DEAD GONE (28 page)

‘Wait there, I’ll get you a towel,’ she said, closing the door behind her and stepping past him. Rob stood in the hallway, watching as she walked up the stairs. He looked around for anything that may have changed. The same photos adorned the walls, Jemma as a baby, her brother coming later when she was a few years older. Same wallpaper on the walls, same everything. He didn’t know what he was expecting, it being only six months since he’d last been there. Rob just expected there to have been changes here, as there had been in his own life.

‘Here you are, dry yourself off a bit.’ Helen handed him the towel as she came back down. ‘Take your shoes off as well. Remember the rules.’

Rob nodded,
rain outside
–
shoes off inside.
He slipped his shoes off and removed his coat, placing it on the banister as Helen walked through to the kitchen. He followed, sneaking a peek into the darkened living room. No change there either, from what he could see.

‘I’ve put the kettle on,’ Helen said, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. The kitchen was larger than most in the area, Helen’s ex-husband having built an extension a few years before. Every appliance was stainless steel, and expensive. Helen had remortgaged a year or so before, when the ex-husband left. Rob had suggested Jemma talk her mum out of it, but Jemma wouldn’t hear of it. She was happy to see her mum doing something for herself for once.

‘Thanks,’ Rob said, sitting down opposite her. ‘I won’t keep you long.’

‘That’s okay. You seem calm for now. You start shouting and you’re out though. Okay?’ Helen locked eyes with Rob, daring him to disagree. He turned away in embarrassment, nodding his head. ‘Good,’ Helen continued. ‘I’m not having that in this house again.’

An uneasy silence fell, broken only by the water in the kettle bubbling up to a boil. Helen stood up and made tea, placing the cup down in front of Rob.

‘Why are you here, Rob?’ Helen asked, sitting back down.

‘It’s been a while. I thought I’d check in.’

‘Well, it’s all the same here,’ Helen said, her fingers lightly tapping the breakfast bar surface. ‘I’ve not heard from her. If that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I know. You would have told me if she had done.’ Rob looked up at her, hoping to see agreement on that point. Helen averted her eyes. The ticking clock reminding him of the last time they’d spoken in a kitchen. A very different time.

It had been a few months or so after Jemma had disappeared. He’d been a frequent visitor to Helen’s house, growing more and more annoyed about her lack of concern.

Then she did become worried.

Rob knew things had changed. Helen looked at him with different eyes. They screamed suspicion at him.

One day she had flat out asked him if he had anything to do with Jemma going missing. Turns out Helen had heard about the ex. The one who had accused Rob of hitting her and then moving from the area when her lies had become known.

He still got the odd letter from her. Evil rants about him. Drunken ramblings from a bar in a Spanish resort she’d always talked about wanting to move to, he guessed.

When Jemma disappeared, he assumed the same thing had happened. That he’d driven another one away.

At first.

Helen hadn’t listened to him when he explained about the ex. It ended with them screaming at each other in the kitchen and Rob storming out.

‘Yes, I imagine so,’ Helen said, checking the time.

‘Good. So you’ve heard nothing?’ Rob asked.

‘No,’ Helen replied, sighing. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Have the police been in touch?’

Helen stopped tapping her fingers, bunching her hands together. ‘She’s over eighteen so they’ve just stuck her on some list. They don’t care really. Her history …’ She waved her hands instead of finishing the sentence.

Rob shifted on his seat. ‘I’m sure they’ve looked as best as they can.’

Helen nodded, took a hankie out of her sleeve and dried her eyes. ‘I want my baby girl back. She wouldn’t just go like this. Not for this long. I need to say something to you. I’ve been wanting to get this off my chest for a long time.’

Rob braced himself, bit on his bottom lip and didn’t say anything.

‘I never really thought you did anything, Rob. People were saying things, how it’s always the partner, that sort of thing. I should have thought more about it. You would never have harmed her.’

Rob felt a knot form at the back of his throat. ‘Thank you.’ He was aching to tell Helen of what little he knew. He didn’t want to be there, he realised at that point. He couldn’t work out what he’d expected to find. He wanted to say something, but was afraid. He couldn’t jeopardise what little hope he had.

