Last Days (36 page)

‘No, I don’t know.’

‘It’s messing with your head, mate. You’re starting to freak me out, if the truth be told. I knew this would happen. Knew it. Thought it was going to be me.’

‘Is it any bloody surprise?’

Dan sat down and took a sip from the beer can that looked tiny in his huge paw, and then stared at his feet again. ‘Didn’t have to be this way. We could have blown this off. I bloody told you. But no one can tell you anything can they?’

Kyle stopped listening to Dan; he listened to his own thoughts instead. ‘You saw those things in her attic. France, London, the same thing. And on my bloody kitchen wall.

You’re
OK. It’s me. Me! I’m fucked. I fucked myself.’

317

ADAM NEVILL

Dan looked at Kyle ruefully, critically, like Kyle was embarrassing himself in public after too many drinks.

Kyle stood up and seized the sides of his head. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself. ‘What the hell am I doing here?’

‘Mate, chill yeah. Take it easy. Don’t start with that shit now. You talked me into this. Yeah? Remember that. And I need you to keep it together till we get home.’

Kyle turned on Dan. ‘It’s different now. Out here. A whole new level. I can’t take it easy. Christ!’ He moved closer to Dan, stared into his friend’s big florid face. ‘We’re being tricked. Lied to. This could be some serious shit we’re in now.

That’s what Martha said.’ These people, he wanted to add, these people we are trying to understand would have killed us without remorse. They were people who learned to live without a conscience. Could such sadistic fury be erased even after they had gone? That’s what he wanted to know. Could such a pathological desire for power and control fade like the ink on a police report in some locker, or the pages of an out-of-print true-crime book?

‘But cool it, yeah.’ Dan now looked like he was trying not to smile, which made Kyle’s inarticulate frustration ratchet higher to a place where all control of what he said and did could be lost. ‘Shit! Shit!’ He stomped across the room, took a swing and punched the wall. Imagined it was Max’s little orange head with the Barbie Doll hair. He stepped back, held his hand, bit back on the emotional incoherence engulfing him; a tiny rational part of him warned he might destroy something of value, again. He thought of the mobile phone he’d once smashed against the wall of his flat, and of the splintered laptop thrust deep within the dustbin. ‘Shit.’

318

LAST DAYS

He felt sick, lightheaded, his vision swooped. He’d drunk on an empty stomach. Was drunk. Hadn’t slept in . . . how long? Not for more than an hour or two in America. Not a wink on the flight over. Barely got his head down since they returned from Normandy. How long ago was that? A matter of days. It felt like years. He was coming down too fast.

He kneeled on the floor and bent over, every muscle in his body taut, the exhaustion desperate to come out one way or another and hardly in the way of his choosing. Slapping the carpet tiles with the palms of both hands he shouted, ‘Shit!’

Then looked up at Dan. ‘It’s too much.’ He could not stop himself and began sobbing. He growled back at the tears, but they wouldn’t cease. ‘Too much. I can’t . . .’

‘Mate. Mate.’ Dan kneeled on the floor beside him, but kept his distance.

‘These people. What’s wrong with them? Is this what it comes to? Power. This what it does to us? She bullied them.

Raped them. Robbed and murdered her own people who gave her everything. She slit their throats. Buried them alive for all we know. Why? They were damned as soon as they met her. It’s like Martha said, they were damned.’

Kyle rolled onto his back, kicked his legs straight, wiped his eyes. ‘Is it any different now? People, Dan, they’ll do anything . . . anything for status. Money. The psychopaths we’ve worked for. The stolen ideas. Everyone stabbing everyone else in the back. For what? For some lousy shit that goes on the telly once? Who needs it, or wants it? Whoever asked for it? And why give these evil shits any more attention, eh?

Manson, Jones, Sister-fat-fuck-Katherine? What am I doing in America messing around with their bullshit? Oh, Katherine had her needs. Needs! Had to be adored. Worshipped. It’s no 319

ADAM NEVILL

different now, mate.
Big Brother
. Same thing.
I’m a
twattish
Celebrity
.
Strictly Come
dumb-fuck
Dancing
. On ice!’

Dan started to grin, then laugh, then wheeze. ‘Can I film this? For the DVD extras?’

