Daddy Long Legs (40 page)

‘Ryan, don’t do this. Please don’t do this,’ Kyle whispered fiercely, sputtering through the petrol. In the corner the child began crying again. He screamed as he clutched the bars of his cage. ‘Don’t do this.’

Ryan walked towards the child in the corner. He poured the remainder of the stark liquid over the boy who was frantically falling about in the cage. ‘It’s time, Kyle. It’s time to end it all. To end what began long before I disappeared into that hellhole.’ In the cage, the boy was screaming with mounting hysteria. He desperately tried to flick the petrol from his body. Ryan walked towards the remaining container. He twisted off the cap. Lifted the container above his head. And soaked himself in petrol. ‘You see, Kyle, I was broken ... and damaged long before that autumn day when you abandoned me.’ Despite the burning liquid, Ryan kept his eyes open and continued talking. Oblivious to the searing petrol. ‘I never had a chance, Kyle. I never ever stood a chance. I was fucked, from day one.’ While he continued talking, Ryan criss-crossed the concrete floor, pouring petrol wherever he went. Kyle frantically shook his head, trying to clear the petrol from his stinging eyes. ‘All I ever wanted to do was to make the world a better place.’ He threw the empty container into a corner. ‘Well, so much for that.’ Through half-clenched eyes, Kyle watched Ryan lift a cigarette lighter into the air. ‘If I can’t make the world a better place ... well then, I’ll make it ... a hotter place.’

‘JESUS, RYAN. DON’T!’ Kyle fought against the ropes restricted him. He screamed with terrified desperation. ‘DON’T DO IT!’

Ryan lifted the lighter higher into the air. ‘Goodbye, dear brother.’

‘RYAN!!’

Ryan lifted his thumb into the air. And brought it down onto the spark wheel.

Someone screamed.

What happened next was straight out of a dream.

Lerato got the message just outside Hope.

She had been conducting additional interviews in Orania. Because of the town’s implicit hostility towards her black skin, she had needed to be accompanied by two white male colleagues. And although she had been burning to make a breakthrough, she had been forced to remain in the background while the two white detectives conducted interviews at her prompting. If she hadn’t been a police officer, she wouldn’t have been welcome in Orania at all.

Then Botha had called one of the male detectives. Human was onto something. The computer unit got a hit on the Facebook lead. They needed to get back to the little town as soon as possible. As the three detectives jumped into the unmarked police car, Lerato wondered why Human hadn’t contacted her personally. She got her answer just outside Hope when an SMS alerted her to a voicemail. Somewhere, on the road to Hope, in an area of poor cellular reception, Human had tried to call her. And he had given her the address.

Rushing back to the police station, she and detective Botha had assembled a quick incursion team. Each member donning a Kevlar bullet-proof vest. This time around, there was no time to wait for the STF team. They had to go at it alone. Clambering into three waiting cars, the team had rushed off the address that Human had provided in the voicemail.

The convoy pulled up just short of the Fifth Avenue address. And using classic tactical manoeuvres , they stormed the house.

Just to find a terrified family inside, cowering against the onslaught of a dozen detectives, armed to the teeth. Confused and frustrated, the group of detectives had gathered outside. Feeling sheepish. Confused.

That’s when Lerato received the odd text message. With a mangled address.

54 5t avnu.

And the single word.

HELP.

‘Oh my God,’ she said pointing into the distance. ‘He’s in that house. Over there!’

The address was just a few houses down. Leaving the cars behind, the team sprinted to the house. This time they were more careful. And acted with greater circumspection. They were going to go in quiet. Via the back. Just as Human had.

Lerato was the fourth detective through the back door. When she reached the hallway, she stopped suddenly.

Petrol!

Dear God, what was going on?

Carefully tracing back her steps, she scanned the kitchen counters until she found what she was looking for.

Up ahead, in the long hallway, there was a commotion.

Lerato rushed forward, ignoring the creaking floor. And joined a group of detectives, crouching around a prostrate figure.

Her heart exploded into a million icy shards.

It was Human. And he was lying in a pool of spreading blood. Badly wounded.

