Neil White - LAST RITES

‘Hello Sarah,’ he said, his voice muffled.

Sarah felt the stone wall against her back as she reached the end of the room. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, her breaths coming fast.

He stopped and stood still for a moment, watching her. ‘Why do you need to know?’

‘Because you kept me in a box for a week,’ said Sarah, her voice cracking. She could feel him watching her and so she looked at the floor, tried to suck in some deep breaths to regain her composure. ‘I just feel like I've got a right to know,’ she said, her voice stronger this time, but she flinched when he moved closer to her.

Sarah gasped as she heard him laugh, just a deep chuckle under the hood.

‘You don't have any rights,’ he said quietly.

Sarah moaned and put her head in her hands. ‘What are you going to do to me?’ she pleaded.

‘I haven't decided.’

Sarah could feel the panic rising through her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them, didn't want to look weak in front of him. But it was hard. She knew what he was capable of, ever since her nightmare had begun a week earlier.

It had started with a knock on the door, close to midnight. She had almost ignored it – it was cold and dark outside and Luke felt good next to her, sleeping naked – but the second knock had been more insistent, louder, and so she had slipped on Luke's shirt and some old jeans and gone to answer the door.

All she had seen was the mask, like a shadow, and then his hands shot forward and grabbed her, an arm around her neck and a hand over her mouth, rough and callused, smelling of cigarettes and oil. She had tried to bite him and lashed out with her feet, but his arm went tighter around her neck as he dragged her out of the house.

She had heard Luke shout out, asking who was there, but a rag had been pushed into her mouth, petrol and grease, and the pavement tore the skin of her heels as she was dragged to a car, the street quiet, no one around.

The boot had been open, ready for her, but it had been cramped and filled with dirty tools and a spare wheel. She was pushed in there anyway, head first, her arms pulled behind her back, her wrists tied together quickly, before he slammed the lid down.

The memories flooded back as Sarah looked at him, in the same impenetrable black hood.

‘Why me?’ she wailed.

He tilted his head as he looked at her. ‘I'm here to look after you, Sarah. Is there anything you need?’

Sarah looked at him, incredulous. She glanced behind him, at the way out of the room, to the stairs that seemed to lead upwards.

‘I want to go home,’ she replied, meekly now.

‘Anything else?’

Sarah swallowed as she felt the tears come again. She shook her head, knowing that if she spoke she would show her weakness.

He didn't answer. He watched her for a few moments, until he suddenly turned to go.

Sarah almost ran at him, to beg him not to lock her in, that she would do anything to get out, whatever he wanted, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the fear of what he really wanted from her. Instead, she watched him walk out and then listened as the bolt slid back into place.

She was alone once more, and she let the tears flow as the heartbeat noise started again, her hands clamped tightly over her ears.

I went to Luke's gym next.

It was part of a new development, all glass and steel girders, built on the site of a demolished mill on the outskirts of Blackley. Shops were on one side, entertainment on the other, as long as you liked bowling and pizza. Luke's gym was in-between, a guilt trip as you walked back to your car.

I could see the metal frames of the equipment and exercise bikes as I got near to the entrance, the poseurs gallery lined up in rows near the huge windows. I could hear music thumping out of speakers as I walked inside, accompanied by the occasional clang of weights. There was a bored young woman in a polo shirt at the reception desk. She glanced at my midriff and reached for an application form. I put my business card on the counter.

‘I'm writing a story on Luke Howarth,’ I said. ‘Is there anyone I could speak to?’

I detected a change in her mood. ‘The press came here last week,’ she said, her voice timid. ‘I thought you'd all got bored.’

I shook my head. ‘Luke deserved more than that,’ I replied, guessing that she might be a friend. ‘I want to find out what happened to him. Were you one of his friends?’

‘Not really,’ she said, but then looked apologetic. ‘I don't mean that I didn't like him. I haven't been here long, but he seemed pretty nice. Callum was Luke's best friend.’ She looked at her watch. ‘He'll be on a break soon. I'll page him to come down.’ Then she pointed me towards the coffee bar in one corner of the gym.

I was halfway through my latte when I saw a tall man walking towards me, his skin dark, his hair shaved afro. He wore the same uniform polo shirt as the girl on reception, but he filled it, the sleeves tight against his arms, his broad chest visible through the cloth. I stood up to greet him, my hand outstretched. ‘Callum, I presume.’

He didn't take it.

‘Thanks for seeing me at short notice,’ I added.

He sat down and folded his arms.

‘Had your fill of journalists in the last week?’ I ventured.

He paused for a moment, and then relaxed, and his eyes lost some of their hostility. ‘I just can't see what good they have done. Luke was just a passing story to them, but he was my friend.’

‘Well, I'm not writing for the dailies. I'm writing a feature.’

‘On what?’

‘On Luke. A tribute.’ I tried to hold his gaze as I said it, so that he wouldn't spot the lie.

‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.

I tapped my pen on my lap and asked, ‘How about Luke and Sarah? What kind of couple were they?’

‘You'll need to write two stories to get that,’ he said.

I was confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They weren't a couple,’ Callum replied.

I was still confused.

‘C'mon, get real,’ said Callum, shaking his head at me. ‘They were fucking each other, that's all. Have you been out of the game that long?’ Before I could ask him what he meant, he added, ‘No offence, but you don't look like a man on the hunt.’

‘But I get the impression that they were “Luke and Sarah” – you know, a couple,’ I said, looking down at myself, seeing the old boot-fit jeans and tatty jumper, bought the year before and worn too often.

Callum snorted. ‘That's because she killed him. Go back a couple of months, maybe even less than that, and Luke was my friend, and Sarah was just one of the girls he was seeing.’

‘So it was casual?’ I asked, still surprised. Katie had talked like it was a whirlwind, that special one.

‘Casual? Oh yes, very casual,’ Callum answered, laughing slightly, his eyebrows raised. ‘Yeah, sure, Luke liked her. She was good-looking, and had a great body. He met her in one of the clubs in town, and it seemed like most of the eyes were on her.’

‘A good notch on his belt?’

Callum shrugged, unapologetic. ‘Think of the women you wish you'd been with, and I bet one is a teacher. Something about it, isn't there? The discipline, the respect.’

‘Maybe for schoolboys,’ I replied.

Callum blinked, spotted the jibe. ‘Maybe in ten years' time I'll think like you,’ he responded.

A smile flickered on my lips. He'd won that point. Then I remembered about the rage, the knife in the chest. And I thought about what Katie had told me, and so I said, ‘What if I told you that Sarah was getting in deeper, perhaps much deeper than Luke?’

‘She knew the score, they all did,’ he replied, and then it was his turn to smile. He had spotted me for what I was: settled. But he presumed that I wanted his life. Sometimes I liked the idea of being single, but it was like waiting for summer: you expected the sunshine but only ever got showers.