‘I think I may have a lead,’ Rob said, treading carefully. ‘Dan, my friend from work, he’s helped me out a bit. We may be onto something.’ He found the lies coming easily. Half truths, better than nothing. ‘I just thought I’d let you know.’ He picked up the cup, drinking a little.

‘What is this new lead?’ Helen asked, leaning forward eagerly.

‘I’m not totally sure yet.’ Rob replied. ‘It may be dangerous though.’ He realised why he’d gone there now. He was scared of what was happening to Jemma, scared of what might happen to him. He wanted to say much more, but didn’t want to burden Helen. He wanted someone to know what he was about to do, but without putting them in any kind of danger. ‘I just wanted to let you know, in case you had changed your mind. About me, I mean.’

Helen looked at him questioningly. ‘What’s this about, Rob?’ she asked.

‘I can’t really say. But I’ll let you know the second I hear anything.’

Helen kept staring at him, making him shift uneasily as he tried to keep the guilt off his face. After a moment or three, she appeared to have made a decision. ‘Okay, I’m not totally sure of what you’re doing, Rob, but I won’t ask any more. I just have one thing to say.’

‘Okay,’ Rob replied. ‘What is it?’

‘If she’s not in any danger, I want you to leave her alone. I don’t care if you can’t accept that you two were over to her, I want you to promise me that. If she’s making a new life for herself, then let her be. I can accept that, as long as I know she’s safe. I want you to do the same.’

Rob digested what she’d said, knowing almost certainly it wasn’t a promise he would have to keep. ‘Okay, I promise,’ he said without hesitation.

‘And if she’s in trouble,’ Helen continued. ‘You bring her back to me. To us all.’

Rob didn’t have to worry about that one. ‘I promise.’

He left shortly after, nothing further to say. The rain had eased off as he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged towards the station once more. As he got closer, his phone began ringing in his inside pocket. He opened his coat slightly to retrieve it, his heart beginning to quicken as he noticed the Unknown Caller sign on the screen.

‘Hello.’

‘Robert. How are we, this fine night?’

The voice was distorted again, the tone changing every other word. Rob felt his other hand forming into a fist. ‘What do you want? Where are you?’

‘Not important,’ the voice answered. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were keeping to your side of the bargain. You haven’t told anyone of our little chats have you?’

Rob bit down on his lip. ‘Of course not.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. Now, I’d like you to keep tomorrow free, if you would. I think you’ll need to be totally alert for the day.’

‘What do you mean?’

A low chuckle came through the phone, the voice changing from a low-pitched guttural sound to a high-pitched laugh, sending shivers down Rob’s spine. ‘Let’s just say, it’s finally coming to an end for you, Rob. It’ll all be over soon. I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that.’

‘Let’s do this now then. Why wait? Tell me where you are.’ The phone was already dead; Rob stood talking to himself. He looked around, hoping to see the car he’d seen near the Albert Dock again, but the street was quiet.

‘Fuck!’ Rob shouted out, feeling desolate. He wasn’t the one in control, he never had been. He was following orders, and that meant waiting. If he wanted to see Jemma again, he’d have to do as he was told.

No matter what.

He’s dreaming, he knows that. He can understand the unreality of it all, the broken images, the distorted scenery, the blurriness of his surroundings.

It feels real. The anxious, nausea inducing feeling in the pit of his stomach is real. Even in its dream state.

He’s entering his parents’ house again, the silence overpowering him once more. There’s something else though, a different quality to it. He moves towards the kitchen, finding it empty, before turning back to the living room. He can’t open the door. It’s jammed shut. He uses his bulk, throwing his shoulder at the door. His movements are in slow motion as he feels no give to the door. He steps back, examining the door again.

It opened outwards independently as he stands there. He can see his parents, the same as always. The words on the wall aren’t there yet.

Now he knows what that difference is. The silence, not as silent as usual.

It’s because he’s not alone.

The man is still there. Standing in the centre of the room. The man is breathing heavily, tired from the exertion.