Lerato broke through the cordon of men. And crouched over him, hot tears burning her eyes. Her heart thudding painfully against her chest. ‘Oh my God, Wayne. Oh my darling. Oh my darling.’ She gently cradled his head and planted wet salty kisses on his forehead. ‘Quickly,’ she hissed at a detective, ‘go outside and phone an ambulance. Go!’ The detective scurried along the hallway and through the kitchen. She gently stroked the side of his face unblemished by blood. ‘Please don’t die, my darling. Please don’t die.’ Several of the detectives looked at her with an odd expression. But she was totally unaware. Engrossed in Human’s suffering. ‘I love you. Please don’t die.’

And then he moved. And groaned. Lerato held her ear to his mouth. ‘Go,’ he whispered, so softly she almost imagined she heard it. ‘Go,’ he repeated. ‘Basement. Go.’

For an excruciating moment, Lerato stared at the man she had come to love. Torn between her feelings for him. And her duties as a police officer. She stroked his forehead. And looked at the group of men around her. ‘Let’s go,’ she said softly. ‘Basement.’ Reluctantly she let go of Human and rose quietly. Quickly following on the heels of the policemen before her.

Not a moment too soon.

In a large closet space, they found the entrance to the basement below. Beneath they could hear voices. And screams.

There was not a moment to waste. The advance group stormed down the stairs. With Lerato hot on their heels.

She jumped down into the basement space. She had only a split second. To register the bizarre scene before her. Before disaster erupted.

Kyle Devlin. Tied to a pillar. The Joemat boy, screaming and ranting in an iron cage. And a strange man. Standing in the middle of the room. A lighter in his hand.

Everyone. Drenched in petrol. All. Drenched in petrol.

In front of her, a junior policeman lifted his gun. Pointed. And pulled the trigger.

‘No!’ She screamed.

He was going to kill them all.

She flung herself forward.

Knocked his arm upward.

And in one smooth motion.

Released the knife.

The knife she had gathered in the kitchen.

Released the knife. And watched the man’s finger about to ignite the lighter.

Released the knife.

And watched it ... in s...l...o...w ... motion ... cleaving the air. Watched the knife. Sink into his throat.

And watched him go down. Clutching at his spurting throat.

Kyle screamed.

The boy screamed.

Even Lerato screamed.

****

And then it was over.

And Ryan Devlin lay in the middle of the room, clutching at his throat. Making strange gurgling noises.

‘No!’ Kyle screamed. ‘No!’

A detective rushed forward. And untied his bonds. While another used a crowbar to free the Joemat boy.

Kyle rushed forward. Towards his brother.

With tears streaming down his face. He grabbed his dying brother. And cradled him. Wailing. And sobbing. A little boy. On the banks of the Orange River.

Blood spurted everywhere. Drenching his denims. His shirt. His face. His hair.

Kyle cradled his brother. And held him tightly against his chest. Sobbing uncontrollably.

‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’ He said, over and over and over again.

Towards the end. He lifted his head. And looked at his brother. Watching his ebbing life force.

And then. Right at the end. Their eyes connected

And for the briefest, fraction of a moment. They were two young boys again. Two brothers. Young again. Two best friends. Young again. Forever.

And then Ryan Devlin passed.

Heaven and Earth collided. The veil that separates this world from the next lifted. Momentarily. And a dark tortured soul passed over the threshold and entered the great beyond.

Liberated.

Waiting.

As he watched the life drain from Ryan’s body, Kyle’s face contorted with pain. He looked to the heavens, his eyes flooding with tears. Then he hugged his dead little brother’s body and sobbed with fierce grief, his body heaving with the spasms of his ancient sorrow.

All the men in the room averted their eyes. And turned their backs.

It was over. It was finally over.

Lerato rushed up the stairs. And towards a profusely bleeding Wayne Human. She stumbled in the dark. Just in time to hear one of the detectives mumble.

‘He’s not going to make it.’

The SLK slowly made its way along the four-lane Zastron Street, one of the main thoroughfares in the Free State capitol of Bloemfontein. Behind the wheel of the German luxury sports car, a relaxed Kyle Devlin observed the unfamiliar sights from behind a pair of Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses. Although it was winter, it was a hot day. And the sun infused everything with a glorious luminosity. Yes, it was a good day to be alive.

