CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.
Someone must've come in to identify the body. A long-time friend waking up in the early hours of the soggy morning, daring to hope for the hopeless future, greyed and bleakly stumbling in through the doors of the morgue. Heart sinking as they met with the coroner who had done this a thousand times before, smile overused and worn. I thought to how they'd react: Shivering from the chilled blasts of air from the air-conditioner, gearing up to refuse to identify the body as Jess until the sheet pulled back and her still bruised face was imprinted in their mind, on the insides of their eyelids every time they squeezed their eyes shut, forever and always. She'd lay there on a cold slab of metal and they'd almost expect her to break into a grin and announce it was all a big stupid joke. But time would pass, and Jess would still be deathly still, her face slack, lifeless. Maybe their voice would break: Yes, that's her, that's Jess.
My phone hummed, vibrated against the cheap wooden table, insistent like the 5 a.m., early-rising birds. I waited for the call to end but then it rang again, pressing, like a sign of doomsday; answer the fúcking call! "Hell-"
"Get Irvin out of that flat now!" James hurried and hung up.
"-O?" I dropped the vowel on a high, questioning note.
I stared down at my phone until the screen light dimmed, my mind busy with unpleasant theories, and then I shifted back to yesterday's memory: The room blurred, shadowy and murky, the TV blinked, switching off, and the sofas filled with the memory of impatient men, knuckles popping, low murmurs, just waiting for Irvin to return. Anxiety skittered up my spine like baby spiders, long and nimbly, nestling in the small hairs of the back of my neck. I dashed up the stairs, burst into the bedroom and shook Irvin awake, hysterically, desperately, slapping his face. "Wake, dammit!" The air shifted, compressed in lungs, going stale. A clock ticked, ominous, purposeful, like the angel of death was somewhere in the room, leaning against the doorway, swathed in a coal-black, silky cloak, holding a solid gold pocket watch, manically cackling.
His fate was in the lap of the gods, tragic and woeful, and the gods wanted his head, the hanging was impending, promised like the day, unforgiving as the crimes of a mass murderer. The death squad was coming, axes hanging over their shoulder, brutish faces, gleaming greedy eyes, thorny horns pushing through helmets of dark, unruly hair... I realised I had just described Cole, duplicated him by hundreds, a fantasised army, my mind a worrier, going into overdrive, exaggerating.
He pestered for an explanation, bewildered, half snuggled in a trance, his eyes sticky with sleep. Daniel woke too, lifting his chest up from the oily bed sheets, peering, unsurely quizzical. "What's going on!?"
"Go back to sleep."
Irvin managed to snatch his trainers before I trapped his fingers behind the bedroom door. He latched on to my wrist as we got to the last step and said. "OK, spill. Tell me what's going-"
"Jess is dead. You-"
A fist hammered on the front door. Daniel appeared at the top of the stairs, insistent. "What the hell is going on?" he was loading a pistol, faltering when he heard Cole's ill-tempered yell to open the door. His eyes flew around as if some clue was hidden, a Where's Wally game, a search for answers. He trusted Cole but his friends were scurrying on hushed footsteps, afraid. I could almost see the red and green wire, like delirious cursed enemies, reaching to embrace each other, copper wires entwining, sparking, in his head, looking for last piece of the puzzle to complete the picture.
Irvin looked helplessly at me, I held out a hand to Daniel; the universal stop sign, mouthing to Irvin: "Hide."
He scampered up the stairs soundlessly, squirrel like. Daniel gazed after him, one foot still in mid-air, inches away from the next step, his mouth slightly ajar. "Hold on, I'm coming!" I squawked, bustling about, clattering, making noise to give the misconception I was clumsy and butterfingered, dropping the keys for the third time and cursing. The crowd wasn't waiting, angry, buzzing about, and demanding entrance.
The door was forced open just as I twisted the key, like criminals escaping, they bulldozed inside the house, and a heavy boot crushed my toes. I cried out, pushing the large man who grimaced at me like it was my fault my foot was there. "Where is he?" unhinged, Cole was psycho-mad. His face and neck were a dark wine-red shade and his nostrils were flared and his lips pressed together in a thin line. Hateful. He came here to murder. There was something ugly about his violent nature, a deep brewing storm, a nightmare to witness, a rage so passionate he wouldn't be able to let go if he tried.
I played dumb. "Who? What is going on?"
It almost went unnoticed; his eye twitched. "Daniel. Where is Irvin?"
Daniel was half-way down the stairs and he shrugged. "Man. I don't know. I just woke up. I thought we were being attacked. What did he even do, anyway?"
