Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (19 page)

There
were three coffee shops located on the opposite side of the street to Chapman’s
Design Agency, and at eight o’clock that morning there was barely enough room
to breathe in any of them. Most of the customers were in and out within
minutes, grabbing their takeout orders and scurrying off to their respective
offices and workplaces. With all the frantic coming and going, it was easy for anyone
not seeking to draw attention to themselves to blend in with the crowd, which was
precisely why Tom Jackson had chosen a window-stool inside one of the shops to
await the arrival of Sam Railton.

The previous afternoon,
when Charles Holdsworth had fired him and unceremoniously ordered him out of
the building, Tom had headed for the first bar he could find. He wasn’t much of
a drinker, but that hadn’t stopped him from knocking back the Jack Daniels as
if the world was about to end. He’d never felt so humiliated in all his life; seeing
the shock and embarrassment on his colleagues’ faces, their eyes burning holes
into his back as he shuffled out of the office with his belongings stuffed
inside a cardboard box. Tom Jackson, the man who walked on water, disgraced and
demeaned in front of everyone.

How the mighty have
fallen
, he thought, nursing his hangover with a cappuccino
and waiting for Sam to arrive.

Getting fired had left
him well and truly neck-deep in shit. It’s said that the average person is only
two paycheques away from bankruptcy, but for Tom Jackson there was no such
luxury. If he didn’t find another job within the month he would lose
everything: his house, his car; all the debt-ridden trappings of success with
which he had surrounded himself. He couldn’t bear the shame of having to tell
his neighbours that the reason he was at home in the mornings was because he
was
between jobs
. Even if he succeeded in pulling the wool over their
beady eyes, it would only be a matter of time before his loose-tongued wife let
the truth slip. That woman couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.

After leaving Chapman’s
and spending the rest of the afternoon drowning his sorrows, instead of going
home he’d checked himself into a nearby hotel. He couldn’t face breaking the
news to Jane – he needed to fabricate a watertight story before he went
anywhere near her – and it wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to him staying out at
night. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d lied to her about needing to
attend some out-of-town business conference or exhibition, when what he was
actually doing was banging one of the interns from work...or Sarah Railton.

And so it was, on a
miserable, wet December morning, as he sat forlornly in a coffee shop with an
aching head and a mouth like sandpaper, that he could perhaps be forgiven for feeling
sorry for himself. The good times were over, and as far as Tom Jackson was
concerned, it was entirely the fault of one man. And boy was he going to make
him pay for it.

As
Sam rounded the corner and made his way to work, he had no idea that Tom was waiting
for him. Not that he was able to think of much except his grinding headache; the
pain had kept him up for most of the night, and no matter how many pills he
swallowed he couldn’t seem to shake the damn thing off. If anything it was
getting worse, but he couldn’t allow it to get in the way of his first day
back. He knew he would have to smile and suffer the forced pleasantries and
pats-on-the-back from his fellow workers, but that wouldn’t take long. All he
wanted was to retreat to his cubicle and suffer his headache in silence, until
eventually it would hopefully go away of its own accord.

As he neared the glass
double doors that marked the entrance to Chapman’s, someone called out from behind
him. Sam froze. He knew immediately who it was.

‘Where do you think
you’re going?’ Tom said, taking a step closer to him. ‘Off to suck the boss’s
cock again, are you? You back-stabbing cunt!’

Sam refrained from
turning around, doing his best to ignore the butterflies beating their wings
against the lining of his stomach. He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t
want to see Tom Jackson’s face ever again.

‘I think we both know
who the back-stabber is,’ he replied, taking a step closer to the door. ‘You
brought this upon yourself, Tom. Call it karma or whatever you want. The fact
is you had it coming. Now piss off and let me get to work.’

‘You’re not going
anywhere!’ Tom shouted, grabbing Sam by the shoulders and yanking him backwards.
‘You’re going to pay for this, you miserable bastard.’

Sam fell to the ground
under Tom’s strength. Before he had a chance to get back on his feet, Tom was
upon him, straddling him so that he was unable to move. Tom cried out, excited
by his superior power. ‘Look at me,’ he said, taking Sam by the shoulders and
turning him over onto his back. ‘I want to see your ugly face before I beat it
to a pulp. I’m going to enjoy th…what the fu-?’