Despite the insistent American-accented female voice, Kyle glanced at the GPS to make sure he was on the right track. He had passed Bloemfontein on numerous occasions on the N1 highway that hugged the western extremities of the small city – a major artery that ran all the way from the Zimbabwe border in the north to Cape Town in the south – but had never been in the Free State’s biggest and most central city.

On this Friday morning, there was a relaxed atmosphere in Bloemfontein. People from the bigger cities like to poke fun at the slightly bucolic Free State capitol – also the judicial capitol of South Africa and the seat of the Supreme Court – but to Kyle it appeared a pleasant and friendly place to live. Or maybe it was just Kyle’s persistent good mood that made everything appear agreeable. It didn’t matter. Today Kyle felt like more than just a visitor. He felt like a survivor. And a person who was acutely aware of the value of life.

On his right, he passed the Free State University and the famous Grey College High School. On his left were various shopping centre complexes. From the GPS, Kyle’s American girlfriend told him he would soon have to make a left turn. ‘Sure thing, darlin’,’ he replied with a grin.

Kyle crossed a major intersection and then saw the huge complex on his left. Despite his good mood he felt a tinge of anxiety. He hated institutions like this. That would never change. He negotiated the traffic and cut along a small slipway. Then he took another left and waited for the automated machine to dispense his parking ticket. Taking great care to ease his car over the speed bumps he quickly found a shaded parking. He grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat, locked the car and followed the directions to the entrance. In the foyer a large water feature greeted visitors. To his left he saw the ominous sign.

MORGUE.

He sighed and paused for a moment. Then walked towards the elevators.

The days following the harrowing event in the basement of the old Devlin house went by in a kind of a haze. For once Kyle chose not to self-medicate with his favourite Scotch and American Bourbon. He even declined the offer of powerful tranquilisers. It was time he started to process things. It was time to deal with the demands of a sober life.

He had personally made all the arrangements for Ryan’s funeral. There was no reason for an autopsy. Death had been as the result of exsanguination, following a severing of the jugular vein. It was as simple as that. For his tombstone, Kyle had requested a giant marble angel. To permanently watch over his brother’s fractured soul. The funeral service itself had been a modest and intimate affair. Except of course for the hordes of press people that had been forced to cover the funeral from a distance.

And when it was over. It was over. And Kyle knew that he had forever buried a part of him in the hard Northern Cape soil. And that this was the way it should be. At the grave site, afterwards, he had bidden his tortured younger brother farewell. Knowing that he would never come here again. His brother was where he belonged. In his heart. Still pure and untouched by the disease of the world. And then, crouching at Ryan’s angelic tombstone, he had done something so unfamiliar and alien to himself, he had almost shocked himself. Grabbing the loose soil with one hand, and touching the stone angel with another, he had said a prayer. A silent, sincere prayer for the lost soul of his treasured brother. And then he had walked away. Ignoring the throng of journalists and their rude shouted questions. He had walked away. Forever.

Angelique had phoned him in the days following Ryan’s death. Speaking in her clipped consonants, she had tried to soothe him. And offered commiserations. Underlying her careful words was an unspoken hurt. That he had never told her about his brother. And about Ryan’s disappearance in the 80’s. A few weeks before, Kyle would have taken a certain pleasure in her subtle hurt. But now, as he spoke to his ex-wife, the woman he had loved with all his heart, there was nothing. Even the desperation to connect with her that had marked all their conversations since the divorce was now absent. He was surprised to discover that he was genuinely glad to hear that things were going well. And that the pregnancy was proceeding normally. When he had ended the call, he had known that this was also finished. And complete. And that he would never come back. To her.

The next week or so was spent mostly at Odette’s house. Wonderful days, spent in intimacy and sharing. And lovemaking.

Just over a week after his brother’s death, Kyle was ready to leave. And make a new start. Somewhere else. Somewhere new. He had packed his belongings. Settled his hotel bill. And headed for Odette’s house. Ready to be a new man.