"Boss." One of the men, a shredded, rough-faced man who looked like he swallowed steroids for breakfast, picked up Irvin's trainers and held it in the air like it was prize. I tensed, shit.
"Find him. Tear this place apart."
"OH!" I declared like I was Christopher Columbus and I had 'discovered' America. All eyes on me, I made pointy hand gestures that went nowhere. "I just remembered: He told me earlier he was going to the tattoo shop. I need clean clothes, got mustard armpits." Charlie pretended to gag.
I was given the cold shoulder and dirty looks. I thought it was a convincing lie but the search party began, inconsiderate of my cries. Cole gave me a critical stare. Daniel groaned into his hands which cupped his face. "Shay...give up."
Cole laughed disturbingly. "He's a minimalistic thief. If he could he'd steal shoes but can't because of the alarm tags. He owns a single pair of trainers and grieved and moaned about the pennies he spent for weeks. Unless he went barefoot, he's here."
I continued regardless of Cole's explanation: I offered up breadcrumbs but only got disdainful glares in return. Like hounds they rummaged about, shaggy tails shooting out of their rectum, sprouting fur, ethmoid bone shattering and growing into wet snouts, on all fours hunting and digging into the darkest crevices and smallest cracks. Heavy footsteps thumped on the ceiling, threatening to crack the plaster and break the necks of Cole's men. I wouldn't have minded if they came crashing through the ceiling. Dying in a bath of their own blood might just satisfy their bloodlust.
Seeing Irvin dragged down the stairs and thrown to the ground was tough, especially when he begged Cole to listen to him. He looked old; exhausted and almost to the brink of giving up. I wondered if he'd been to see his grandma since we last spoke. The man who had found the trainers kicked him in the stomach, towering over him like the rest of the bullies, spitting. "Shut up, bitch."
"Put him in the car. The boot." Cole didn't spare Irvin a glance. His face was set in stone, tone and cadence hateful and spiteful, unforgiving. The men were like a mob, destructively seeking perverted justice, indifferent to who they burned with their prodding pitchforks and burning torches. Irvin was thrown into the boot like a sack of potatoes carelessly and they hoisted themselves onto the boot, jeering loudly, taunting him. Trevor stood to one side, bemusedly watching, quiet.
"He didn't do anything! What the hell is wrong with you all?" I twisted around to give Cole a filthy stare, demanding answers, hands closed into fists, humiliated on behalf of Irvin and angry.
"Is this to do with Jess?" Daniel asked, taking a calmer approach.
"He didn't kill her!" I defended blindly. It was on my mind since I first saw the news, a dirty thought, the fearful possibility that I refused to believe even as I sat on the fence. He was upset when he left but that was because of his gran and his uncle, it didn't mean he'd lash out on Jess, strangle her to death. How much anger would he have bottled up to suffocate her, his fingers digging into her neck, pressing against tendons, watching her face turn a twisted shade of purple, eyes bulging as she tried to speak, to plead for her life? It made me sick to my stomach to think like that. Irvin wasn't a killer, not like Dad. I refused to believe it.
Cole was irked. "Of course he didn't kill her, dipshit." The relief was comforting. I was grateful at least one other person believed he didn't do it even as my mind went into overdrive trying to draft up excuses. Cole knew Irvin better than I did, and the way Daniel was looking at me now made me feel foolish. Why did I ever think Irvin murdered her? "He's lost me a lot of money. Any transaction I have with Craig Bull will only bring fingers back to me. The police will jump at the chance to frame me. The bastard is free of his debt."
"At the price of his daughter."
"So?" he didn't have any empathy, no grief for Jess, just hate and rage at the loss of his money. It was nauseating, he was a repugnant man, heinous just like my father. He glanced away. "Burn Bull's businesses to the ground. Take Trevor with you, no deaths and no witnesses, Charlie. Make sure to do a good job. I want him to return to his daughter's funeral with his capital in ashes."
Charlie whined, sullen, child-like. "But I wanted to pound that pússy. Can't you send someone else?" Irvin. He was talking about Irvin.
If I could jump into a time machine I would've kept silent. I didn't stop to think. It blurted out like a mistake, my head was hurting, strained, the tell-tale signs of a headache on its way. I felt like I had lumps of bile stuck in my throat, ill feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach like acid, bubbling and boiling, a ghastly smell emitting from the pores of my skin. I attacked. "I'm sure you would, you goddamn rapist. You'd take any chance: Man, woman, animal. There's this word called consent. Find a fúcking dictionary and look up the definition."
Cole was halfway out of the door. His shoulders tensed and his body stiffened and he turned and stared at me. His face was expressionless yet his eyes burned coldly, harshly. "Is there something I should know?" his voice was quiet, warningly quiet.
