Hellbound: The Tally Man (11 page)

Joe resisted the adolescent urge to punch the air, instead opting for a more dignified “Well, that’s great.”

Reluctant to leave her, he checked his watch. “Listen, I have to get back to work, but if you’re free later we could grab a beer and discuss what you need from me and what I should be looking for. What do you think?”

Victoria stood and smiled. “That would be nice. I’ll go and get myself freshened up and meet you back here at five thirty?”

“Five thirty sounds grand, Victoria.” He offered his hand again, feeling that it was far too formal, but there was little else he could offer seeing as they had just met.

“Okay then,” she said taking his hand. “And it’s Vicky.”

“Vicky,” Joe repeated before nodding and turning to move through the door back into the newsroom. He held it open for her as she brushed past him, leaving behind a slight wake of perfume that teased his nostrils. She smiled at the courtesy before heading towards the lift wheeling her black suitcase.

“Jesus, who was that?” David Cadman grabbed Joe by the shoulder. “She’s hot, man.”

Joe shrugged his colleague’s hands away. “She is going to be my assistant for the next few weeks. And whilst you’re invading my personal space, did you find out what’s happening tonight?”

“Yeah, we’re all going to meet at The Greyhound and head on from there. Why don’t you ask the MILF you’ve just slobbered over to come?”

“One, you don’t know if she has kids. Two, I did very little slobbering and three, I’m not sure if her first night out in Tralee wants to be with a whipdick such as yourself.”

“Please, she’ll love me. How could she resist?” David stated with a grin.

“How could she resist a delusional financial columnist? Give me a minute with that one…” Joe replied smiling as he headed towards his desk, ignoring the retort behind him.

People stood about in clusters as he moved amongst them heading back towards his desk, touching an elbow here in acknowledgment, smiling there. Others had their heads down, typing furiously on their keyboards. Joe knew the look on their faces as one of desperation and frustration in equal measure, as they tried to re-edit their work into a contextual piece suitable for publishing.

His meeting with Victoria had stimulated his curiosity about her work. He had Googled her name when he had first received the message. Retyping it into the search engine, he saw hits totalling 1,790,000. To save time, he clicked on her Wikipedia page.

Born February 15th 1975, she grew up in Surrey, England and was considered one of the most eminent criminal profilers of 21st century. Following an education at Oxford, she moved to the USA, becoming an undergraduate at the University of Chicago and leaving with an advanced degree in behavioural science, psychology and research methodology. She worked for the Pat Brown Criminal Profiling Agency in Washington for six years before leaving and becoming one of the few individuals to be employed by the National Centre for the Analysis of Violent Crime (NCAVC) in Quantico as a research specialist without a background in the FBI. She then left two years later to start her own company in London, the Behavioural Relativity Service.

Not bad for a thirty-six year old, Joe thought.

He entered a few other websites, including the BRS’s own, but found mostly the same information. One thing that struck him as unusual was that there was little to no mention of her family, other than where she was born. Then again, he considered that given her high-profile position amongst the criminal world, she would probably not want to advertise details relating to her family for reasons of protection. Besides, he could find all that out and hopefully more when he met her for a drink after work.

May fortune favour the brave.

The phone ringing on his desk promoted Joe to close down the Internet. He picked it up on its second ring.

“O’Connell.”

Hearing the voice on the other end immediately made his skin gooseflesh, such was the resonance of discomfort in it. The man calling him obviously had something to be concerned about.

“Mr O’Connell? Joe O’Connell who covered the execution of Obadiah Stark?” The voice was laced with a sense of urgency.

“That’s correct.”

“I need to see you as soon as possible. I have something I need to tell you. You need to know so others can know about….” The voice trailed off to the point that Joe thought they had been cut off.

“Hello? You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Can you give me an idea as to what it is?” He knew what the reply would be, but it was in his nature to ask questions he already knew the answer to.

“Not over the phone. We have to speak in person tonight.”

Joe winced. Bollocks. Of all the nights for a potential scoop to fall into his lap.

“Tonight…isn’t fantastic for me. Can it be tomorrow morning?”

The explosion of emotion caught him a little off guard. “No, it fuckin’ can’t be tomorrow night. I’m risking my job just talking to you now…”

“Okay, please try and relax,” Joe soothed, realising that his biological desires towards Victoria had temporally dulled his senses. “Who do you work for?”

“That’s not important at the minute. Tonight. Nine thirty. O’Dywers on Ashe Street. Booth at the back. Don’t be late.” The voice had become more insistent, unspoken leeching from his every word.

“O’Dwyers, got it,” Joe acknowledged, scribbling the address on a Post-it. “I’ll be there. We can talk completely off the record unless you say so. Okay?”

