Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

DS Hodgkin hurls a scrunched-up ball of paper at him. ‘You’re such an arsehole, Watt!’ She—

The sun’s warm on the back of his neck, bees and wasps buzzing through the beer garden as Big Malky gets another round in, all grins and winks, no idea that he and his team are getting a visit from Professional Standards soon as—

Everyone files out of the grubby office. Mother sighs and pats him on the shoulder. ‘Maybe you should try being a bit nicer to people, John? Might stop them—’

His father kneels on the sandy beach, holding out a curly shell as big as his fist. ‘If you put it up to your ear, you can hear the sea.’ He smiles—

Waves crash against the walls and floor.

Why is he lying down? Why isn’t—

Mary kisses him, her body pressed hard against his as their song plays on the—

His phone’s still in his hand, screen turned towards him, waiting for an input.

Mary. Skin like moonlight. Soft and warm beneath his fingers. That smell of strawberries and sandalwood. A smile like sunshine on a cold winter’s—

The light on his phone’s screen goes out.

Darkness.

‘What do you think?’

Callum ran his torch around the room again. Then back to the tank. Dirty-grey crystals twinkled in the light, all the way down the sides. The bottom of the tank lumpy with them and what looked like bits of twig. ‘Difficult to tell for sure, without the SEB, but that looks a hell of a lot like what was in the bathtub at Customs Street. Well, if you left it there for a couple of months till all the liquid evaporated.’

Franklin did a slow three-sixty. ‘Chains on the walls, tank full of brine...’ A sigh. ‘How many more of these torture chambers do you think he has?’

‘Can’t be many. Too risky. What if Northeast Ecclesiastical decides to sell the property, or turn it into flats?’

Callum stared down into the tank. ‘Maybe that’s why he abandoned it? He saw all the building work across the road and cut his losses. Found somewhere safer.’

‘Doesn’t help Ashlee Gossard, though, does it?’

‘No. But we’ve still got the rest of Watt’s list to search.’ Callum pulled out his phone. Frowned at the screen. ‘No signal.’

Franklin turned and marched out of the makeshift wooden tomb. ‘Then we’d better get our backsides in gear.’

Justin drops the spanner and it clatters off the floor, bounces, spins, then lies on its side like a wounded bird.

He hunkers down and stares at the fallen police officer. He’s like a wounded bird too: blood trickling out of his nose and ear.

Hadn’t meant to hit him that hard. But hey ho. Eggs and omelettes.

He’s still got his mobile phone in his hand, so Justin picks it up. Presses the power button. The screen is a photo of a woman with pale skin, smiling like she’s the happiest person that ever lived. Pretty enough.

Justin holds her over the tank of sacred water... and lets go. She splooshes into the liquid, the screen flickering and fizzing as it sinks. That’s the trouble with modern electronics — nothing’s built to last.

He grabs two handfuls of the poor lad’s jacket and drags him over to the wall, where New Mummy is. Or at least, where she was . She’s gone now, leaving nothing but a shell behind.

Poor New Mummy.

Justin wipes his hands, then kneels and brushes the hair out of her eyes. Blonde and pretty, just like Father wants. Wanted. Whatever.

He shuffles a foot or two to the side, then lies down with his head in her lap. Cold and soft. Just starting to smell. Shame. It would’ve been nice to just rest here. Sleep with her hand resting on his chest. The two of them joined together in fear, waiting for Father to wake up and the nightmare to start all over again.

He clears his throat. ‘Can you hear me, Ashlee?’

A faint hiss sounds in the gloom.

‘You’re almost there, sweetheart. Soon you’ll be a god.’

Silence.

Justin curls his knees up. Wraps his arm around New Mummy’s legs. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy and he had a happy life full of ice cream and adventures. And he had a brother and a mummy and daddy who loved him very, very much. Then one day everything changed...’

Once Upon A Time

‘Here you go, Champ.’ Father hands him a burger, all wrapped up in greaseproof paper, with ‘WIMPY’ written all over it.

Seagulls wheel and scream overhead as Justin takes a big bite.

The sun smiles down on them like a happy god.

Father sits on the bench next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. ‘We’re going to visit Mrs Mason after lunch, that’ll be nice, won’t it?’

She smells of wee and cats, and shouts cos she can’t hear anything, and never gets out of bed, but Justin nods anyway.

‘Soon as she signs the will, we’re in the money. New car, maybe even a holiday somewhere nice?’ He lets go of Justin’s shoulders and ruffles his hair instead. ‘And you’re not going to do anything to cock it up for me, are you?’

The burger turns to gravel in his mouth.

New Mummy shudders and sniffs, holding in the sobs because she’s a brave little soldier. Her naked back and shoulders quiver, one arm clutched to her front. Justin creeps down the stairs, pausing with every step to stare up at the cellar ceiling, ears stretched like a bat’s for any noise from upstairs.

But the only sound is Father snoring.

Justin gets the blanket from the corner and carries it over to New Mummy.

She flinches as he wraps it around her shoulders, then she blinks up at him, biting her lip and nodding. Her eyes are red as a sunset, tears all over her cheeks and snot dripping from the end of her nose.

The bruises had almost healed from last time.

Justin takes the corner of the blanket and dabs at her face, drying it. ‘Shhh...’

It’s meant to be calming, but it’s a warning too: don’t wake him up.

She stares down at the twisted lumpy bits between her elbow and her hand, skin all purple and red and blue and yellow. Like a rainbow, only more horrible.

Justin climbs up onto the bed next to her, curls up on his side, with his head in her lap, and he cries too.

The pair of them sniffling away in the basement.

Because what else can they do?

‘Ahhh...’ Father licks his lips and smiles, rolling the whisky around in his glass, making it sparkle. Then he picks up a tin of beer and swigs it dry. Crushes the empty in his hand.

It’s not the usual cheap beer from the bottom shelf of the supermarket, but stuff in a white tin with a red stripe. And the whisky’s all fancy too: with a cork instead of a screwcap.

Father is happy.

He raises his glass. ‘Here’s to the highlife, Slugger. Think we deserve it, don’t we?’

‘Definitely. We deserve it.’ A big grin and a nod. Because if Father’s happy, Justin’s happy. And nobody has to get hurt...

The only thing spoiling it is New Mummy. She’s not even hiding it, just sobbing and crying and bawling. Like she doesn’t care. Like she wants Father to go back down there.

His face turns into an angry-dog snarl and he stamps his foot on the floor. ‘I’M NOT TELLING YOU AGAIN!’

The screaming doesn’t stop, but it goes all muffled, like she’s stuffed something in her mouth to kill the noises.

Father holds the crushed empty out to Justin. ‘How about another beer, Kiddo?’

Justin takes it and runs into the kitchen. Yanks open the fridge. Grabs another fancy striped beer and runs back to the living room. ‘It’s nice and cold.’

Father cracks the ring-pull and drinks. ‘Think it’s about time you got a new mummy, don’t you, Champ?’ He takes a deep breath. ‘ONE THAT KNOWS HOW GOOD SHE’S GOT IT!’