Charlie shook his head, deliriously frantic, his handlebar moustache quivered. "Come on, Cole. It's-she's messing around. We have a stupid inside joke."
Shards of golden sunlight sparkled on my face, blinding me, the sun, having just escaped from the dull grey clouds, beamed brightly. Irvin was shouting from the confined boot. The men were shaking the car, hitting their fists, ugly sinister grins on their faces. The spotlight was dazzling. I felt like I was taking a test and none of the answers matched the one in my head. What I had said was blasphemy. I needed a bar of soap to wash out my mouth.
"Well?" Cole insisted. One wrong move and I'd step on an explosive mine and I don't know who'd get caught in the blast. It was a game of chess and I didn't know how to play.
I hesitated. What do I say?
Too slow. Charlie's babble got to Daniel like a blow to the head. He shot to his feet, visibly shaken, stunned, eyes unfocussed. A banshee's scream, chillingly terrified. "Get him out. GET HIM OUT!" his pistol was in his hand. A powerful gunshot. Reverberated loud. Still, shock, silence. The air thrummed like guitar strings-and then snapped, broke, life returned. I jerked back, my heart hammering wildly in my chest, in disbelief, paralysed. Charlie fell, out of sequence, upright, tilted, then on the ground.
Blood spurted out like a fountain, splashed to my face, squirted in my mouth, metallic and bitter. The sound died. My ears rang sharply like the flat line beep of a life support machine. Vision blurred, sight smeared like paint across a canvas, colours muddy, objects distorted, persons deformed. The blood gleamed in the sunlight.
I felt my throat tightened, clogged, choking silently.
My arms were wet with blood.
A dreadful sense of déjà vu crept up on me.
The blood was warm.
"I can't breathe." I begged for help but my teeth were jammed together as if I had been chewing toffee, sticky and clamped. My skin was plastered to my ribs like a soaked t-shirt, tight and constricting, squeezing squeezing squeezing. I couldn't ...breathe.
A woman screeched.
I blacked out.
***
My jaw thrummed with pain. I flipped my eyes open and saw Trevor kneeling in front of me. He muttered. "Sorry." There was a smeared red puddle and Charlie, somewhere outside, was moaning in pain. A car started up, the engine roaring and I presumed, or well, hoped Charlie would make it. I didn't want to be blamed for his death.
Daniel and Cole looked to be embracing. On a second closer stare: Cole had his hand tightly around Daniel's neck who seemed to be trying to shake his head at whatever Cole was quietly murmuring to him. I tried listening in and failed to make out anything.
Trevor had gone and now was back in front of me. He scrubbed my arms with a wet towel, his face intense and he smiled oddly like he was telling himself a private joke. I lightly pushed him away and stood. He bit the inside of his cheek to contain his smirk. "Are you OK? Do you want to swap shirts? Mine is clean."
For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why he wanted my stained shirt. "No-"
"Swap." He had already pulled his shirt over his head.
"Trevor! Get the hell out." Cole barked, looking over, mad.
Trevor shot me a sullen look, blaming me for getting told off. He slinked out of the door. The kitchen door opened and Doriano carried out a mop and bucket. He began cleaning the floor. "Why couldn't you have kept your mouth shut?" he said low enough for Cole not to hear. "I was dealing with it, weren't I?"
Blood stained my arms, a crazy red dye.
Memories were returning and I didn't want to have an episode in front of everyone again. I shook my head at nothing in particular, pulling my keys out of my jean pocket, and then I was out of the door. The few men that were remaining shot me dubious glances as if I was going to spill their secrets, too. The only thing I cared about at that moment was getting the hell out of there. I was going to have a mental breakdown and having bullets flying everywhere wouldn't help.
My hands shook and it took me a couple of tries to push the key into the slot. The passenger door opened and Cole sat down. Daniel sat in the back seat. I lifted my head up, saw the men were getting in to their cars and beginning to drive away. I didn't know where Irvin was.
I was going to tell them to get out but I couldn't muster enough energy to care anymore. I started the car just as the police sirens blared somewhere in the near distance.
***
I parked outside Millie's café. It had only just opened, a single customer sat inside, coffee cup in hand. The pale pink sign was painted a bright fuchsia. After much deliberation, I followed Cole and Daniel inside. Millie, with her apron flowery already, hugged Daniel to her chest. "My poor baby." Something about the scene made me feel upset: I wanted her to hug me, as pathetic as that sounded. She was homely. Motherly.
