Past Darkness (9 page)

A dilapidated husk, the house was like the discarded corpse of a once-living home. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness, despite all the bad memories. The awareness of such a vast expanse of time, long gone, made him reflective and melancholy.

Images spawned in his head. He thought he could hear his mother’s voice calling his name.
Karl! Karl, dinner’s ready. Hurry in now, before it gets cold!
He could hear laughter, also. It belonged to his father, pushing him on the old wooden swing behind the house; pushing him higher and higher until he could almost touch the roof, and the fat-bellied clouds, on a fine autumn day. A house filled with happiness and wonder. Then it all changed. Forever. His mother’s screams, mad, continuous screeches of hellish agony. Knives. Blood. Terror. Rape. Murder.

A boom of thunder exploded above, making Karl edgy. He checked his hands. They were shaking terribly, like the hands of an alcoholic in bad need of a drink.

Tara watched it all from the tiny hole she had carved out, hardly daring to breathe. She wanted to scream out to the man peering up from below, but was frightened Scarman might hear. She yearned for the man to see her tiny finger wiggling in and out of the hole, trying to catch his attention, but it was hopeless. How could he be expected to see such a tiny thing as a finger from so far away?

More thunder cracks erupted, spewing out rain with a vengeance. Tara watched as the man got back inside his car, and slowly drove away. It made her want to cry.

S
unday morning. Bedroom. Karl sat at the table, typing his latest soon-to-be-unappreciated manuscript on his beloved Royal Quiet DeLuxe typewriter. Actually, there was little typing being done, but Karl was doing plenty of staring blankly at a blank page. His fingers hovered nervously over the keys, like a helicopter trying to perch on a house of cards.

A couple of times, his fingers landed briefly on the keys, only to quickly pull away, as if touching acid.

‘It’s like a damn hothouse in here. That heat must be up full blast,’ Karl said, more to himself than to anyone in the room. ‘The bloody sweat’s trickling down my arse.’

Behind him, Naomi sat contently in the middle of the bed, reading a passel of morning newspapers. She was wearing only Karl’s shirt, and no panties, something Karl was finding rather distracting.

‘Did you say something, Karl?’ Naomi finally raised her eyes over the top of the newspaper.

‘Very cheeky of you.’

She looked over at him, slightly confused.

‘What is?’

‘You pretending to be from Donegal when you’re actually from Derry.’

‘What’re you talking about?’

‘You, airing your beautiful derriere shamelessly to the world.’

‘Is it really beautiful?’ She smiled coyly.

‘And loyal.’

‘Loyal?’

‘It follows you everywhere, just like me.’

She giggled. ‘You must have writer’s block, my love? Want me to unblock?’

‘You can start by dumping those rags you’re reading, and getting me a nice cup of very hot coffee.’

‘I enjoy reading the Sunday newspapers. There’s always juicy gossip to be found.’

Karl made a disapproving sound with his throat.

‘And the coffee?’

‘You didn’t say please.’

‘
You
didn’t have to say please when I went out into the cold and pissing rain this morning, just to get you those juicy rags.’

‘True, but you were only expressing your love and deep gratitude for all the things I’ve done for you.’ Naomi returned to reading. She turned a page. Her face suddenly changed. ‘Oh! Karl,
Sunday Exposé
have an article about you and Lipstick.’

‘What?’ Karl said, pushing away from the table.

‘It’s not a bad photo of you. Especially compared to the one they have of the thug you beat up. He’s scary-looking.’

‘Never mind that, let me see what the bastards have made up this time. Chambers warned me about this.’

‘Chambers?’

‘You know who I’m talking about. The lover-boy detective who fancies you.’

‘Stop being silly.’

‘Am I? Then why are you blushing, just like he did?’

Naomi laughed. Patted the bed coaxingly. ‘Sit beside me. I’ll read the article to you.’

‘I really don’t have time for this kind of…but okay.’ Feigning reluctance, Karl sat down on the bed, edging over beside Naomi. Her latent perfume and body-warmth tickled his nostrils. He hoped that’s not all they’d be tickling before the morning was over.

‘“
Is this the man who took on notorious London crime boss Butler?’
, says the wee headline.’ Naomi cleared her throat, and continued reading. ‘“
This silhouetted figure is believed to be the man who sorted out one of London’s most feared crime bosses, last week at the Europa, according to our inside sources
.”’

‘Inside sources, my bollocks. It was that greasy little worm Raymond.’

‘“
The notorious London gangster, Graham Butler, was left with a suspected fractured jaw, missing teeth, and a face his own mother wouldn’t recognise.
”’

‘Can’t believe I’m agreeing with this rag.’

‘“
Our sources believe they know who this man is, who rescued a young woman, the victim of a brutal assault by Butler. Her mystery benefactor decided to go quid-pro-quo, giving the London thug a good old Belfast justice beating. Police say no charges have been brought, because no one has come forward with a complaint.
Sunday Exposé
hopes the big bad crime boss has learned his lesson about beating up defenceless women in Belfast and elsewhere. Bon voyage back to London, and good riddance
.”’

