Should Have Killed The Kid (25 page)

The old lady stood near a doorway on the far side of the room. Behind her Dave could see a kitchen.

'Have a seat. You must be fucking knackered.' She gestured at a comfortable looking couch in front of her that faced a couple of armchairs across a coffee table. Dave just stared at her mutely, the horrors in the previous two rooms playing over in his mind. 'I'll get a coffee on. You lot look in dire need of caffeine.'

She turned and went through the door into the kitchen.

Because he couldn't think of anything else to do, Dave obeyed her request. The kid plonked down next to him on the couch and for a second the pair sat and stared, still shocked at what they'd seen. Dave scanned around the room again, his stomach roiling. Another hall led off just to the side of the door Marge had gone through and he shuddered to think what horrors might lay down that way.

A clatter brought his eyes darting back around. He saw the soldier stumble as she backed into the sideboard. The whites of her eyes clear even from across the room as she stared around bug-eyed. Somehow, Dave doubted she'd missed the sideshow in the other rooms.

When she saw Dave, she hobbled toward him, mouthing, 'Did you see?' while feebly flailing a hand behind her in the general direction of the hall.

Dave nodded. He couldn't think of anything else to do. He kind of wondered how he could be sitting so calmly surrounded by corpses –then again it was
just
another horror added to the raft he'd seen in the time since he'd pulled into the Gallo's Hotel.

They stared at each other, uncertain of how to proceed.

'So, I must say it's one big steaming pile of shit you and Monty have dropped us in.'

Dave jumped as Marge abruptly called from the kitchen doorway, a flinty edge to her voice. As though she'd seen what had passed between him and Sally and was going to...

What? What's she going to do?

Looking at her, the idea of physical harm seemed ludicrous even with the three bodies he'd seen so far.

Dave comforted himself with the knowledge that the soldier had flinched too. At least until he realised that the silence had stretched on too long and he should probably answer Marge.

'I don't think–' Dave started to protest, his mind scrabbling to come up with some sort of excuse. The eyes burning into him didn't help at all. At Marge's words Sally's gaze had immediately shifted around to fix on him. It didn't take a rocket scientist to note that suspicion was present in her eyes.

He cleared his throat to try again but Marge cut him off.

'Hold that thought,' she called as the kettle started to whistle. She disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Dave to wilt beneath the soldier's stare.

'What did she mean?' Sally asked evenly, making her way over to one of the armchairs across the table from him but not sitting down yet. Instead, she leant on the arm rest and peered across at Dave.

'What?' Dave stalled, trying to force his brain back into action. Sally was having none of it.

'What did she mean just then?' she pressed.

'She...'

'What did she m–'

Sally's voice cut off as Marge re-entered with a couple of steaming cups.

She dumped them on the coffee table, smiled a slightly disconcerting smile at Dave and then left again.

Dave stared at the cups, avoiding eye contact until Marge returned with two more.

'Tuck in, everyone. You all look like you could do with something hot. This one here's for you, little man.' She held out a cup with marshmallows bobbing in the top. 'Hot chocolate,' she added as the kid stared at it dumbly.

Dave felt like vomiting at how obscenely normal things briefly appeared. It was like they'd just bought their child around for a visit with grandma – at least if you ignored all the blood and grime that coated them head to toe.

The kid looked from the hot chocolate, to the old lady and then back again. Then he held up his injured hand. The blood had soaked through the hankerchief and welled in the palm of his hand.

'Aww, have we got a bit of a boo-boo there?' Marge's voice switched from her gruff and abrupt tone to one that Dave thought sounded stereotypical grandma. It dripped honey as she leaned over the kid's hand, cooing away.

'Ooh, that looks a little nasty. Can't have that, can we?' The old lady grinned at the kid while she unwrapped his hand. The boy solemnly shook his head. 'No we can't have that at all.' The lady beamed as the gash in the kid's hand was revealed. Dave tried not to notice how the red that stained the handkerchief slowly leeched away in the old lady's grip.

'Voila!' Marge ran her palm over the top of the kid's injured one and the gash disappeared, leaving only clear, unblemished flesh. 'How's that strike you then?' The old lady ruffled his hair while the kid stared in disbelief. He raised his hand up in front of his face and turned it to and fro, unable to believe that the wound had disappeared. After a second of staring, a smile even creased the kid's face for the first time since Dave had known him.

'How did you do that?' the kid spoke and once more it was startling. Just like the last time. Dave was so used to him being a mute companion.

'Magic.' The old lady gave the kid one last pat on the head and then eased herself into the armchair next to Sally.

The kid laughed, a quick brittle noise and held out his hand to Dave.

'Did you see?'

'Yeah, I saw,' Dave muttered awkwardly and reached out to snag one of the cups from the table.

After handing one to the soldier – who didn't thank him, just stared flintily – Dave took a sip of his own and immediately coughed and wheezed at the alcoholic burn that ignited his throat. Across from him, the soldier had a similar reaction.

Marge laughed and slapped her knee.

'Ha. Put fucking hairs on your chest or what? Old family recipe, that one. Looked like you all could use it.'

Dave stared into the cup at the innocuous looking brown liquid that sloshed around the rim. It was the first taste of alcohol he'd had since the whole thing started and despite swearing then that he'd never drink again, it fit him like an old set of clothes.

Here we go again. Knew you wouldn't be able to last.
Naomi's voice carried a knowing tone but Dave didn't care.

He pushed it away and took a second, more ambitious mouthful. The liquid scalded his mouth as he gulped it down, the image of Naomi shaking her head at him doing nothing now that he'd got a taste.