Sam was looking
directly back at him, only it wasn’t Sam but someone much older. Someone who
looked as if he should have died a long time ago. This…this man…was sneering at
Tom, revealing two uneven rows of discoloured, rotten teeth. Tom retched violently
as he smelt the man’s foul breath, but in spite of all the booze he’d consumed
the night before, nothing came out. It was as if the man’s breath was rushing
out of him and into Tom’s own mouth, pouring down his throat and into his gut
and settling like a dense, poisonous gas. Tom gagged as he desperately tried
but failed to draw breath. He was slowly being suffocated, and no matter how
hard he struggled, he was unable to prise himself free.

As Tom fought
desperately for air, Sam’s eyes began to glow, becoming whiter and brighter
until eventually Tom was no longer able to see a face or anything at all except
a blinding light that burned into him like a welder’s torch. Whoever this
person was – for as far as Tom was concerned it certainly wasn’t Sam – suddenly
let out a huge sigh and groaned. The all-consuming light emanating from his
eyes vanished, and when Tom’s own eyes eventually adjusted to natural daylight,
he was met by the face of Sam Railton gazing up at him with a bewildered, startled
expression; as if he had absolutely no idea where he was or what was happening
to him.

The next thing either
of them knew, they were flung apart by two heavyset men in high-visibility
jackets who’d broken through the small crowd of onlookers. One of the men knelt
by Tom as he lay crumpled on the pavement and shouted for somebody to call an
ambulance. The other man went to assist Sam, but he held up a hand and
resisted.

‘I’m alright,’ he said,
climbing to his feet and brushing himself down. He nervously eyed the crowd of
onlookers, who stared back at him with fear in their eyes. ‘I’m alright,’ he
repeated, hobbling towards the entrance to Chapman’s. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to
the crowd, unsure as to why he was apologising, but somehow feeling that it was
the right thing to do. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have to go
to work.’

The
ground floor reception area of Chapman’s was eerily quiet, which was just as
well for Sam given the state he was in as he stumbled through the doors. Gina
Cartwell – Chapman’s long-serving receptionist and eagle-eyed gatekeeper – was
surprisingly not at her desk, so Sam took the opportunity to disappear into the
men’s washroom without being seen. Once inside, he went directly to the row of
sinks and stared into one of the mirrors, removing his jacket to assess the
extent of the damage.
Could be worse
, he thought, relieved at the
absence of any fresh cuts or bruises. He ran his fingers through his hair and
straightened his shirt collar, turning on the tap and squeezing some liquid
soap from a dispenser; his plan being to freshen up before heading upstairs. He
winced as the soap bit into a cut on his left hand caused by Tom dragging him
onto the pavement. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be any other external
damage. Taking some deep breaths to calm himself down, he put on his jacket and
walked over to the hand-drier.

Despite remaining
shaken by the assault, he was amazed at how well he felt. His headache had
completely disappeared, as had the agonising stomach cramps that had kept him
up half the night. An indescribable sense of relief surged through him, almost
causing him to cry out with joy. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt so
much better. He could only assume that it had something to do with the trauma
of being set upon when he least expected it, something akin to giving someone a
fright to rid them of the hiccups.

Shock therapy
,
he thought, collecting his satchel from the floor and brushing off the dirt.
Apart from being dragged to the ground, he could remember very little about the
assault. It had all happened so quickly. He remembered Tom saying something to
him and then jumping on him from behind, and he remembered the two workmen
dragging them away from each other, but apart from that? Nothing. Nothing at
all.

It’s not important
,
he thought, checking his appearance in the mirror one final time before making
his way towards the door.
All that matters is that I’m here and Tom’s not.

As he left the washroom
and entered the reception area, he was met by the alarming sight of Gina bounding
towards him like a startled rhinoceros.

‘Sam!’ she shouted,
slowing down as he held out his hands and backed away. ‘I’ve just heard what
happened outside. Are you alright? Do you need me to call upstairs for a
first-aider?’

‘I’m fine,’ he replied,
annoyed but not surprised that she knew. Gina Cartwell never missed a trick. ‘Honestly,
it wasn’t that bad.’

