Where the Birds Hide at Night (9 page)

‘Tell me, young man,' she said to me, ‘can you tell me where the hat exhibition is?'

‘I cannot, I'm afraid,' I replied, looking around for a directional clue. The old one looked up and squinted at my face.

‘Do I know you? You look familiar.'

Quickly I moved along, not wanting her to associate me with any recent events that had occurred. I was not that person, I was not a part of that.

I kept on going, one corridor leading to another, and yet another. Endless, identical lines of space bringing my person deeper and deeper into the warren of the museum. Eventually I hit a dead end, a sign on the wall in front of me reading “NO WAY OUT. TURN BACK”. I tried to turn back, but felt the uncontrollable urge to push on in spite of the impersonal command. I heard voices behind me, the museum club members no longer talking in unison but trying to block each other out.

‘Reaping Icon is within these three,' one called out. I turned to face them. Three were kneeling down, their heads bowed. The other three were standing behind them, each one holding a knife to the one kneeling below them.

‘Reaping Icon is within us all,' one of the kneeling cried out.

‘We must sacrifice you for the good of preserving the final link.' With this, the knives were dragged across the throats of the three kneeling figures and they collapsed in pools of their own blood. I was stunned into silence, again believing I was probably just watching a horror film on TV as the three slayers proceeded to mutilate the faces of the deceased. Stricken with a detached complacency that I would somehow not be harmed, I lost myself in thoughts of my new hat and could not bring myself to catch a glimpse of any of the faces of the figures – be they alive, or dead. If I did not believe it had just happened, then it could not have just happened. Who did my hat belong to originally? Why had they just left it on the stool? Maybe they'd left it behind by accident and would be looking for it right now. Had I done the right thing by just helping myself to it? Maybe not, but to blazes with them! It was my hat now, and I was damned if I was going to relinquish ownership of it.

* * *

Peter looked over at the three hooded figures and grimaced. ‘You're murderers, and you got away with it.'

‘Ending the lives of the other three was a necessity to try and halt the spread of Reaping Icon – he had destroyed their minds.'

‘Had he?!'

Noose coughed, the damp of the hole affecting his chest. He, beginning to accept Peter's return to life, turned to face the hooded figures also. ‘I remember those three murders in the museum. It was like a sacrifice, the bodies all defaced and dismembered. You're fucking evil.' He scratched his chin. ‘Is that what I'm here for, to be sacrificed?'

‘No, you are here to assist Peter Smith.'

‘Was Reaping Icon in Lucy?' Peter growled. ‘Is that why you murdered her?'

‘We did not murder Lucy. We did warn you, however. We tried to stop the inevitable from happening.'

‘What do you mean by that? What inevitable?'

‘Long ago, a prior life of yours was shown a vision by The Space purporting to the murder of Lucy. Can you not remember? We wanted to stop it.'

‘Then why didn't you just tell me that?' Peter cried out, grabbing hold of one of them and pulling them close. ‘She could have lived, you idiots.'

‘We have failed in stopping the spread of Reaping Icon, but in bringing you back there is hope,' was their reply. Peter twisted the figure he had a hold of around and yanked the hood off. With the head exposed, they turned around to face Peter. It
was
Peter, looking directly at himself. He stepped back from them as the other two removed their hoods to reveal two more Peter's. ‘Our time is complete, we must collectively die.' They each brought out a knife and placed it against their necks. ‘Only one Peter Smith can succeed. Let us end this sick curse.' They dragged the knives across their own throats with a severe force, blood gushing forth as they writhed around in pain and confusion. Noose tried his best to try and stop the blood flowing from one of them, ripping his shirt in half and wrapping it around the wound. It was no good, nobody could help them now. Peter felt empty, like he'd been abandoned in infancy by a troubled single parent. Noose kept valiantly on, soaked in blood and weeping in frustration. Eventually he collapsed in a heap on the floor, pulling his thin sweaty hair off his face and covering his head in blood in the process.

‘How are they you? They were all you!'