In the two weeks since they had re-kindled their relationship, Kyle had slowly been fostering a plan. A vision, really. A bright future that included Odette and her child. And a new beginning in a new place. Maybe the golden coasts of Kwazulu-Natal, a dream destination ever since he had been a child. He had made financial projections and estimates. With more than half a mill in the savings and investments, he could afford to go anywhere. And do anything. And once the house in Bryanston, worth a cool four million, was sold, well ... the sky was the limit, as they say. More importantly, he could afford to take care of her, of Odette, until she managed to sell her business. That morning, as Kyle drove to her house, he felt that their respective destinies, once upon a time so tragically separated, had now finally been re-united. Damn! He felt anything was possible as he pulled up outside her house that Thursday morning, behind the unfamiliar vehicle.

He rang the doorbell. And waited. Until now he had only spoken to Odette of his plans in vague terms. With no particulars. She had neither agreed nor disagreed. But he sensed that, with the promise of their new-found intimacy, he could convince her. And inspire her with his vision of a shared life. And a shared love. He rang the doorbell again. And looked at the car parked in front of his. He didn’t know it. And yet. There
was
something vaguely familiar about it. He rang the doorbell for the third time, becoming slightly impatient. There was so much to talk about. So much to plan. And do. Together.

He heard the door chain being unlatched. A key turned. And the door opened.

Odette was standing in her bath robe, naked underneath.

Immediately Kyle knew that something was wrong.

‘Hi. I was looking so forward to seeing you.’ He leaned in to kiss her. But she turned her cheek. Kyle withdrew, confused.

‘Hello, Kyle.’ Her tone was formal. And stiff. Once again Kyle felt disquiet grow in him.

He ignored his feelings. ‘I wanted to talk to you. There’s so much to discuss. There’s so much I want to tell you.’

In the background, the toilet flushed. Kyle looked at Odette with frowning confusion.

Moments later, Dirk Engelman appeared in the hallway. He was also wearing a robe. Underneath, he was naked. He gave Kyle a triumphant look, underscored by a sneering grin. Kyle looked at Odette for a moment. A hurt look on his face. Then he turned and walked away.

He was down the porch steps and into the street when Odette came running after him. ‘Kyle, please.’ She grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. ‘Please. I want you to understand.’ Kyle said nothing. ‘You’re a wonderful man. A beautiful man. A daring and bold and courageous man. Who can take on the world ... and make a success of it.’ Kyle looked at her, saying nothing. ‘You left here just after school. With nothing. And you went to Johannesburg, and with no-one’s help, you made an incredible success of your life. That’s who you are. That’s what you’re made of. Whatever you’ll do, you’ll succeed. Because that’s who you are, Kyle.’ She paused, looking at him imploringly. ‘But that’s not me, Kyle. That’s not who I am. I was born here. And I will die here. And that’s the sum of my life. And that’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t want anything more. I don’t want anything else.’ She tried to stroke his cheek, but Kyle turned his head. ‘Please understand my darling. Please. I could never be a wife to you. I could never even be a companion to you.’ Tears welled up in her eyes and began flowing down her sculpted cheeks. ‘Not me. Not ever. You need a woman as bold and courageous as you are. Someone who can conquer the world with you.’

‘I had someone like that, Odette. And it didn’t work out too well.’ Kyle looked at her, feeling his dream fade. ‘I just wanted you. That’s all. I never wanted a conqueror.’

Odette began sobbing uncontrollably. Behind her, in the distance, Dirk Engelman stood on the porch, looking on with suspicion and discomfort. ‘When you came back, you made a part of me whole, Kyle. You gave me a dream. The two of us. I finally experienced what we could have had. I finally had the chance to experience my life as Kyle’s woman.’ She tried to stroke Kyle’s cheek again. This time he allowed her. ‘I did. And it was wonderful. More beautiful than I could ever have imagined. More beautiful than I even dared imagine.’ She wiped the streaming tears from her eyes. ‘But now ... now I have dishes to do. And I have laundry to do. And I have a business to run. And I need to get back to reality. And back to life. In Hope. You are meant for great things. And me, well, I’ve got to open shop at eight sharp.’ She tried to smile through pursed lips, stained with tears. ‘Thank you for making me a part of your dream, Kyle. Thank you for making me a part of your life. But I could never be the woman that you need.’