‘That’s not what I
heard. A little bird told me that Tom really laid into you.’

‘Well, luckily for me you
heard wrong. As a matter of fact, I feel on top of the world.’

‘Oh,’ she said,
seemingly disappointed. ‘That’s a relief then, I suppose.’

‘It’s good to see you
again, Gina.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, offering
him a half-hearted smile before returning to her desk. ‘It’s nice to have you
back. Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Positive.’

‘Good. In that case,
your presence is needed on the third floor.’

‘Really?’

‘Uh-huh. Mr Holdsworth
wants to speak with you before you see anyone else.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll have to ask him
yourself. Excuse me, Sam’ she said, slipping on a headset and answering an
incoming call. ‘Good morning. Chapman’s Design Agency. How may I help you?’

Sam shrugged and headed
towards the stairs. What did Holdsworth want with him? He couldn’t answer that,
but what he did know was that it felt good to be back.

‘Come
in.’

‘Mr Holdsworth?’

‘Good morning, Sam. Take
a seat. Coffee?’

‘Coffee would be great,
thanks.’

Holdsworth nodded.
‘Clare,’ he said, his finger on the intercom. ‘Would you be so kind as to bring
Sam and I some coffee? Good, many thanks. So,’ he said, returning his attention
to Sam. ‘How are you feeling?’

Why do people keep
asking me that?

‘I’m great,’ Sam
replied, surprised to see Holdsworth’s secretary already entering the room with
their coffees. ‘Wow, that was quick!’

‘Hello Sam,’ she said, smiling
at him as she set the tray down on the table. ‘How are you feeling?’

Sam rolled his eyes.
Just
go with it
, he thought.
Give it a day or two and nobody will notice you
anymore.
‘Very well, thanks.’

‘Glad to hear it. Will
that be all, Mr Holdsworth?’

‘For now. Thank you,
Clare.’ Holdsworth’s gaze followed her as she walked away. Judging by the way his
eyes lingered on her curvy behind, there was clearly far more to her job
description than everyday secretarial duties.

‘You wanted to see me?’
Sam asked, enjoying the bitter taste of fresh coffee on his tongue.

‘Huh? Oh, yes, so I did.
Nothing important. I just wanted to welcome you back and to tell you that I’ve
kept my side of the bargain. You won’t be seeing Tom Jackson around here
again.’

‘Oh. So it’s not about
what happened this morning?’

‘Eh?’

‘You haven’t heard?’

Holdsworth looked at
him blankly. ‘Heard what?’

‘There’s something I
need to tell you, Mr Holdsworth. Something I’d rather you hear directly from
me. Tom and I...we…erm…we had a slight altercation outside the building. About thirty
minutes ago.’

‘Altercation? What sort
of altercation?’

‘It’s no big deal,’ Sam
lied, desperate to play it down. ‘Tom confronted me outside, that’s all. It
only lasted a few seconds before he was dragged away. I guess he’s a little
upset at how things have turned out.’

‘I see. Good God…I
didn’t think he had it in him. Are you sure you’re alright? I mean, if you
want, I cou-’

‘Please, Mr Holdsworth,’
Sam said, a hint of irritation in his voice. ‘No offence, but I’m sick and
tired of people asking me if I’m alright. I know you all mean well, but I just
want things to go back to normal. I just want to get back to work and move on.’

Holdsworth nodded. ‘I completely
understand. I’m happy to leave it if you are, but naturally I’ll have to inform
security. I don’t want Tom anywhere near my staff until he sorts himself out. By
the way, there
was
something else I wanted to say to you. As a matter of
fact, it concerns Tom.’

‘What is it?’

‘No doubt there’ll be
plenty of folk quizzing you today. They’ll want to know all about you and Tom;
why he’s been fired, that kind of thing. People love to gossip. I want you to
play ignorant, okay? I’ll inform the staff about Tom in due course, when things
have cooled down a little. Just go about your business and keep yourself to
yourself. They’ll soon tire of asking you if you don’t tell them anything. Do
you think you could manage that?’

‘Not a problem. To be
honest, I’d prefer it that way. The sooner I put all this behind me the better.’

Holdsworth smiled and
held out his hand. ‘In that case, Sam, welcome back.’