Alex Preston - The Revelations

It grew wilder as he descended further into the cemetery. He could see the line of poplars that grew along the canal in the distance, and knew that this was the boundary of the graveyard, but there was no other indication that he was anywhere but deep in the country, in an endless labyrinth of tombs. The sky grew darker still. Marcus found himself at a dead end as the path he was following became overgrown with brambles. He tried to force his way through, scratching his fingers, leaving red lines on the back of his hands that swelled white around the edges. He turned around and headed back up the hill. Mouse couldn’t hide forever. Marcus wondered if he should go to the police. He felt for the earrings in his pocket and rolled them between finger and thumb.

He was walking between rows of highly ornate vaults when he heard a noise. The tomb next to him had huge carved sphinxes at each corner. Marcus stepped up onto the head of one of the sphinxes to get a better view. The only movement was the swirling of the rain and the leaves which continued their endless fall. Marcus climbed down and continued along the dark avenue. He heard the sound of a twig breaking.

‘Mouse,’ Marcus called out. ‘Is that you? Come and talk to me. I’ll help you.’

There was no response. Marcus thought he saw something move between two gravestones ahead of him, a flash of dark material and skin. He ran. His tired mind began to panic; the presence of so much death brought images of his father to his mind. The coffins seemed to rear up above him, closing in under the night-black sky. He slipped and landed heavily on a pile of dead leaves, which were slimy to the touch. He lay for a moment, his chest pounding, his breaths coming fast and jagged like the firing and reloading of a gun. He struggled to get to his feet, reached out and pulled himself up on a gravestone, felt the cold dead certainty of the marble beneath his fingers. He began to run again.

The rain started to fall more heavily. The drops felt like hailstones against Marcus’s skin. He ran between lines of ancient graves until he came to a fork in the path. He took the right-hand branch. The pounding rain reduced his visibility to a few yards, but still he turned to look over his shoulder, searching for a dark shape against the misty grey air. He ploughed onwards. Finally, indistinctly, he thought he saw the block of the youth hostel rising above the wall. He increased his speed, tripped over a gravestone and sprawled once again on the damp ground. His clothes were soaked through, his knees and elbows muddy and torn. Picking himself up, he jogged the final few steps into the shadow of the hostel. He stood, resting against the cold stone of the cemetery wall.

Marcus followed the wall along until he came to the main gates. He was breathing heavily, his heart thumping horribly loudly in his chest. He crossed the road and sat steaming in a cafe, drinking scalding coffee until he felt warm enough to face the prospect of the bus home.

Marcus could hear Darwin as he stood in the lift. The plangent yelping grew louder as he opened the front door. He stepped into the flat and the dog launched himself at him, licking his hands and turning delighted circles around his feet. Marcus leaned down to pat him, then went through to the kitchen to refill the water bowl. He poured out some bone-shaped biscuits, which the dog devoured, snuffling and whimpering as he ate. Marcus saw that there was a stringy turd in the middle of the drawing-room carpet, and dark patches of piss dotted around the rest of the flat. He put on rubber gloves, reached under the sink for a sponge and bucket, and set to work cleaning up after the dog.

It felt strange to be doing something so mundane as housework after the morning’s events, but Marcus wanted to put off the decisions that he knew he would have to make, needed to fend off the thought that Mouse might be responsible for Lee’s disappearance. When he had finished scrubbing, Marcus took Darwin downstairs and let him run around the small patch of grass at the back of the block of flats. He threw a stick for the dog, which he pounced upon and then tried to bury, unsure of what was expected of him. He stared up resentfully at Marcus when he picked up the stick, until he threw it again and the sequence was repeated. Marcus found himself smiling at the dog’s mindless enthusiasm. It was still drizzling, but the ferocious wind had passed, and a number of times the sun broke through the low clouds, sparkling on the wet grass.

Back in the flat, Marcus ran himself a bath and stripped off his damp, dirty clothes. It would be the first time he had missed a Sunday morning service in several months. A dull ache nagged at the back of his throat. When he had soaked some warmth into his chilled body, Marcus hunted in the medicine cabinet until he found a packet of Abby’s sleeping tablets and some painkillers. He gulped down a handful of pills, closed his bedroom curtains, and passed out on the bed. He woke a couple of times during the day, and managed to stagger to the kitchen and feed Darwin on one occasion, but didn’t rise properly until it was dark outside.

Marcus made himself bacon and eggs and sat down at the dining table with his computer in front of him. He hadn’t checked his emails since Friday, and it was another thing to occupy his time before he had to think about Mouse. He turned on the machine and ate while it warmed up. When he logged into his account, he saw with a mixture of pleasure and trepidation that there was an email from Abby titled ‘NYC’. He opened it and began to read.

Dear Marcus,

I can’t think when I last sent you an email. It feels strange. I wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you, though. I’m having a very good time out here. The Course is everywhere: in every church in Manhattan, or that’s what it feels like! I’m going up to Connecticut and then on to Boston, where I’ll be making a speech about how to be an effective Course leader. Terrifying.

I want you to know that I forgive you, Marcus. I hate what you did, but I love you. I think being away from you like this has made me realise how much we need each other. David once said to me that we were the best-matched couple he had ever met. I think he’s right and I don’t want to throw this all away because of one drunken mistake.

I wish you were out here with me, Marcus. It is cold, but the sun has shone brightly every day I have been here. The skyscrapers look beautiful in this sunlight. I am staying in the Earl’s apartment near the Frick. It’s predictably lavish, with carpets so thick that your feet disappear into them. I try to stop at the gallery every day — I want to get everything I can from this trip.

David said he might want me to stay an extra week — he’s trying to set something up at Yale. If not then I’ll be home the last week in November. Don’t be too lonely, darling.

Your wife,

Abby xxx

P.S. give me a call on the mobile Monday night your time.

Marcus read the email again and felt a hard knot of shame build in his stomach. He pictured Rebecca lying back naked on the beanbag, saw the childish amusement in her eyes as he licked his way up her leg. It seemed so long ago, though. So much had changed since then, Rebecca seemed like a character from a bizarre dream. He shut his computer and stared out of the window.

He would have to speak to Mouse. He owed it to his friend to give him a chance to explain. Perhaps Lee had given him the earrings before she disappeared, perhaps he had found them going through her possessions and was ashamed to have taken them. Marcus dialled Mouse’s mobile. There was no response. He left a message.

‘Mouse. It’s me. Listen, we need to talk. I want to hear your side of the story. Just tell me where you got the earrings and it can stay between us. No one else needs to know. Give me a call, Mouse. Please.’