The line had already gone dead. Placing the receiver in its cradle, Joe leaned back in his chair. He had had many contacts, informants and grasses over the years, all providing small details to his investigations for the paper that added just that little bit of reliability, which was quite a contradiction in terms given the fact they were mostly criminals. But this call had been different, almost melodramatic. That said, despite his occasional wavering morality when it came to a story, he would never consider not following up on it just in case it turned out to have been true. Even someone as selfish as Joe couldn’t cope with someone’s death on his hands.

Noting the time as quarter to three, he decided to do the research now on his current story concerning money laundering amongst Government officials before meeting his mysterious caller. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and shouted over to Cadman as he swung his arms into the sleeves.

“David, I won’t be making it tonight. Something’s come up?”

“What, your dick? It’s about time.” He laughed as though his retort made him the next Peter Kay.

“Póg mo Thóin,” Joe snapped back with the Irish for ‘Kiss my arse’, shutting down his computer and grabbing the Post-it from his desk.

He would ring Victoria from the car and apologise. Hopefully she would say she was actually tired from her trip and that she didn’t mind at all if they rescheduled.

Of all the times…fuckin’ Obadiah Stark. Even dead, the guy just couldn’t help ruining people’s lives.

‘Are they real or is it Memorex?’

Gillian Macbeth-Louthan

Chapter Eight

08:34

WAKING up for a second time when you thought you had died really put things in perspective.

The discomfort to his back prompted Obadiah to jump out of bed and stand sideways in front of the mirror. Designed himself, the intricacies of the tattoo were as familiar to him as his own skin. The elegant representation of a tombstone rippled as he arched his back in various directions, trying to establish a clearer look. Within it, memento mori were once again visible - four inch long lines with a diagonal score across them and one standing alone. Obadiah wasn’t sure which was stranger – the fact the tattoo hadn’t been there when he had first woke here, or the fact it had just reappeared without its original twenty seven tallies. He guessed the six tallies must represent the six people he murdered when first arriving here; the pain when he jumped, the Markings being re-branded into his skin. So the only anomaly remaining was the purpose behind its reappearance with its less than original quota.

Obadiah lightly caressed the pigmented areas, noticing the dermal tenderness despite the absence of an inflammatory response to the surrounding cutis. The ablations felt fresh. The occurrence a subtle change to the supernal recall he was experiencing, enforcing his suspicion there was more to his being here than he yet understood. If everything else in the world around him was to be exactly the same, as he suspected it would be, the only challenge now was how to motivate himself in such a repetitive setting. Experience so far showed his actions had no effect on the ultimate outcome. It was now more than simple déjà vu. His sense of recollection was too strong. It was the when and the how which eluded him, obfuscating an end game he was not yet party to. Perhaps to begin understanding why he was here, he needed to embrace it as another stage in his evolution. The stimulus would be refreshing if nothing else.

No more fucking about…

Glancing one final time at his back, he slid the mirror aside to reveal a wardrobe. Pulling on some underwear, a black t-shirt and dark blue jeans, Obadiah moved towards the stairs, his emerald eyes sparkling with new-found expectation.

* * *

Once downstairs, he had applied his most charming smile and told them they were all to go out together – as a family. Eva had been slightly resistant, but eventually succumbed and had gotten dressed in a baggy jumper, long, tanned skirt and brown knee high boots. Cleaning the flour from Ellie and putting on her dark blue winter coat, gloves and wellingtons, they had left the house together and walked towards the town.

Obadiah’s desire to see the repetitive behaviours and incidences he knew would occur was less than compelling. More overwhelming was his curiosity to experience them with Eva and Ellie, to see how their addition to the equation would alter the dynamic. He wanted to see what this existence, for want of a better word, was offering him. He imagined emotions he had rarely given credence to would be available to him. Obadiah wanted to feel them, court them, and toy with them. Maybe even learn from them. He had never claimed to be omniscient.

The sky was cerulean as they made their way down the tree-lined avenue. The autumnal edge in the air that Obadiah recognised well prompted Eva to clutch the jacket to her throat. Linking her arm through his, she sidled up against him for warmth, her closeness offset only by Obadiah’s stillness. He wondered what kinds of noises she would make if he ripped out her throat. The curiosity crawled beneath his skin like a parasite.

Ellie kicked through piles of crimson leaves on the pavement as Eva spoke. “What’s on your mind, Obi? You seem a little… distant today.”

He kept his response short. “Do I? Nothing of consequence.”

Eva gave him a wry smile. “Okayyyy, Mr. Laqucious.”

Obadiah continued to look straight ahead.

They walked in silence the remainder of the way to town, making their way down College Street, Eva occasionally calling out for Ellie to be careful. They stopped outside Miss Courtney’s Tea Room, the café Obadiah recognised as Susan Sheridan’s establishment. Wondering if their arrival there was serendipitous, Obadiah looked through the window, observing his former victim moving about the few tables already occupied.

