Fletcher (25 page)

“Come on!” I shouted. “You want me, you can catch me!”

I backed off, slowly, and ducked into the stairwell. The bright lights jarred me but I forced myself upwards, two at a time. The door slammed open again below me and Strauch stared downwards before realising where I’d gone. His voice echoed up and down as he chased me. I did what I could to make my laughter heard.

***

The night was cold and laced with smoke. I inhaled a heady breath of my handiwork when I burst out on the roof. Ten floors, straight up. When all this was over, I intended to sleep for days.

Strauch was still on my tail. I’d made it clear where I was going. He was stronger than me, and better armoured, but he was also heavier. I had to tire him out before I went in for the kill.

I patted the pockets of my coat down to find what I had left. One large knife, one disposable cell phone and one lonely
straitjacket
pill. I stuck it back in the pocket, for later. I wanted to be present when I killed Eric Strauch. I wanted to be aware of the moment.

He walked up the last set of stairs. He couldn’t run them all. The bruise on his neck had darkened to a delightful, massive black-blue blotch. He wiped a hand along his mouth and leaned against the door, leaving a red streak. He was not doing well.

For a while we stared at each other: one gasping and furious, the other still and waiting.

I broke the silence. “I never much cared for the greater good. It’s what I’ve never quite understood about people like you and Vincent. That bizarre concept of ‘greater good’, and how you use it to justify what you do.

“I think it’s bullshit. The way I see it, there is no greater good. In all seriousness, who the fuck cares about who lives and who dies? What does it matter who does what? Who kills whom, who burns whom. I’ve never understood why you need that reason. I don’t understand why we feel the need to justify doing these things. Look at you. You tried to throw everything down the tubes again, all for the sake of what? ‘Cleaning the filth’? Come off it, Strauch. This is about money. This is about you and your insane convictions. What about Rourke and Cartwright? Zachary? His daughter? His family? How the fuck do you justify that?”

He regained his breath, slightly, before speaking.

“Of course you do not understand; you are a monster.”

I pouted.

“Words hurt, you know.”

“This is not about money. I watched Rourke, personally, as he realised what he had done to his wife.
Angel-rage
only nudged him in the right direction, K. Zachary... Well, it is clear who he decided to consort with. And Cartwright was simply an unfortunate case of someone standing in the way of progress. Their deaths do not tarnish my soul any more than they redeem yours. You are not the hero here, or the anti-hero who still saves the day. You are the monster, K. You are just the monster. I will put you down.”

My body tensed and I started moving towards him. Words bubbled and boiled out of my throat. “You call me Fletcher!”

I flicked my left hand upwards, and released a handful of gravel. Strauch cried out and raised his hand, but he was too slow. In two leaps I bounded into him, thrusting the knife at his chest, but he twisted and cuffed me blindly on my right side. My ear stung and my blow fell off target. Strauch rubbed grit from his eyes and snarled.

I met his blade as he swung downwards, locking at the hilt. For a second we struggled, but he was still stronger and I had to disengage with a kick to the shins. I caught a fist with my teeth on the step backwards and skittered away before another could land.

He stood his ground, knowing better than to chase me. I lifted another handful of gravel and advanced again.

This time I hurled half a fistful, keeping the other half locked in with two fingers. His arm snapped up and he blocked it fully, but I threw the second half as he lowered it. Again, his eyes stung and he swung wildly to keep me at a distance.

I jumped into a kick, powering one leg into his stomach. We both hit the ground, hard, grit and stone tearing into our faces. He lashed out and dug into my thigh, sending a jolt of pain through my system. I kicked him in the jaw and he slumped back, dazed. I think I saw a tooth fly through the air.

I pitched myself forward onto his chest and pinned his knife-arm under my knee. With both hands I brought my own weapon down on his face. The tip came to millimetres above his eye before his free arm stopped me. We strained against each other for what felt like minutes. Even with one arm, he had incredible strength. We both grunted and heaved. I tried to put all my weight behind me.

Unexpectedly, he bucked and arched his back, shifting me to the left and letting go of my arm. The blade plunged down and bit past the gravel, sticking in the roof.

