fear of the day took hold and drove him forward. On he went, through the undergrowth that threatened to cut his arms, that seemed to want to bleed him dry, it seemed to get thicker and thicker and he had to start hacking his way through it with his bare hands, he could feel scratches and blood, he felt like he was being dragged in and this wasn’t his fault, why had Joshua abandoned him; where the hell was he now. His thoughts grew darker along with the night, less clear, more blurred and he started to forget where he was going. He stopped, breathless, unused to running.
He could feel his heart banging relentlessly against his ribcage, the sweat sticky against his arms, his chest as he desperately tried to claw air back into his lungs. Hands on his knees, his sweat matted hair falling into his eyes, he tried to get his bearings, but it was all black, all night. He could just make out the silhouette of the path travelling through the forest, and he wondered somehow if he had made a mistake, surely the hotel was only around the corner? Not for the first time that day, a chill went through him, and he stood up straight, looking round, trying to work out where he was
… There was something there, he was sure, he could hear, from somewhere, what could have been steps, something crushing the undergrowth, an animal? A snake? (Seriously, no). Someone? A person? And he drew in breath. How scared have I ever been, he thought. It’s nothing compared to now. Oh God, please let me get out of this, I will go straight to the police station, I will confess everything, I will take my punishment, but please, not here, not now, not
A crack and it was definitely someone out there, and he turned, right, then left, and another crack and he didn’t know what to do and then suddenly
And completely inexplicably
The sky lit up and everything went a brilliant white and the forest was clear. Not sunlight, more a dazzling, bleached, intense white engulfing everything, the trees and the grass and the sky and those strange horses with strange tusks and evil glints in their eyes, and those men looking at him and looking away, and the women, coming to fight the men, to rip their clothes off and pull at their arms until they started to break …. The men all screaming together, a white silent scream, a scream in unison that silenced the entire world, and the women ripping their arms out and starting to hit the men with their own severed arms, and then kicking them until they fell. The women leaning over the men and then scenes of such utter depravity that he had to look away, but something forced him to look back and see the men, now so obviously dead, being ripped apart by the horses, such strange horses, and then he realised, with such shock that turned his blood to ice and his flesh to stone, that he was the only man left in this hell, something that they all realised at the same time as they all turned to him, women and horses, such strange horses, such beautiful, evil women, they all turned to him with the same malevolent smile and one of the women beckoned him to come forward and that was when he knew he was going to die
And maybe he did, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really feel like he had. But it didn’t feel quite real either. Maybe that was because of the sweat pouring off him or the way that his fingernails were digging into the flesh of his arms, or maybe the way that his battered and bruised body and ripped and dirty clothes suggested something different, or maybe even the way that his eyes couldn’t quite get used to the normality of the scene in front of him, as if the heat and light had scarred itself into his retinas, or into his thoughts….
… Eventually he stopped thrashing around and sat still long enough to realise that he wasn’t in the forest, but instead sat in a bed, in a non-descript hotel room, the lights on either side of the bed shining with a white, harsh glare, and then he also took in the fact that he was still fully clothed (though his shirt was ripped in a few places and his arms were red with cuts) and that he had wrapped the bedsheets around his neck like a noose, although, thankfully (perhaps) they were lying loosely and not choking the life out of him. He stared at his hands, at the dirt underneath his fingernails and the cuts that followed, almost symmetrically on each hand, a set of zig zagged lines up towards his wrists and then crawling up to his elbows and beyond, where they were lost in the shirt. He shut his eyes, and opened them again quickly to dispel the traces of what he saw, of the dream – it must have been a dream – that still remained.
Gradually his breathing went back to normal as he struggled to work out what was going on. Maybe, perhaps, it had been the alcohol, he wasn’t used to it, didn’t really drink all that much, maybe he had lost his way in the woods and stumbled back to the hotel. He swallowed, his mouth dry, as he thought, maybe, just maybe this was another one of those episodes, and then… but how did he get back to the hotel? And so soon? So soon after the first one, oh no, maybe it was getting worse, and he tried to steady his trembling hands, but then
But then the phone rang
The piercing, unhuman noise of the hotel phone made him jump at first as it cut through his thoughts, as he tried to work out what it was, and then he snatched it, quickly, put it to his ear.
“Hello?” he breathed.
“Good evening, Mr. Jones. We are just about to send room service up. I was just checking that you were in. That’s good. It will be just two minutes.”
He gulped. “Room service? But I didn’t…”
There was a noise and maybe a chuckle at the other end. “No, ahem. It was your guest who did, I believe.”
“My guest?”
“Err yes, the lady…”
“The lady?”
“Erm, that would be me” said a voice and only then did Nat notice her, sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room.
It was Terri.
He dropped the phone.
Chapter 12.
“She was there? Still alive?”
“Well, yeah, kind of”
“What do you mean, kind of? She was either there or she wasn’t”
Nat sighed. “I told you it was a strange story.”