Ben Cheetham - The Society of Dirty Hearts

“Something like that. But I really hope it doesn’t come to that, Julian. You’re a young man with a brilliant future ahead of you. I’d truly hate to have to have to rob you of that future.”

Julian’s lips drew up into a grim smile. “More like you’d hate to lose out on all the money you’re going to squeeze from me.”

“There’s that as well.”

“And what if I don’t give a fuck about my future?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Julian. You know the value of the future. People like you — privileged people — always do. Besides, there’s not just you to consider. Spare a thought for your poor mother. If finding out about your father doesn’t finish her off, finding out about her son almost certainly will.” Julian grimaced at the threat. Mr X sighed as if the thought of carrying it out pained him too. “And then there’s your brother, Jake. What future has he got to look forward to? A short, miserable life of addiction and prison, that’s what. You could change that, give him the future he deserves. It’s all in your hands, Julian. So what’s it going to be?”

A long speechless moment passed, disturbed only by the gentle click of Mr X’s breathing. Click, click, like a lock falling in place, the sound of entrapment. Locked in a nightmare, Julian thought despairingly. No way out, no way out…

Slowly, as if afraid it might burn him, Julian reached to take the videotape. His arm dropped straight, as if the tape weighed a hundred pounds.

“Good lad,” said Mr X. “I knew you’d see sense. This calls for a celebration.”

“A celebration?” Julian repeated, as if unsure he’d heard right.

“Yes, a celebration.” Mr X looked past him. “Champagne.”

Glancing around, Julian saw a man stood on the threshold of the room, his bulk almost filling the doorway. He recognised him as the driver of the Mercedes. Hands like bunches of bananas dangled from the sleeves of the chauffeur’s jacket. Julian swallowed at the thought of what those hands could do to him. The man nodded and moved away. As they awaited his return, Julian’s gaze moved over the shelves of videotapes and DVDs. “Who are they?”

“They’re everybody and nobody. Businessmen, politicians, judges, solicitors, accountants, priests, doctors, teachers, policemen, and the like. Decent, honest people.”

Julian’s breath came in a sharp hiss. “They’re sickos, perverts.”

Mr X tutted. “You know something, Julian, you really must learn to stop seeing things in black and white. It’s not healthy. People are more complex than that. We all have God and the Devil in us. And we need to understand and love both sides, if we want to understand and love ourselves.”

“Who says I want to love myself?”

“Of course you do, Julian. You want to love yourself above all. That’s your nature, that’s everyone’s nature.”

You’re wrong, Julian wanted to yell, but the words would’ve rung hollow. Most of his life he’d clung to a reality that was in conflict with his dark side. He was tired of fighting with himself. He took a deep, sighing breath. So very, very tired…

The chauffeur reappeared with two flutes of Champagne. Julian looked dubiously at the glass proffered him. “Don’t worry, it’s not spiked,” Mr X assured him, raising his glass in a toast. “To you, Julian. To the great things you’re going to do.”

“What makes you so sure I’m going to do great things?”

“Don’t be so down on yourself. I can see the potential in you, even if you can’t. The way you found me was remarkable. But what really impressed me, what convinced me you were ready to take this step, was the way you bargained for Mia’s life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such single-mindedness in one so young before. If you can apply that to the business, well, there’s no limit to what it could become.

Julian scrutinised Mr X’s face for signs of disingenuousness, but found none. He might’ve been a father lavishing encouragement on his son. Mr X quaffed his champagne, making a queer gurgling in his throat. Julian raised his drink to his lips, but didn’t swallow any. “So what happens now?”

“Now it’s time for you to leave.” Mr X extended his hand. “Goodbye, Julian, and good luck.”

“Don’t we need to talk about money and stuff like that?”

Mr X shook his head. “Don’t worry, when you’ve got something I want, someone will be in touch.”

“What about my clothes?”

Mr X gestured with his chin at the chauffeur. “My friend here will take care of that.”

With a nervous glance at the hulking figure, Julian reluctantly shook Mr X’s hand. His handshake was warm, damp, repulsively tender. His gaze flicked down to the videotape. “Just to make sure we understand each other, Julian. That’s for you and your parents’ eyes only. If it was to find its way into anyone else’s hands, the consequences would be, well, very possibly fatal.” Shuddering, Julian pulled his hand away. As he turned to leave, Mr X piped up, “Oh, I almost forgot to say, welcome to The Society of Dirty Hearts.” His lips curled into a horribly triumphant smile. “We’re proud to have you as a member.”

The chauffeur led Julian to a bathroom where his clothes were folded on a chair. When Julian reached for them, the chauffeur shook his head and pointed to the shower. Julian stepped into the cubicle and turned on the water. The chauffeur watched through the glass as he washed away every external trace of whatever had happened in the bedroom.

After towelling himself dry and dressing, Julian followed the chauffeur down a flight of stairs. The same red carpeting ran all the way through the house. Apart from that the house’s interior was fairly nondescript — unadorned white walls, flat panelled doors, no furniture. The exterior was equally unremarkable. It was a large, square, brick house with a flat roof, the only unusual feature being that its downstairs windows were high enough above the ground to prevent anyone looking in — as if the isolated location wasn’t private enough in itself for the purposes of what went on within. There was a time when those windows would’ve appealed to Julian, but not anymore. Now they just seemed sinister. A broad lawned area surrounded the house, rising to some dense shrubbery, split by the driveway. Julian’s car was parked beside the Merc in front of the house. The chauffeur mutely handed Julian his keys and, to his surprise, the survival knife. He approached his car, his step faltering as he spotted the dog sat on the lawn a short distance away. It sprang into motion suddenly, the muscles on its flanks rippling as it raced across to him with long, loping strides. He glanced back to see if it was responding to some signal from the chauffeur, but the hulking figure remained as impassive as ever. He broke into a limping run. The dog reached him as he opened the car door. He tensed, expecting to feel its teeth sink into his flesh again, but all it did was press its nose against his bandaged ankle, sniffing.

As Julian drove away, a pain far worse than any the dog could’ve inflicted ate at his mind — the pain of knowing about his dad and of not knowing about Mia. And a burning sense of guilt filled his heart, scorching away the last vestiges of unreality, leaving behind something that seemed to him too dirty ever to be made clean.

The morning sun peeped over the heads of the trees, dappling the road with shadows, as Julian neared town. Panic drained through him at the thought of confronting his dad, but he didn’t hesitate. The stomach-churning images he’d seen kept replaying in his mind, propelling him onwards. They made him feel like thousands of insects were crawling over his skin. He tried to banish the sensation by opening the window, letting air rush over him. A bad smell hit his nostrils. He closed the window, but it made no difference. The smell seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, almost gag-inducing. He glanced at the suburban houses, wondering how many of them were inhabited by Mr X’s ‘decent, honest people’. All of them and none of them, came his mind’s embittered reply. Lies everywhere. Nothing but stinking, rotten lies.