Fuck!

I grabbed his head and slammed it into the protruding weapon. The flat of the blade took the brunt of the blow, but the serrations on the edge cut into his cheek. He thrashed again and threw me head-over-heels. I continued the roll and spun on my haunches. Strauch was already standing, knife in hand. He shouted—more incoherent German—and stomped on the protruding handle of my own blade. There was a crack and it snapped clean off, leaving a spike of metal. I stepped back and tried to assess the situation.

He still had a knife. I had a phone and a pill.

And...

I pulled my coat off and continued my retreat, twisting it into a tight cylinder. The phone was an old Nokia, and gave my new weapon some weight. I twisted until the cloth was tight and almost hard. It would have to do. I swung my cosh in circles and glared at Strauch.

“You want to know the truth, Eric? I don’t care for your master plan. I don’t care for the people who will be hurt, who have been hurt, the people who will die. I’m killing you because you decided to make an enemy of me. This is just a pride thing. You could have left me out of it, but you struck out. A bad dog needs to be put down, or else it will bite again.

“I know I’m not the hero, Eric. I’m not Joan of Arc, encouraging the grimy peasants to go to war. I’m not the honourable detective. I don’t need to be any of those things to end you.” I paused. “You’re very keen to point out that I’m not the saviour, that I’m the villain. What you don’t realise is that I don’t give a fuck. I’m whoever I need to be.”

Blood slicked the right side of his face. The cut was deeper than I thought. I lowered my voice and growled.

“Let’s finish this.”

I eyed the steel spike, the remains of my knife. If I could force his weight onto it, it would drive through his chest. He followed my gaze and smiled grimly. One kick of his steel-toed boots, and the blade snapped off. He picked it up and threw it off the roof.

No Chekov for me, then.

I forced my breath out and swung, whistling by his head as he leaned back. He tried to snatch at my weapon, but I was too fast. The skirmish stale-mated for several paces with neither of us committing and neither of us backing off.

Strauch twitched and I snapped, but it was a feint. This time his grab succeeded, outstretched arm catching the cosh. He tried to tug it out of my hands, but I moved with it and crashed into him, forcing his knife arm wide. Teeth out, I lunged for his throat and was met with a stinging blow from his elbow. My jaw burned, and I howled.

I let go of my coat, grabbed for the knife with both hands, and pulled us to the ground. Desperate scrabbling ensued. He also let go of the fabric and used the distraction to punch me in the face, over and over again. I plunged my head into his shoulder to rob him of his angle.

The heat of his body was incredible as we rolled along the rooftop. My hands were sweaty and slipping over his glove, but I threw everything into this gambit. I had to get the knife.

We scrabbled on the roof as I tore at his hands. I targeted the chink in his grip and forced myself in. There was a second of resistance before I got a hold of his thumb and wrenched backwards. Strauch screamed and slammed his forehead into me. There was a crunch and I felt my nose break.

The pain blinded me and I scrambled backwards to wait for it to pass. I forced myself to listen intently and located the sound of his moans. I’d dislocated his thumb, I was sure of it. My vision came back into focus.

His teeth were together, jaw clenched shut to try mute the instinctive screams of pain. I tasted blood when I licked my lips. Strauch lifted the knife in his left hand, tested his grip and growled. In a fluid movement he hurled the blade off the side of the building.

If he can’t have it, no one can. Petty.

My coat followed
suit
. Ha ha. My mouth formed an indignant ‘o’ and I started to run towards him.

“That was my last
straitjacket
, you cunt!”

I powered my legs and drove myself into a spear tackle. There was a satisfying whoosh as I forced the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t expected the renewed burst of ferocity. Strauch went down.

I sat on his chest and rained bloody, knuckled fury on his face. His arms lay limp at his side. Skin split under my blows. The meaty, dull thuds slowly gave way to wet squelches. I kept hitting him until the energy was drained from my body.

Red bubbles collected on his lips. Both eyes were swollen. An unpleasant lump formed on his jaw. I think it was broken. Several teeth were missing. His lip had been split down to the chin, exposing raw gums.

