Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘Oh, and speaking of Callum, if you see him, tell him the Dundee lot have done a preliminary sweep through the contents of Travis’s freezers. They can’t be a hundred percent, but they say it looks like it’s all adults. No children’s remains, if that helps? OK, that’s definitely it this time. Bye.’

Bleeeeeeeeep.

Callum reached for his mug, but the thing wasn’t where it was meant to be and his fingertips caught the handle, tipping it over. Pale brown and beige spread out across the tabletop. ‘Sorry...’

‘It’s all right. It’s only tea.’ McAdams patted him on the shoulder. ‘Well, not only tea, but mostly.’ He wobbled over to the worktop and came back with a dishtowel. Laid it out on the beige puddle. The fabric darkened. ‘You should’ve had the Sancerre instead.’

‘Mmmph?’

‘I only wanted to make a difference. Not a huge one, just a little one. Before I die.’ McAdams mopped up the spilled tea. ‘It would’ve worked too, but you...’ A sigh. ‘Well, I suppose you were only doing your job.’

‘Nnnnmph.’ The walls lurched in, then out again. Boom. Boom. In time with his pulse. Like waves. In. And out. In. And out.

‘But couldn’t you have left me with one ?’

In. And out.

‘Just one god for me. To fix all this? To make the world whole again?’

Callum grabbed hold of the tabletop. Dug his fingers into the slippery surface as the grain, buried deep in the wood, twisted and flowed.

‘One by one I had to give them up. I didn’t want to, but what choice did I have?’ His hand was hot on the back of Callum’s neck. ‘I thought I’d have enough time with Ashlee, she was coming along so well. She’d purified. Made amends. She was ready to transcend.’

The tea. There was something in the tea.

‘But now she’s gone, back to the venal flesh and dust and darkness. You want to hear a secret? I think surrendering her was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ A tiny laugh. ‘Such a terrible waste. Don’t get me wrong: in a weird way, I’m glad she’s still alive, but I would have made her immortal .’

Callum scraped his chair back. ‘Nnngh...’

‘I know, I know. Come on.’ He hooked his hands under Callum’s armpits and pulled him to his feet. ‘It’s all right. In the end I couldn’t help Ashlee, but I can still help you, if you like?’

‘Nnnn.’

‘Shhh... Here we go. It’s going to be fine. Watch your feet on the steps, it’s a long way down to the basement.’

‘There we are, that’s better, isn’t it?’

The basement floor was warm and soft, like R.M. Travis’s garage. Dusty soft warm concrete. The brick walls pulsed — in and out, in and out. Shifting in time with every single one of Callum’s breaths. ‘Gnnnmmph...’

‘Shh... It’s OK. You’re going to be fine. Trust me. It’s all going to be fine.’

Callum’s arms were lead, dull and heavy, his fingers like wet balloons.

‘You just sit up here. That’s right.’

McAdams hauled him into a sitting position.

‘Here we go.’

The chain was cool against Callum’s neck. The padlock’s click reverberated through his skull. Click. Click. Click. Click.

‘All safe and secure.’

‘Nnngh...’

A sigh. ‘I feel bad about Finn, but look at it from my perspective: if I hadn’t killed him and written that suicide note, we’d still be looking for Imhotep, wouldn’t we? This way it’s all finished nice and neat. We’ve come to the end of the book.’ His hand was warm and dry, stroking Callum’s cheek. ‘You made an excellent antagonist and I mean that. Sincerely. And now you’re going to be a god. They’ll worship you and you’ll be a god. How’s that for an epilogue?’

In and out. In and out.

He gave Callum a sad little smile. ‘It’s all been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it? I didn’t mean for the first body to end up in the tip, but Beth came home early and the body was ruined and I panicked, and, and, and...’ He rolled his eyes and pulled a face. ‘I know, I know: exposition. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe how much finessing it took to make sure we got the investigation when they found it. Couldn’t have anyone else sniffing around my gods, could I? Of course not.’ He leaned forward and kissed Callum on the forehead. ‘Don’t worry, though: no one will ever find you. You won’t end up in Professor Twining’s mortuary, like some sort of natural history exhibit. You’re going to be a god. You’re going to be immortal.’

‘Gnnnnnnnnnnngh...’

‘I’m going to get you some more tea. You wait here and—’ He froze. Staring up at the ceiling as the doorbell gave out two death-knell rings. ‘Tsk. Some people just have no sense of timing, do they? Never mind, they’ll go away and we can—’

The bell tolled again.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake. Sorry about this. I’ll be right back.’ A smile. ‘Promise.’

Callum closed his eyes and the walls stopped moving. The sound of McAdams’ feet scuffed away then thumped up the stairs. Then the basement door clunked shut. Then silence.

‘Urghnngh...’

Die.

Going to.

Going to die.

They’ll worship you, you’ll be a god.

Muffled voices came from up above. McAdams and someone else. Someone familiar.

Mother.

‘Mmmmnnnfffrrr...!’ He took a deep breath, but all that would come out was the same mushy grumble.

The tea. Should never have drunk the tea.

It took a lot, but he hauled his lead arm up and worked wet balloon fingers between his lips. Past his graveyard teeth. Across his slimy tongue. And into his throat. They felt big as—

‘Hurrrrkkk...’ Pale beige liquid splashed down his wrist, hot and sticky.

Barely a mouthful.

Again.

He dug his fingers in deeper.

‘Hurrrrrrrrkkk...’ This time his whole stomach heaved, curling his shoulders, hunching his back as tea and kippers splashed out onto the basement floor. ‘Hurrrrkkk...’ Chewed ribbony chunks of Pot Noodle. ‘Hurrrrrrrrrrkkk...’ More. Every heave like a kick in the stomach, leaving him hanging on the end of his chain. Spitting bile onto the concrete.

Callum slumped back against the wall.

Blinking.

The bricks started to pulse again.

In and out. In and out.

Mushrooms. It had to be mushrooms. And probably something else as well. Something to make him drowsy. Something to make him weak.

Probably still got enough of the crap in his system to keep a whole squat full of druggies tripping for a week. But at least he’d got rid of the rest.

His whole mouth tasted like an old wheelie bin smelled, though.

He spat again.

Ground his eyes closed.

Pulled his head forwards, then smacked it back into the wall.

A dull ringing flooded through his skull.

Again.

Harder this time.

The gauze padding softened the blow a bit.

Again.

Fire ripped across his scalp, followed by a thousand razorblades. Slicing through the stitches back there. Wrenching his eyes open.

Oh, dear Jesus , that hurt.

But it worked.

He shook his aching head and the walls stayed where they were.

Coughed.

Spat out another string of bitter yellow bile.

Basement. He was in the basement.

The concrete floor rippled beneath him. Hissing.

McAdams had made a wall out of dusty cardboard boxes, blocking this part off from the rest of the room, creating an alcove no more than twelve foot by eight. Three sets of chains were fixed to the brickwork, all of them shiny and new. One for Callum, one dangling above a bare mattress on the floor, and one going around the neck of the woman slumped opposite.