“Come on. Treat me to a coffee and a donut. I feel a cheat day coming on.” Eva pushed Obadiah playfully by the shoulder. “It was your idea to come out…”

Intrigued by the thought of being in Susan’s presence again, knowing she would have no recollection of her death at his hands, Obadiah opened the door and gestured for Eva and Ellie to move ahead of him.

“Why thank you, sir,” Eva emphasised with a smile and a cheeky wiggle of her hips as she motioned Ellie towards the table by the window. Obadiah noted a slight whiff of fragrance as she brushed by him. Eva removed Ellie’s coat before doing the same herself and sitting down.

Standing by the window, he took in the setting. His outline appeared black in the glare of the sun, as though his very soul were momentarily visible. As expected, everyone in the café remained blissfully unaware they were in the presence in death. The tables were dressed with linen tablecloths, the tea and coffee served in china. Obadiah noticed that the pieces were all different, augmenting an air of eccentricity and charm to the café that subtly distanced it from the more sharp-edged modernism of other establishments.

Obadiah actually felt a sense of relief at being in an environment which could allow him to preserve his self-image of perfection. He had spent his entire life conditioning himself to be acutely sensitive to societal norms, always finding it fairly easy to outwardly live a life that seemed above reproach. His murderous proclivities aside, Obadiah had always enjoyed the pretence of being normal. He was slowly realising it might be a pleasurable diversion to embrace this role he had been provided.

His expression remaining thoughtful, Obadiah sat down and studied Eva. She had a handsome, sun-kissed face, defined by good bone structure. Framed by her coffee-coloured hair and slightly freckled across her cheeks, the light cascading through the window beside gave her an ethereal shimmer. Eva’s brown eyes locked with his as he stared, her smile forcing him to subconsciously respond in kind. Smiling wasn’t something that had often had a place in Obadiah’s life.

Ellie was sorting packets of sugar in the bowl as Susan Sheridan approached and stood beside the table.

“Morning, folks. What can I get you?”

Eva skimmed across the menu. “Hi, can I have a tall Latté and a glass of blackcurrant for the munchkin and…Obi, what would you like?”

Obadiah, intrigued by the scenario’s normalcy and Susan’s lack of recognition, paused briefly before asking for a black coffee. Eva gave him a quizzical look as she spoke. “Oh, and a jam donut please. Ellie, would you like anything else?”

The little girl, now stacking the sugar packets, replied with a decisive, “No, thank you Mummy.”

Susan smiled as she moved towards the kitchen, leaving Obadiah with Eva’s curious expression. “Since when do you drink black coffee? You always said it made you twitchy”

“I fancied a change,” he replied with a shrug.

“Well, that’s refreshing to hear, given everything that’s happened recently. Isn’t that right, Ell’s?”

The little girl spoke without looking up. “Yes, you’ve been grumpy recently, Daddy.”

Obadiah felt a spark of curiosity. Her innocence was refreshing.

“How would you prefer me to be?” The lack of emotion in Obadiah’s tone went unnoticed by the little girl.

“Happy, like you used to be before you were sick. Today you seem sad.” Her pile of stacked sugar packets collapsed, eliciting an exaggerated sigh.

Then she was lost again in her reorganisation of the sugar packets. Children had always been intriguing to him, if only because they taunted him with realisations of what his childhood could have been.

Eva thanked Susan as she returned to place their drinks on the table before turning her attention to Obadiah. “So, what brought on this sudden desire for impulsive behaviour? I might get to like it if it extends beyond this tea room.” Her enticing smile and pout were lost on him.

“Let’s just say recent events have given me cause to consider my behaviour.”

“Obi, you’re being very strange today.” She picked up one of her daughter’s sugar packets and poured it into her cup, stirring it methodically. “But that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before turning towards Ellie and playful mussing her hair. Obadiah prickled with electricity at the contact. It seemed so long ago that he had almost forgotten what being in the presence of unbridled, fearless emotion was like. His sudden feelings made him uneasy. He began to perspire and tried to initiate a conversation to divert his discomfort. “I want to see a doctor today.”

Eva’s focus immediately shifted to Obadiah. “Why, do you feel sick?”

“No, I just want to chat to someone about what’s going on up here.” He tapped on his forehead as he spoke, suspecting that part of understanding who he was supposed to be here may involve understanding what was supposed to be wrong with him. He had guessed he had a tumour of some description, but needed to know more. How big, where it was, the symptoms it could cause.

Eva reached for his hand. Obadiah allowed her to grasp it. “Obi, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course.” His answer was clipped. He found the realisation he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing in this type of situation disconcerting and enticing in equal measure. He accepted that evolution of any kind was a penetrative, violent act metaphorically speaking.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Eva’s grip tightened on Obadiah’s hand.