I got to my feet, shakily. This wasn’t over. I grabbed him by the jacket and started hauling him towards the side of the building. He was painfully heavy to my weary limbs.

Distant sirens cut into my focus. During the combat, the roof was my world. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. The outside world slowly materialised to my questing senses: the smell of burning rubble and charred flesh, gunshots and shrieks and the dull boom of grenades, and the cool slick of sweat under the night breeze. The stars were almost eclipsed by the light around me, but they shone dimly in the clear sky. I reached the parapet and hauled Strauch over the edge.

He spoke. “Don’t.”

I didn’t respond. My grip tightened on his jacket. I watched his arms for movement, but they hung uselessly.

“Let me live.”

I didn’t say anything, but a derisive huff escaped my lungs.

“Listen to me.”

I suspended him above a seventy-metre drop. All the protective armour in the world wouldn’t save him.

“Goodbye, Eric.”

“Don’t!”

That goddamn contraction.

It was so far distanced from anything I expected from Strauch. The glacier had melted; all that remained was sloshing water and sea scum. I screamed internally.

“One minute. Talk quickly.”

“Plea—”

“Fifty-eight.”

“Kill me… You have nothing… RailTech will hunt you… They will never let you go. Kill me…and you lose where Vincent was buried. You lose everything. Let me live, and I will always know that you beat me. I will not hunt you down. I will forget you exist.

“Kill me…and you lose any hope of finding the boy.”

The screams and the sirens faded again. I shivered, above and beyond what the cold wind called for. Existence now comprised of Strauch’s mutilated lips.

“Platinum blond. Deep tan. Blue eyes. I know who he is. Kill me, and you lose him. Forever.”

I felt dizzy, a heady feeling of vertigo consuming me. I might have swayed where I stood, but I have no way of knowing. Strauch could lead me to the boy. All I had to do was spare him. A thin rushing sound filled my ears, as if a colossal shell was being held to each one. I felt my heartbeat throughout my body: in my fingers, in my eyeballs, deep in my brain. The camera of my vision focused on Strauch’s lips, reducing everything else to a blur.

“Do not kill me.”

I thought of Valerie. ‘One more,’ she had said. I thought of Vincent. ‘No hard feelings’. Their faces rose from memory unbidden. I thought about that brief hollowness, the empty anger. I thought about the Helix—my home, destroyed beyond repair. Dante and Clarice: my new, tentative friends. Companions, maybe. The loyal army from the Midnight Hour. The grinning flesh that the world had discarded.

I thought about Vincent and Valerie again.

I let go.

Epilogue, Prologue (Epriologue?)

“This is my official audio statement, which will be given to the police shortly. I am K Fletcher. This statement is regarding the death of Michael Kriel. I am currently nineteen years of age. I study at the local university.

“Kriel knew me through a class at the university, basic forensics. I found his presence distasteful and did what I could to avoid it. He was more insistent than I expected, however. He accosted me as I was returning to my residence one night. He had something to show me, he claimed.

“I told him I didn’t have time and tried to move past him. He grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me somewhere, and I just...snapped. Suddenly, he had a knife in his hands, but I managed to turn it in and I stabbed him in the stomach. I stabbed him again, and again, and again.

“I stabbed him until the light went out in his eyes. Blood spurted everywhere. I was on the verge of a panic attack, so I took the weapon and ran. I wrapped anything that might have dripped in my coat so as to not leave a trail. I went home to make this recording.

“I feel... Oh god, K, pull yourself together. I feel... Alive? Alive. Alive for the first time. Something is burning in my veins, part-terror and part-elation. I took a life. Oh my god, I killed someone.

“I killed someone.

“I killed someone.

“All I can think of is doing it again. The rush, the scratch and scrabble of bodies. The adrenaline. I’m still shaking. God.

“I killed someone.

“I want to do it again.

“Fletcher. This is real. This rush, this pounding thrill. This is real. Nothing has felt this tangible before. Nothing. Tonight, Kriel may have died, but you found... Something. You found beauty.

“No, no, this won’t do. This won’t do at all. This is no longer a statement. This is a promise, an oath to Future K. Do not forget this. Do not forget your calling.

“This is it.”