‘Let me have a look at the pictures,’ Karl said, secretly chuffed at the article not making him the villain for a change.

‘I like that photo,’ Naomi said, handing over the newspaper. ‘Even in blurry silhouette, you can still make out that roguish grin of yours.’

‘What roguish grin?’ Karl said, flashing his roguish grin. ‘Anyway, how about that coffee you still owe me?’

Something wickedly seductive twinkled in Naomi’s eyes. ‘I’ve something a lot tastier.’

‘You do?’

‘Want to see?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Is it hot, and does it come in a cup?’

‘
Very
hot, and comes in
two
cups.’ Naomi smiled, and slowly began unbuttoning the white shirt of Karl’s she was wearing. Next came her black-laced bra, unhooked from the
front, leaving her full breasts fully exposed, nipples hardening. ‘Irish coffee or café mocha?’

‘Irish, of course.’ Karl snuggled closer, and kissed the left breast gently and lovingly, before coming up for air. ‘
Bonne
bouche
.’

‘I love it when you talk dirty and French at the same time. Whisper more to me,’ Naomi whispered in her lover’s ear.

Despite the pissing rain and shitty weather outside, things were starting to look sunny for Karl. Very sunny indeed. Of course, in his world, sunshine never lasted very long, before it was chased away by darkness and demons.

Soon he would meet an old demon from his darkest nightmares. The most dangerous demon of all.

‘H
ow many Harry Potter books have you read?’ Dorothy asked, listening at the door for any movement from Scarman. Her body was freezing – particularly her tiny toes – but the filthy blanket over her shoulders was at least keeping in a modicum of heat.

Tara ignored Dorothy, all the while chipping furtively at the window’s wooden undercarriage with the cutthroat. She had been making good progress, but had become frustrated by the harder wood bedded beneath the framework. If she could only gnaw through it, she believed the entire frame would collapse, or a good part of it.

‘I’ve read all of the
Hunger Games
books as well, Tara.’

Tara stopped momentarily. She stared over at Dorothy.
‘Do you really want Scarman in here, slapping you about? Or worse…?’

‘I was just–’

‘
Just
shut the fuck up. That’s the only thing you just need to do.’

Dorothy could feel her face reddening at the sting of Tara’s barbed tongue. Tears were welling up, but she willed them away. She wouldn’t cry any more. Not for this cruel girl.

Dorothy was feeling terribly alone now, more alone than she had ever been. She wished she were back home with her family, away from these two monsters. Yes,
two
monsters, because as far as she was concerned, Tara was as big a monster as Scarman. The fact that she had boasted about killing someone only confirmed this. And smiling that scary smile when she said it.

‘
There’s someone coming!
’ Dorothy hobbled quickly across to the mattress, the metal leash attached to her ankle almost tripping her over. She quickly spread the blanket out before tunnelling under it.

Tara was momentarily stunned, haphazardly trying to cover up her work at the window. Just at the sound of the door’s bolt clanging open, she hit the mattress, shoving the cutthroat inside, leaving no time to slip her foot back into the manacle.

Beneath the blanket, Dorothy’s hand gingerly reached out to Tara.

Tara quickly pushed it away.

The door creaked open, and the room filled with heavy breathing, raw with bestial menace.

Dorothy’s hand crawled back to Tara’s. This time, however, Tara took the hand, squeezing it hard in punishment. Dorothy bit down on her lip, trying not to scream out loud.

They listened as soft footsteps walked across the bare floor. Socked feet? Bare? They stopped at the mattress.

The two girls became statues, not daring to breathe. Dorothy’s stomach tightened. Nerves were roiling about inside. She needed desperately to go to the toilet. She silently prayed to God, not for rescue, just don’t let her crap herself on the mattress. Tara would kill her.
Really
kill her.

Floorboards creaked. The sneaky footsteps moved off towards the window. There was tapping on the window frame.

Then silence. Tormenting long silence.

Dorothy’s heart was hammering so loudly, her head began thumping.
What if he can hear my heart beating so loudly? Is he standing there, grinning, knife in hand, ready to–

Bang!

The slamming door shattered the deadly silence, making both girls jump. They lay there, not moving, not saying a word, not knowing if Scarman stood there, waiting for them to make a sound.

God had been good to Dorothy. She hadn’t crapped herself, but she dreaded what Tara would do, once she found out she had peed herself instead.

S
wirls of smoke filled Buster McCracken’s living-cum-poker room, where Karl and a few associates sat studying the cards Lady Luck had handed them. The group chomped and sucked merrily on large,
Juan Lopez
Cuban cigars, provided by Buster, a seller of all things dodgy and illegal. Everyone in the room seemed impervious to the lung-destroying haze issuing from their mouths.

To Karl’s left, Marty Harrington, proprietor of a chain of funeral parlours in the city – Heavenly Harrington’s – placed a tidy sum of money in the centre of the table.