“No, I would prefer to go alone.” His emotionless, matter of fact response caused Eva’s brow to crease with mild disappointment, but she knew better than to push him for a rationalisation. A saddened “Okay” was her only response as she relaxed her grip.

Obadiah sensed her upset and tried to ignore it. However, realising the identity and location of the doctor was not known to him, he quickly proffered a response.

“I just want to talk to someone alone.” Though his tone had softened, Obadiah offered no physical contact to compliment his words.

“No, it’s okay. I understand.” Eva brushed muffin crumbs from her sweater.

“Exactly,” Obadiah responded with a lifeless tone. “However I would appreciate the company on the way.”

Eva smiled appreciatively as she turned and gave Ellie a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll walk with Daddy to the doctor’s won’t we, Ell’s?”

“Yup,” came the reply between swallows of juice.

Obadiah nodded, suddenly eager to get moving. Not having considered looking for a wallet at the house, he pretended to check his pockets before raising his eyebrows at Eva in false apology.

“What a shocker, Obadiah Stark. You think you’re Royalty, carrying no money around on you.” Eva said as she rose from the table to pay the bill.

Obadiah found himself left staring at Ellie. She was gazing absentmindedly out the window, playfully twirling her straw around the rim of the glass. He could see now she resembled her mother in many ways, her bone structure, her slender neck, her small nose. And yet, he was amazed to notice that he could see himself in her eyes; emerald green. The shear incredulity of her being his daughter, even if only in this afterlife existence, had Obadiah imagining a million different scenarios simultaneously. Would she hold his hand if he offered it, would she allow him to pick her up, would she ask him to read her stories at bedtime, take her to school, go to the cinema? All the things he had desired so desperately himself as a child that were never offered. He had sought to replace those desires with more inventive pastimes but had never forgotten what it had felt like to want his father to offer a hand to him with any intent behind it other than chastisement.

“Are you scared?” Obadiah leaned forward slightly as he spoke.

Ellie looked at him over the rim of her glass. “Scared of what, Daddy?”

“Scared of me?”

“You’re silly,” came her reply with a giggle. His thoughts on the charade of giving him a child and the purpose it could serve were broken by Eva’s return to the table. “Okay, we ready?” she said as she placed her purse back in her bag and pulled out Ellie’s chair.

“I’m ready,” Ellie proclaimed as she jumped up from the table, knocking over the glass in the process. The accident prompted the café’s occupants to stop their conversations and, for a moment, focus all their attention on Obadiah and his companions.

Eva had already bent down to begin collecting the shattered pieces, Ellie crouching by her side offering apologies. Obadiah made no move to assist them, preferring to stare back at the inquisitive people who had deemed his area of the café their focus of attention. He took a few steps forward towards the nearest table, his physique seemingly growing with each movement.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Though a question, its meaning was apparent, despite the softness of his tone.

Accompanied with mumbles and nervous twitters, the café’s patrons slowly turned their interest away from Obadiah and began subdued conversations. Susan had arrived with a dustpan and was sweeping the remaining fragments from the floor as Eva stepped besides Obadiah and gently touched his elbow.

“Come on, you. Let’s go before you upset the natives.”

Eva ushered Ellie out the door and into the biting air. Obadiah sensed all eyes of the café on him as they moved past the window and onto College Street. The businesses around him hummed with activity, reminding him of ants in a bivouac. The people hurried in and around the pavements and shop fronts, never seeming to spend any significant amount of time digesting what they saw, always seemingly being driven to move on to the next spectacle without any understanding as to why. He found it tedious, as though they were all moving in slow motion and he were moving in real time.

Obadiah walked slightly apart from Eva, her attention more focused on Ellie’s safety than his proximity. As they moved passed McSorley’s and onto Plunkett Street, he found his memories prickling at some of the sights around him. He hadn’t paid much attention since his arrival here, his focus having been directed towards understanding why he was here. But now, in a more relaxed state, he realised that many of the sights around him were acting as stimuli for childhood memories. The Killarney Art Gallery, the Grand Hotel and St. Mary’s Church on Main Street, they all began to pull at his subconscious like a magician pulling handkerchiefs from a hat. He tried to piece the elicited memories together like a jigsaw. It was so long ago now since he was last here that Obadiah knew he wouldn’t be able to form a complete picture. Oddly, the memories which were the most powerful were the ones of least significance; the smell of the damp pavements, the haze of the lights in the shops windows, the cold sensation of the breeze on his face. And yet, despite their emotive pull at his mind, it all felt different, and not simply because he had returned here in the strangest of circumstances. It was different because he was sharing it all with someone else. Eva was his first, voluntary companion he had had since his friendship with Tom Jacques. And he found himself wanting to share himself with her in a way that wouldn’t result in her death.