He stands in the doorway, looking directly at the man. He can’t move, yet he wants to. He can feel the anger coursing through him, wanting so much to cross that room in two long strides and pick the man up by his puny little tattooed neck. Watch the last flicker of life leave his eyes. Yet, he can’t move. His legs stuck in the same position. He looks down at them, willing them to move, but they won’t comply. He bunches his fists, banging them against his thighs.

Then, he’s not himself any longer. He’s someone else. He’s three and half feet shorter, no longer towering over the man as before. He turns his hands over, staring at the hairless small stubby appendages. And he’s scared. He’s shaking, and can’t move his legs. He can’t run away, he can’t hide.

He raises his head, slowly, afraid of what he’ll see.

The man is using his fingers to write on the wall, stopping every few seconds to procure more blood from the open neck wound on Murphy’s father. He’s whistling as he goes about his work. Happy, smiling.

And Murphy can’t do anything but stand there and watch, as the man uses his father’s blood to send a message to him. To make sure he knows who is to blame.

The man finishes, his white t-shirt now drenched in splashes of blood. He stands back and admires his creation.

And he begins to laugh, quietly at first. Then more loudly, a crescendo of laughter erupting from him. He whispers, his voice slurred.

‘You can’t save them.’

There’s another noise.

Bang.

The man turns, the laughter subsiding, changing to a sadistic grin.

Bang.

He looks down at the carving knife in his hand, and moves purposefully towards Murphy.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Murphy woke up slowly, breathing rapidly as the vision of his dream followed him to full consciousness. The noise was there too. It took a few seconds for Murphy to realise the noise was real.

He stepped out of bed and walked over to the window, closing it over where it had slipped its latch. He ran a hand over his face and checked the time. Four in the morning. Just a few hours’ sleep then. Great.

There was no point in going back to bed, so he slipped on some jogging bottoms and padded down the stairs.

He slumped onto the sofa, moved the photograph album back to beside the couch. He pulled the throw which adorned the back of the couch around his bare shoulders.

He stared through the television, thinking, going over and over in his head what he might have missed.

Ten days, three bodies.

There was something there, on the fringes of his conscious, waiting to be discovered. The answer – how to stop all of this. But every time he tried to access that information, it would merge with everything else.

He thought about ringing Sarah.

He stayed there until the sun began to rise, failing to think of anything other than the images of death which replayed over and over in his head.

Rob dialled and waited, picking at a loose thread on his shirt.

‘Hi, Liz, it’s Rob.’

‘Hi, Rob,’ Liz replied, sounding resigned. ‘I’m guessing you’re not coming in?’

‘Think I’m coming down with something. Like you said yesterday, you know?’

Rob heard a sigh over the line. ‘Okay. Do you think you’ll be back tomorrow? Only it’s coming up to a deadline for first years, and you know how busy we get.’

‘I’ll do my best. I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch.’

‘It’s okay I suppose. Just rest up today. Get some Lemsip or something down you. And get your arse in tomorrow.’

Rob smiled. ‘Okay, boss. Speak to you later.’

Rob stared at the phone, feeling guilty for lying to Liz. He could have told her everything and not worried about her saying a word to anyone, but he couldn’t put her in that position.

It was coming up to eight-thirty a.m. and he was at a loss at what to do. He had no choice but to wait. He smoked, watched TV, researched what being on bail meant on the internet. It was strange to think he was suddenly a ‘person of interest’. The past year, no one had been interested in him.

He busied himself tidying up after the police search. Papers had been strewn around, cupboards emptied and not refilled.

It took up an hour or two.

He made notes. About Harlow, and what he had learned. Jemma, kept away from normal existence, like she was a lab rat.

Rob could kill him. He had no doubt about that. Grab him by the throat and squeeze until his eyeballs popped.

He phoned Dan, just to hear a friendly voice, but only spoke to him for a few minutes as he was off to a lecture.

By the afternoon, he was pacing the living room. A stupid American sitcom which had already been shown that day on the same channel, was playing in the background, but Rob barely noticed. He wrung his hands together and stopped pacing when he reached the window, once more sweeping back the net curtains to look outside. Traffic greeted him from the road, but no mysterious figures. Watching him, waiting.