‘It’ll cost you gentlemen another hundred,’ Harrington said, before inhaling on his cigar, sending smoky doughnuts floating into the air. He was smiling like a dog with two dicks.

‘You must have five aces,’ Karl said. ‘That’s the only time you make a bet that big.’

‘Only one way to find out, isn’t there?’

‘Too rich for a poor boy like me, members of the jury,’ said Henry McGovern, a criminal lawyer with a reputation bordering on criminal, and Karl’s legal advisor. ‘I’ll sit this one out and plead no contest.’

‘I’ll leave the bloodletting to you two,’ Buster said, standing, before walking towards the fridge.

Karl sucked on the cigar, cradling the smoke in his mouth. Needled his eyes across the table at Harrington. Harrington tried returning the look. Failed miserably.

‘Is this a staring-out contest, Kane, or are you going to play?’

‘You look nervous, Marty. The last time I saw you this nervous was at Jimbo Cassidy’s funeral, last year, when you had to buy a round of drinks for the mourners. I thought you were going into cardiac arrest.’

‘That’s a load of balls. Everyone knows I pay my way, and generously into the bargain.’

‘Yes, you’d give a poor man the sleeves of your waistcoat. And talking of balls, I went into the chemist yesterday for some deodorant, and the lady behind the counter asked me, “Is it the ball-type deodorant you want, sir?” I looked straight at her and said, “Good God, no! It’s for my underarms!”’

Everyone in the room let out a polite laugh, with the exception of Harrington.

‘C’mon. Stop stalling, Kane. We haven’t all night. Are you in or out?’

Karl looked at his cards. They were shit. Liquorice Allsorts.
Not even a measly pair of deuces. Removing the cigar, he smiled, placed some notes in the centre of the table. ‘Make it an even two hundred.’

Harrington almost choked on his cigar. Looked at his cards. Two pair. Threes and fours. Glanced at his dwindling stack of money. Glanced back over at Karl’s face.

‘You’re bluffing, Kane.’

‘Only one way to find out. Dig into those long pockets of yours, where you have hamsters performing tricks.’

After a tense twenty-second standoff, Harrington sighed and threw his cards down in defeat.

Karl pulled the winnings over to his side of the table.

‘What’d you have?’ Harrington asked, looking disgusted with life.

‘That sort of information will cost you two hundred to find out, my funerary friend. Next time, be courageous in lieu of timorous.’

‘Who wants another Harp?’ Buster asked, tray full of beers in hands.

‘Nothing stronger?’ Karl asked.

‘That’s what fell off the back of this week’s lorry,’ Buster said. ‘Next week, could be brandy – or bottles of Evian.’

‘I was reading about you in last week’s
Sunday Exposé
.’ Harrington said to Karl, while taking a beer from Buster. ‘Still think you’re a teenager, showing off to all the girls?’

‘As your lawyer, Karl, I must advise you not to say anything
that might incriminate you,’ Henry said, smiling. ‘That may or may not have been my client.’

‘Well? Are you going to tell us what it was all about, or not?’ Harrington persisted.

‘Nothing
to
tell. You know that bloody paper, makes it up as it goes along. If it doesn’t fit, they dig a hole and bury it. A bit like your profession.’

‘You beat the crap out of some crime boss from England. Are you out of your head or something?’

‘Or something…’ Karl took a slug of beer. Glanced at his watch. ‘Can we change the subject?’

‘Provided you’re not thinking of running home with all the winnings? We all know Naomi wears the trousers, but it’s only a little after midnight, so why don’t you give her a call and ask for permission to stay out another hour?’

Good-natured laughter came from Buster and Henry.

Karl smiled. ‘If you keep playing the way you’re playing, you’ll be going home
without
trousers.’

More laughter. Louder.

Scooping up the cards, Karl shuffled, then darted them out to the four corners of the table.

‘This is going to be the start of my comeback,’ Harrington said.

‘On a serious note, Marty, I need some information.’

‘Concerning?’

‘Along with ordinary burials, you do a lot of cremating, right?’

‘Roughly forty percent of my business is done that way now, and it’s increasing each year. People are less squeamish about it nowadays. It’s funny though, the way Belfast people think. They’re dead, but they still shudder at the thought of having their bodies burnt. Maybe they think it’s a precursor to where they’re going.’

Harrington grinned. Karl was reminded of Dracula.

‘Is it possible for a body to be totally incinerated? Gone, into thin air?’ Karl asked.

Harrington shook his head. ‘Not even in a high-powered furnace. The average person leaves behind six to nine pounds of ash, depending on body frame, weight,
et cetera
. Perhaps a newborn baby’s body could totally vanish, because the bones haven’t yet matured or become very dense, but I’ve never actually seen that happen.’

Buster quickly cut in. ‘Any chance of hitting all this morbid talk on the head, Burke and Hare? It’s starting to give me the creeps, especially talking about babies like that.’

‘Why’re you asking me all these questions anyway, Kane?’ Harrington asked. ‘Working a case?’

‘Yes, and from what you’ve told me, I’ve come to a dead end.’