He surfaced, gasping, to find Marge peering at him over the rim of her own cup. Something about her eyes made him think that she knew exactly what was running through his head. He didn't know if it was just paranoia, but he couldn't help thinking she knew exactly what effect the spiked drink would have on him. The look made him deeply uncomfortable as Sally finally sat down in the armchair.

The wince told Dave that it was a painful process.

'As I was saying.' Marge kept the honeyed tones she'd used to talk to the boy but her words didn't quite mesh right after she took a sip of her coffee and smacked her lips. 'It's a mighty fine fucking mess all around, isn't it? Was it really that difficult? Knowing the consequences and everything and you still couldn't do it?'

Dave winced and tried his best to avoid the soldier's eyes as they narrowed.

'I don't know that it went quite like–' Dave started to protest.

'Bah,' Marge waved her hand, dismissing the remainder of his sentence. 'I'm just fucking with you. Monty fessed up to what he did. Fucking ridiculous behaviour. Cunt should have known better. There was no fucking way you should have been put in that situation in the first place. Normally it's months before you're even allowed near one of the bluestone rooms... Shouldn't be surprised though, I guess. Poor fucker never was right in the head after that wife of his up and carked it. Hard enough being a fucking gatekeeper let alone being one with without a support group. That takes a... more specialised sort of personality. Should have really seen something like this coming. Hindsight's a fucking bitch, right?'

Marge paused for a sip of her drink and looked Dave up and down.

He did his best to ignore the appraisal while simultaneously keeping an eye on the soldier to see how she was reacting. Her attitude since their words in the car had not exactly been friendly. He couldn't help thinking that she was going to abruptly leap from her chair and throttle him. Screaming:
HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING WHAT YOU'RE PLANNING!

'Still, I've got no fucking idea what the hell Monty saw in you. Don't know why he'd thought it'd be sensible to hand
you
the knife. No offence intended but even in the short time we've been acquainted, you don't exactly strike me as the fucking pinnacle of back-bone.' For just a brief second, a cruel twist worked its way into the old lady's smile as she leant forward and hissed, 'Probably shat your pants when you saw all those bodies, didn't you?' She speared him with her gaze, chuckling. Dave blinked, too startled by the sudden transformation to be really freaked out until a second later when Marge leant back and grinned and he began to wonder if the short interlude had really taken place or just been in his head.

Whichever it was, it chilled him to the core.

There's something not right about her,
he thought and immediately congratulated himself on achieving the understatement of the decade.
Really? No shit. There's two dead people strapped to rocking chairs in her house. A dead husband in her car and you're finally putting all the pieces together, Sherlock.

'What do you mean by it being appropriate to give him the knife?' Sally asked and Dave winced. The saliva dried to a paste in his mouth.

Marge slowly looked from Dave to the soldier.

'She doesn't kn–'

'I told you, remember?' Dave realised he was a little hasty cutting the old lady off but had no choice except to continue. 'Remember how I said Monty tried to get me to kill a child. It was on the drive up and because I didn't, that's why all this shit happened.' Dave babbled hoping it'd distract from what he was pretty sure Marge had been about to reel off. 'It's–'

Sally's eyes shot daggers at him and Dave trailed off when he realised he probably wasn't helping matters. He returned to gulping his drink, seeking comfort in the familiar burn. Whatever was in it had a kick. He already felt a little light headed.

Yeah right, that's the way, hide away in the bottle,
Naomi's voice picked the perfect moment to chime in. Dave already felt horrible. The extra little bit of icing almost brought him to tears.

It took him a moment and another couple of quick sips to shake it off.

'Why are the bodies out there?' Sally inclined her head toward the hall and Dave hissed at the tersely worded question.

Why the fuck would you draw attention to it!

Marge didn't answer at first and Dave felt the taste in his mouth turn progressively sour.

'Come here, boy.' When she did finally speak, her words were not what he expected. She leant forward and held out a hand. Obediently the kid walked over. 'Now what's your name, little man?' she asked and Dave realised that he'd not got around to asking that yet.

'It's Will,' the kid mumbled, distracted as he still kept one eye on his miraculously healed hand.

Dave wished he'd remained silent. He immediately felt something inside him recoil.
You can't do it now, you know his name.

'And do you like cake, Will? I think you might do, mightn't you?'

The kid nodded vigorously.

'I asked you a question–' the soldier started to interrupt.

Marge glared at her.

'I heard you.' All warmth leeched from her voice. 'It's just that some fucking things should not be fucking discussed in front of a fucking child.'

The soldier's pinched features left Dave unsure who the most pissed off one was: her or the old lady. When Sally opened her mouth Dave thought she it was to argue. He could easily see the situation escalating. Neither seemed the type to back down. Fortunately the soldier seemed to think better of it and after a second of glaring closed her mouth again, nodded, then looked away. The muscle in her jaw still pulsed away though, and Dave's unease did not abate one iota.

Marge returned to the kid.

'So you like cake, then?'

Back to the honeyed tones.

The kid nodded, although, by the way he looked from the old lady to the soldier, he knew something was up.

'Well that's just goddamn fortunate as I think if you go through into the kitchen there you'll find a big slice of one right in the fridge.' Despite, his obvious unease, a faint smile played over Will's mouth at Marge's words. 'Yeah, you like that? Well that's fine but you've got to do me one favour first, okay? Yes. You've got to promise me that you are going to eat the whole thing for me. That you'll stay in the kitchen and won't come out until it's all finished. Can you do that for me, Will?'

'Okay.' Will nodded again, though his voice still contained a hint of wariness.