‘Eh? Is this it, mate? Is this the best we can do? After millions of years of evolution, we start stupid cults of celebrity and feed the egos of maniacs until they take our money, fuck us in the arse, and then cut our throats. We should be cutting
their
throats!’ Kyle felt his rage deflate. He closed his eyes and let the warmth inside his blood take him over. His head spun; he felt sick and opened his eyes. ‘I just think I’m done, mate. With it all. Life. Work. People. The will of people.

The will of them. Christ Almighty.’ He briefly visualized himself living alone, growing his own food, drinking water from a well. He imagined the silence. ‘Maybe I should quit now.

Get the fee. Pay off my debts. And just go.’

‘You’re too sensitive for this work. Always have been.’

Kyle didn’t acknowledge Dan’s remark; he’d heard it, suspected it of himself, and denied it many times before. ‘You know, in the airport, coming over, I watched the people around us.’ Kyle shook his head where he lay on the floor, staring at the polystyrene ceiling tiles. ‘So many of them thought they had an audience. They were performing.

Because everyone thinks they’re on stage these days.
The
Show Of Me
, mate. Facebook. Twitter. Twitter my arse.

Mobile phones? Eh? They’re not for communicating, they’re for broadcasting. Broadcasting
The Show Of Me
. We are an audience to every shithead with an iPhone. I can’t turn on the telly without some silly bitch with big teeth showing off.’

It was the thrust, the constant thrust of other personal

-

ities, the desperate need for attention, for their own reality 320

LAST DAYS

drama, for their own public relations rituals to be seen, heard, remembered. A white noise of self-interest. Sister Katherine was just one endgame in an age of pathology.

Dan’s laughter filled the room. Reaching over, he shoved Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle tried not to smile. ‘But this out here. It’s like the distillation of it all. Where it really took hold. In the sixties. I can see that. Manipulative shysters. Naïve people desperate to believe in something, in someone, to be someone.

Any different now? Who wants to be ordinary? Eh? No one, that’s who. Everybody’s got to be singing or dancing or drawing attention to themselves. For what? Is there really any talent involved in any of it? Anything meaningful? Is anything really thought through? Anything permanent any more?

Does any of it matter? They can all self-actualize my middle finger. All of them. They can blog my arse.’

Dan chuckled. ‘That’s it. Right there. Your final narration before the credits. You need a drink.’

‘I don’t.’ Kyle wiped at his eyes, sat up. He looked at Dan.

‘I’m done, mate. Just done in. I need to sleep. I haven’t slept in . . . I can’t even remember. I close my eyes and I can see the road going through the desert, I can see airport queues, and I’m watching rushes while the satnav is telling me to turn right, all night. Jesus, I’m even scared to go to sleep. It’s like it’s all got inside me. Like I’m involved in
them
now. The way Martha looked at me . . .’ Kyle rolled on to his knees.

Stood up, grabbed the cigarette packet off the nightstand.

‘Her roof, Dan.’ He shook his head. Lit up. ‘The bloody roof.’

Dan shrugged. ‘I’m trying not to think about it. Keeping my distance.’ His eyes were doleful, yet serious. ‘I can’t explain it. Unless someone is messing around with us. And with Max. Drawing those things on the walls before we get 321

ADAM NEVILL

there. Hiding in the cult’s buildings to freak us out while we’re filming.’ Dan held up his hands. ‘It could be someone trying to scare us off. Using some kind of ink that fades under UV light.’

‘My flat? The hotel in Caen?’

‘It’s more believable than what Martha is suggesting.

Because I won’t accept that it’s anything else. I just won’t, mate. It’s the only way I managed to get my arse over here to finish this. And by telling myself that even if hauntings are real . . . I dunno, ghosts, residues, whatever . . . they can’t hurt you. Remember that.’

‘Not even after what you’ve heard from the cops? Emilio?

Don’t you believe that they . . . I dunno, called something out in that mine? In France? Summoned something? I feel silly even using that word, but come on, it has to be something else. Something we don’t have a rational explanation for.’

Dan shook his head. ‘I see it and I kind of accept it. For a while. I know I’ve had a few wobbles. But then I’m back here, or in some bar, and my reason kicks in. Denies it all.

My instincts are telling me to run a mile, but I’ve been getting past that with a bit of logic, mate. Only way I can deal with it. And thank God it’s over.’

‘The shoe? That horrible little thing on her table. Same things were showing up in the desert. The heavenly letters.