I forced myself to sit beside Cole instead of standing limply, waiting for Millie to pull me into her chest. My forehead fell to the table top with a loud thump. I closed my eyes. Millie touched my shoulder. "You alright, dear?"
I grunted.
"What do you kids want to eat?"
"They haven't had breakfast." Cole guessed.
"There's banana chocolate chip muffins baking in the oven. It'll be ten minutes. It's a new recipe. I'm sure you'll love it."
"I want something from the back." I lifted my head up. Daniel was sitting opposite.
"Oh. OK." Millie looked surprised.
Cole turned to me sharply. "She doesn't want anything from the back. Thanks, Millie."
Millie bustled back behind the counter and through to the backroom. "You don't know what I want." I rubbed my eyes tiredly.
"I know you're not getting stoned." He challenged. "Not from here."
"Whatever."
"Are you going to explain? You can't throw accusations like that without a reason."
"I don't feel like it."
Cole was pissed. "You don't feel like it!? Do you realise the amount of shit you caused?"
"Daniel was the one who flipped out." I said pointedly. "What happened to you?"
Daniel shifted uncomfortably and he stood. "I need to go to the bathroom." An excuse.
Cole waited until Daniel left. "A year ago his younger sister was put into the care system. She had been raped repeatedly by their uncle and had vaginal tears and ...other injuries. Their mother didn't believe them and still doesn't. A couple of months back, his uncle committed suicide in jail and she's been sending Daniel letters blaming him. Now I fúcking need you to tell me why you called Charlie a rapist because I'm losing my patience. It's a heavy accusation and you better have a good reason otherwise I'll unload Daniel's pistol down your mouth."
"I didn't know..." I fucked up. I was such a goddamn idiot. Uneasy and squirming, I continued. "When we got back from Shanghai, we were at Charlie's flat, there was that stupid welcome back party. I was with Charlie and Doriano and some other girls in the kitchen. He was snorting coke so I don't know if it's what he truly believes but he was getting angry. Saying he had a right to women and stupid shit like, he doesn't care if a woman changes her mind. It's not rape if they accepted his drinks. And...I don't know, you'll have to ask Doriano. He's been trying to protect him."
Cole rose, his face was back to that dark shade of red, his eyes intense and violent. He stormed out of the café and moments later, was on his phone. Maybe he was arranging my funeral. I think I would be alright with lying in a coffin forever. It would be easier than dealing with this. Daniel returned and I avoided my gaze. I didn't know what to say. I wish I hadn't known. If only Cole had kept his big blabbermouth shut - and then I realised that was hypocritical of me. None of this would've happened if I hadn't said the dreaded R word.
"Who's he talking to?"
"No idea." I kept my answer short. I wanted to hug Daniel but at the same time I wanted to run out. Forget about his problems. His shitty past. How did someone deal with something like that?
Millie dropped by. She set down cups of hot chocolate and a tray of hot muffins. "Anything else I can get you, kids?" she winked at me, a warm smile on her face. "If you come back alone, I'll make you something special." That would've sound creepy if it was out of anyone else's mouth but hers. I nodded appreciatively but in all honesty, I wasn't in the mood anymore.
Daniel opened his mouth to speak. I don't know what he was going to say but I didn't want to stick around to find out. I shot up, awkwardly grimacing, muttering. "I gotta... I will...yeah." I cringed as I stiffly walked out.
I drove away quickly.
***
The sun was high in the sky, bright baby blue and brilliant yellow. It was a nice change from the recent downpour but it was beginning to sink around 3 p.m., a sad goodbye.
I was filling up at a petrol station with my last £20 note. It'd probably last me a week, maybe two if I took ten minute walks instead of two minute drives. Gas was too expensive, especially since I was jobless. Dad never trusted me with money. Pocket money was a myth. If I wanted a penny off of him, I had to work hard for it; sweating under the burning gaze of the sun, running over the grass with the lawnmower, doing the weekly food shopping in the wintery snow on foot because he didn't want to waste gas. It was a struggle. The end of year school dances were all borrowed friend's shoes and dresses I began saving up for around December. I had a bank account but it was drier than California. Dad had as much faith in me as an atheist did in god. The thought was depressing: He had savings tucked away somewhere, like a hoarder but with money, however, unless he died I wouldn't see any of it.
Jade was a no-go area.
I could get a job but finding someone who didn't whisper about me every time I walked into a room would be difficult. I was the town's celebrity. Daughter of a terrorist. If there was recognition there would be fear or hate and no middle ground. Fame sucked.
My neck prickled, it was an uncomfortable paranoid feeling, when you just know someone is staring at you. I entered the shop, heading to the counter. There was a young, pretty girl chewing, staring and then squinting at me. "Hey!" she had too much spit in her mouth, squelching as she moved her jaw, "don't I know you?"
