Nicola Barker - Darkmans

He picked up the receiver.

‘Hello? Laundry,’ he’d murmured.

‘ Danny . Thank God you’re there,’ she gasped.

His heart flipped.

‘Elen?’

He quickly leaned over and shoved his office door shut.

‘Elen?’ he repeated, his neck jarred by the long stretch.

‘Yes,’ she answered, her breathing erratic. ‘It’s me. I’m here. Sorry…’

He thought he could pick out the sound of Fleet — wailing dramatically — in the background.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in Flackley Ash. At the hotel. They’ve let me use the office phone…’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘It’s Dory,’ she murmured (covering her mouth with her hand as she spoke). ‘He’s gone.’

‘ Gone? Where?’ ‘He just…’

Pause

In the background Beede could hear her conversing quietly with someone…

‘ No. He’s fine. An orange juice would be lovely. And some crisps. Beef and Tomato? That would be…Say thank you to the kind man, Fleet…’

‘Elen?’

‘Hello?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. I’m good. Fleet’s just a little bit…’

Pause

‘That’s it, darling. You go and fetch…’

Another pause

‘ Michelle will be fine. She’s asleep in the car. All cosy in the car. You eat those crisps. Just don’t tip up the…’

‘Danny?’

Beede blinked.

‘Hello?’

‘Sorry. Fleet’s a little tired. I’m afraid he’s making rather…’ ‘Dory’s gone?’ Beede repeated.

‘It’s been a terrible day…I mean really almost…’

She covered her mouth with her hand again (he presumed to stop the boy from overhearing) ‘… unbelievably bad.’

‘And you’re in Flackley Ash? Just outside Beckley?’

‘He ran off. We’ve been searching for hours but it’s dark now. And he’s covered in mud. He’ll be freezing. It’s awful out there. Wet and icy. I found some of his clothes caught up in the brambles — a vest, a sock, one of his shoes…He had this…this blanket …’

‘Should I come?’

‘I can’t call the police.’

‘Absolutely not. I’ll come.’

‘You’ll need a torch. A strong torch. And wear something warm — a scarf, a hat. I’m not quite…’

Beede inspected his watch. ‘Okay. I’ll need to dash home. I’ll fill a flask. Get some provisions. I’ll be forty minutes. Will you be all right until then? Can you stay in the hotel?’

‘I don’t know. Fleet’s a little fractious. I might wait in the car. I’ll be in the car park…’

‘Have a brandy. Have something to eat. There must be a take-away in the area. Have you eaten?’

‘Yes. I mean no . That’s a good idea.’

‘Just hold tight and I’ll be there.’

‘I will. Thank you. And I’m really sorry , Danny,’ her voice shook, ‘I didn’t know who else to…’

‘I’ll be there,’ he repeated, a warm glow rising in his stomach. ‘Everything will be fine. All right? Just stay strong. Just hold on.’

Three seconds…four… five . That was all it took. He was struggling to manoeuvre The Blonde in the busy courtyard — was slowly reversing–

Mind that old plough…

— then pulling forward again…

Uh…

Whoops!

Small hole in the cobbles…

It was dark. Everything was a little close, a little cramped …

The Blonde’s headlights were on full, and as he laboured at the wheel (his eyes slightly unfocussed, his hands clenching then unclenching, turning, turning …) they glanced off the tiled facade of the tiny cottage, bouncing against one of the windows, and shining, momentarily, deep into the small room beyond–

Kitchen?

Or dining-room, was it?

— (he saw a roaring fire in the hearth, a table, chairs, an Aga …).

As his headlights penetrated the room (scything mercilessly through the nets) they briefly illuminated the strangest, the most baroque of tableaux…

Like in a…

Like in one of those…

What’s he called again?

La…Lu…?

He blinked.

Lochner?

Three people. No–

No…

He felt a sudden, not entirely pleasant jolt of recognition…

Four.

Four people…

Peta–

Naturally—

Nothing surprising there…

— standing in an open doorway (having just entered the room, presumably) looking vaguely startled, vaguely…

Uh…

— alarmed. And then there was the serving woman–

Ann?

Anna?

— the Northumbrian. She was just to her right, close to the table. She had her hands on her hips. She was shaking her head and speaking. He could see her lips moving.

Then sitting down in front of her — directly in front of her — was Dory. Isidore .

Kane recognised the huge German immediately, although…

But why?

How?

— he was filthy and all-but naked (his modesty only preserved by a dirty-looking blanket). He was shivering (violently, uncontrollably). His arms and his shoulders — the skin there — seemed all–

Ripped?

Scratched?

Mauled?!

Kane shuddered.

But the most perplexing part of the whole–

Uh…

— scenario was definitely the blindfold. He’d been blindfolded. His eyes and ears had been bound up with what looked like a…

Dishcloth?

Tea-towel?

And the fourth?

What?

The fourth person?

No.

It’s…

Perhaps it’s just the dark—

Or a deep shadow…

Or the flicker of the fire…

Kane blinked. Almost as if…

?

He blinked again.

Yes.

The shadow hung over Isidore. The shadow…it…the shadow wasn’t doing what Isidore did. The shadow–

Dark

— was doing its own thing. The shadow was pestering him, it was molesting him. The shadow was spiteful . It was tweaking at the blindfold. And every time it tweaked, Isidore would jump, gasp, slap his hands to his eyes, check that the fabric was still in place, that the folds were still holding…

Ann finished speaking. Peta seemed to answer her. She was shaking her head. And then…and suddenly…the shadow was gone, or if not gone , exactly — then…then it’d diminished …the light had altered, maybe, or the slant he was at, the angle …

The shadow was now…it was much smaller, daintier …it was…

What, though?

— A moth? A bat? A bird?

But how…?

— or was it just a spark from the fire? An errant piece of kindling? A tiny, gaseous flare from a damp piece of coal?

Kane saw the bird, and yet he did not see it. The bird floated, like a speck, like a piece of smut (a tiny midge, perhaps), which’d been trapped (crucified) in the surface moisture of his eye–

Ow!

He tried to blink it out. But it wouldn’t go. It hurt. It niggled him. He stopped blinking. The bird (or the idea of the bird — or the speck, or the bat or the shadow) was angry about something — Kane could feel the creature’s rage, rasping in his throat, like a dry kind of burning–

Like before…

Remember?

The rasp—

The cut—

Acrid.

Like…urgh!

Like melting plastic…