What Katherine called them. They must have arrived in the second year in France, the missing year. After Gabriel left.

She brought those
things
over to America with her. Martha said she had a collection of them. They must have started to show up first in Normandy.’

‘Could have been planted. And you’re taking Martha’s 322

LAST DAYS

word for it that it just appeared. She’s unhinged. They all are.’

‘My dreams. You think I’m making them up?’

‘No. But, like I said, you’re into this balls-deep. And I’m not.’

‘Martha has the same dreams. The weird limbs. Being in another body. Seeing things. Why? I’m supposed to be recording this, but it’s like . . . it’s invading me. Getting inside.

Hunting me.’ Kyle crouched down in front of Dan, his eyes wild again. ‘How is that possible? They had visions. In the temples. Now
I’m
having visions. How does that work? And them all dying. Think about it. Susan White. Bridgette Clover.

Eh? Why can’t Max find anyone else for us to talk to? He’s looked, you can count on that. I’ll wager they’re all dead.’

Dan swigged from his beer can. ‘I wanted to walk away from this. And you had your chance. So now is not the time for all this when it’s too late. Try and see it my way. Deal with it or you’ll go nuts. And you’ll start believing anything.’

Kyle grimaced. ‘I can’t.’

After a long silence, Dan smiled. ‘Because it’s brilliant.’

Kyle grinned. ‘It is. The best bloody thing we’ve ever done.

Will ever do. You couldn’t make this up. But . . .’

Dan watched him intently again.

Kyle exhaled a long plume of smoke. ‘But there has to be a line that you don’t cross.’ Kyle put a hand on Dan’s shoulder. ‘It’s what you were trying to tell me. Before. I know.

And I’m sorry. I mean that. Sorry that I didn’t listen. And you’re right, I never do.’

Dan looked down and swallowed. ‘It was Gabriel. You weren’t there. I keep thinking of Gabriel. Crying. His leg in that trap. He might not even pull through. What kind of life 323

ADAM NEVILL

is he going to have if he does? And Martha sobbing in that shitty kitchen. Conway’s face. The way he looked at the dead trees at the mine. The way he was getting himself together to go through that night again, for us. Just for us. Susan White is dead. She actually died while we were making this film, mate. Jesus Christ.’

‘A stroke. You believe that? Bridgette Clover killed herself this year. Recently. Too real. Like it’s happening as the camera is rolling. Like this is live news footage of some atrocity. Not history. It’s supposed to be history. Interviews, locations, narration, speculation, all after the fact. Just like the other films.

But it’s not. So why am I still doing it? So I can win acclaim, get paid, get laid? Like every other tosser with a project out there? Am I exploiting these poor old fools for my own gain?

Am I too reckless and desperate to make this film instead of just acknowledging that we were in danger and should have quit?’

Dan shrugged. ‘I guess we’re telling the story, mate. The one that hasn’t been told, like Max said. And if we don’t do it someone else will.’

Kyle wasn’t sure if Dan was just trying to make him feel better. He didn’t know what he thought about any of it any more, or himself. But he had a horrible suspicion he might have become what he hated. Staring at the end of his cigar -

ette, he said, ‘But who’ll be left to interview?’

Dan raised his bushy eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Martha gave me the business card our predecessor left with her. When he was out here.’ He handed the card over, pinched between two fingers. ‘Old Malcolm Gonal. His number is on there.

Maybe talk to him. About what he found out.’

‘Even he bailed on this.’

324

LAST DAYS

‘Not heard his name for years. He had that hit with
Spirit
.

Did that series called
Voices from Beyond
for Sketchboard in the nineties. Then not much else besides that football hooligan stuff.’

‘It was all shit.’

‘It was. Sacks of it. All the paranormal stuff was faked.

Typical ITV bollocks.’

‘He’s everything I’m against.’

‘He hasn’t had a sniff in years. Must have been skint. This was his comeback.’

‘The money Max is throwing around, Gonal would have killed to get on board.’

‘Finger Mouse worked with him once, few years ago. On some video about a gangster. Said he was a twat.’

‘So why would Gonal walk away from this?’

‘Give him a call, ask him.’

Kyle stared at the business card. ‘I intend to. Better than that, tomorrow afternoon, when we get back, I’m going round to his place. Right before I go and rip Max a new one, and demand some answers about what the hell is going down.’ Kyle took out his wallet, slipped the business card inside.