"No."
"Yes, I do!" her lips dragged back into a grin, "you're that girl, your dad went psycho, didn't he? Where is he hiding?"
"Can I pay for-?"
"Of course!" she glanced away for a second, and then whipped out her phone, "can I get a selfie?"
"A selfie?" I'd rather get punched repeatedly in the face.
"Yes!" she yelled all her words, it was fast beginning to get on my nerves. She held her phone at chest angle, and I heard a quiet click. She didn't notice I noticed and continued. "I'll tag you on Instagram."
"Can I have my receipt?"
"What's your username?"
"My username is pass my fúcking receipt before I break your nose."
Her grin faltered and she nervously prattled. "Sorry. I didn't realise...it's a sensitive subject. I get it. You're probably having a bad hair day. And I'm a total stranger. I come across as too strong sometimes." Forced laughter.
I held my hand out for the receipt and before I left the shop, said. "Bad hair day? I don't have any fúcking hair. I'm bald, you incompetent twat." I felt great after that - until I saw some man nosing around my Shogun. He was peering in through the window and I figured this was my observer. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He jumped, holding a hand theatrically to his chest, muttering. "Oh, Jesus Christ on a bicycle."
I sighed tiredly. What sort of weirdo...?
"Hi." His hand shot out.
"Nope." I shook my head.
"Um," he tried, following me around the car to the driver's seat. "I'm Andrew Arnold. AA," he laughed, "that's my nickname. I'm a reporter from World Observer and I was hoping I could get a few quotes from you about your father. I've been following the story for some time now and it would be incredible if I could get your side of the story. We could do a whole front page-"
"I'm not interested." I tried shutting the door but he pushed his hand in the way.
"Please," he pleaded, "just a few questions. It'll take no time at all. You'll have full control on the article and it'll be like you typed it up yourself."
"I can do you one better. I know where my dad is."
"Where?"
"Up your arse."
"I can pay you."
I stopped trying to trap his fingers in the door and took a closer look at him. He had a gaunt face with acne spattered around his mouth and he looked no older than twenty five. His forehead was shiny with sweat, anticipation, he most likely ran pieces on gardening, something boring, small fundraising events probably. If he was as desperate as he came across, anything for that boost up the ladder, I could possibly squeeze quite a bit out of him. "How much?"
"Fifty."
"Like hell. Get out of my way."
"OK, OK. A hundred."
"Make it four hundred."
"Be reasonable. Fifty is quite a hefty sum."
"Yeah, if you're twelve. That's my final price. Take it or leave it."
"Can I have your number?"
"You got a business card?"
He scribbled down his name and number on a small piece of paper and then held onto it when I grabbed it. "We should meet up for coffee."
"Maybe."
"I'll pay for the coffee, too." He tried to be kind but came off as insulting, quickly adding, his fingers latched onto the door handle. "It'd be a best seller. Cult Leader's Daughter Spills Shameful Secret. I can just imagine the sensation we'd cause."
He gazed upwards dreamily and I stopped him in his tracks. "Cult leader? What are you talking about?"
He looked smug, there was a childish glint in his eyes that said he knew more than I did and he was enjoying holding this piece of tantalising piece of meat over my head. "Oh my. You don't know? You poor thing."
"Spill already."
He pulled back his shoulders, puffing out his chest. "I guess you'll be meeting up for coffee?"
I deliberated, wondering if there was any truth to his fantasy headline and then decided I couldn't care less. I tore up his number and watched his face fall. "You should step back before I run over your feet." He cried and whined and promised to tell-all but I turned deaf and got back on the road: His miserable face in my rear view mirror shrinking, shrinking, gone.
***
Irvin called me, I thought about declining the call, even though I wanted to know if he was alright, there was this part of me that just couldn't care enough. I had been hiding from everyone all day. The sun was gone and the sky was bruised purple and blue. College was starting tomorrow and I don't know if I was going to bother turning up. It was too much effort. Everything was too much. Too tiring. Maybe I was being dishonest with myself: I just couldn't admit to what happened earlier. My skin tingled, a ghost feeling, a reminder of the memories begging me to open and explore like files into my forgotten past. Which was ridiculous in itself. I would know what happened in the past. I couldn't have forgotten something as major as...that.
Deciding it was better for some meaningless conversation with Irvin than my own sickening thoughts, I finally answered. "Hey. Are you alright?" I wish I hadn't answered. There was a long silence on the other end, cold and unnerving. "Irvin?" I pressed.
"She's dead. My grandma's dead."
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.