For a long, poignant moment, Kyle and Odette simply looked at each other. A few seconds before, Kyle had been hurt. And even angry. But now he understood. He realised he was standing before a woman bold and honest enough to speak the truth. It was beautiful. It was rare. And he accepted. He had wanted to turn from her. Walk away. And send her to hell. But now, he instead embraced her. And held her for a moment. For an eternity.

‘Thank you,’ he said, kissing her one last time on the lips. If nothing else, he enjoyed Engelman’s fidgety distress on the porch in his pink bath robe. He released her. And looked at her one last time. He would never come here again either. He would never see her again. ‘Thank you.’

‘Go well, my darling,’ Odette said through a fresh torrent of tears. ‘You’re the most amazing man I have ever known.’

Kyle nodded. Stroked her cheek. Then got into his car.

A minute later, he was on the N12. And Hope was forever behind him.

He should have been crushed. He should have been angry. But he wasn’t. Instead he realised he had been given a rare gift.

Ryan was dead to him. Angelique was dead to him. Hope was dead to him. And yet, as long as Odette was in his life, he could never truly sever his connection with the past. And it was the past that had always held him back. It was the past that always weighed him down. And prevented him from being the man he had always wanted to be.

Odette had given him a rare gift indeed. Something that very few people ever have the chance to experience. The possibility of a new life. The possibility of a new beginning. And more. The ability to live free. And to be free.

Truly.

Everybody gets born once. That morning, in the bright light of a Karoo sun, Kyle Devlin was born again. Free.

About an hour later, Kyle stopped along the side of the road. Before he could begin his new life, he had two things to do.

A phone call. And a visit.

He stepped outside his car. Lit a cigarette. And dialled a number in his phone book. A receptionist answered the call. A few seconds later, a phone was ringing in the office of the managing director of Corke Davis, advertising practitioners. Kyle heard a click as the call was answered. ‘Charles Baker speaking.’

‘Hello, Charles.’

‘Well, well, well,’ Charles Baker said, ‘a blast from the past.’ Typical, Kyle thought. He didn’t even have the decency to enquire after the events of the last few days; events that had been broadcast repeatedly across the nation, across the globe. ‘If you’re phoning to enquire about the results of the disciplinary hearing –’

‘Shut up, Baker.’

There was a short rancid pause. ‘Excuse me?’ Baker’s tone was icy. ‘Considering your precarious position here at Davide Corke, Kyle, I would be a great deal more –’

‘I’m resigning my position at Davis Corke, effective immediately.’

There was a pause at the other end of the line. Kyle knew that Charles Baker was disappointed at his words. Well, disappointment was perhaps putting it mildly. From conversations with Thabo and Derek Lategan, Kyle had learned that Charles Baker was staging a full-frontal attack on him, hoping to humiliate Kyle and destroy his position within the agency. ‘Well, Kyle, of course, this saddens me a great deal to see such a formidable talent leave our –’

‘Shut the fuck up, Baker. And listen to me. Listen to me very carefully, because I am only going to say this once.’ Kyle took a languid drag from the Camel Filter. ‘Our good friend John Crankshaw has been phoning me. And he’s very, shall we say, concerned.’ There was an audible intake of breath. Kyle had Charles Baker’s attention. And he knew it. Crankshaw was CEO of Bella Food and Beverages, one of South Africa’s largest conglomerates. And Davis Corke’s single largest client, accounting for thirty percent of the agency’s billings. Kyle’s work had been instrumental in winning the account several years before. Over time, he had built up a solid relationship with the fastidious captain of industry. To the extent that the Devlins and the Crankshaws had become house friends. It was a matter of contention with Baker. As MD of an advertising agency, it was actually
his
job to woo clients and build lasting relationships with them. ‘He’s very unhappy that I have missed the last two
comstrat
meeting. He personally communicated to me how much he missed my input, Charlie.’