‘It's a mystery,' was Peter's quick reply.

‘So what happens now?' Noose sighed, looking up at Peter.

‘We clear your name, and we finally bring Lucy's murderer to justice too.'

Noose stayed in his heap, exhausted. ‘Beth and Dani Henderson were the next-door neighbours of Anna, Lucy's mum,' he whispered, not quite wanting to go down that road with Peter. It had always been a thorny subject, and he wasn't yet sure that Peter
was
ready to accept what happened to Lucy. He'd always been so good at blocking it from his mind and not only denying any part in her life, but also denying her existence altogether. Still, this Peter before him now did seem somewhat more stable than ever before. If that was at all possible. It was rather ironic that a man who'd committed suicide over ten years ago, and had somehow been delivered back to existence, could be stable. But there it was, and here Peter was. Noose struggled to his feet. Peter hadn't replied. He hadn't even flinched. ‘How do we get out of here?' Noose asked him, as if Peter held all the answers to life's questions.

‘I don't know.'

They looked around; there was no door, no entrance of any kind. The only thing apart from the walls was the slab Noose had been lying on. Peter turned to it and pulled at it. It opened on a hinge, revealing a set of steps leading into the darkness below. The two men struggled down them, feeling their way along horrid damp clay walls as they got deeper and deeper. Suddenly the steps stopped and the floor was flat, an inch of putrid still water lying on it. They walked down it, fighting the smell and the squelching, and reached a ladder stretching up into a narrow dark tube.

‘Turns your stomach, this place,' Noose commented, trying to picture in his mind how the figures had managed to bring his unconscious body down here.

‘I guess this is the exit,' was Peter's response as he ascended the ladder, very quickly reaching the top and finding a circular lid above his head. He slowly pushed it open, peeping out through it. It was a grid in the museum garden, and everywhere was dark. Lifting the grid and sliding it off, he got out and helped pull Noose out.

‘So what was it like being dead?' Noose suddenly asked Peter.

‘For me, it's been as frustrating as being alive.' Peter grinned in his old way, and Noose's spirits were lifted immeasurably. He grinned back.

‘I guess I'll be a very wanted man, we won't be safe.'

‘Indeed not.' Peter took in a deep breath of the fresh nighttime air. He caught the sweet scent of the abundant museum moonflowers and for a brief moment thought how wonderful life could be. ‘We need to find somewhere to hide out and get tidied up.'

* * *

Lauren stumbled towards her flat door in her dressing gown, still half asleep and angry she'd been disturbed during some much-needed sleep. Deep down she knew she probably shouldn't even open it, or should at the very least call out and ask who it was, but maybe she sensed who it would be. Noose had escaped from the hospital and it was all over the news. She'd been offered a police guard in case he tried to contact her, but she'd refused. Nevertheless, there was a guard downstairs sitting in his car across from the entrance to the flats. He hadn't given it much thought when two women had approached the building, especially when they knew the code for the door and had gained access. They'd probably just been out on a late night bender, and were finding their way home at this rather late hour.

When Lauren opened the door she found these two women standing outside in the corridor. Well, not quite women, but the dark towels wrapped around their heads and the frilly frocks could have made them look a bit like women from a distance… in dim light.

‘Why on Earth are you dressed like that?' was all Lauren could say. She was too gobsmacked, but not scared, at the sight of Peter and Noose. The latter she had helped build the forensic case against which sent him down for two counts of rape and murder, and the former she hadn't seen for over a decade. ‘And how did you get into the block?'

‘You are even more stunning than when last we met,' was Peter's response. He looked upon her thin frame and strained face, lines beginning to form here and there and her skin that much paler. She was still perfect to him; she always had been. He looked for the birthmark on her neck, and felt he was coming home to where he belonged. But again, Lucy took hold of his mind and shook him. Where truly did he belong? Lucy was dead and Lauren was alive and in front of him. He could remember Lucy now, and with Lauren it was different. With Lauren it seemed to go beyond teenage lust and a coming-of-age search for sexuality. This was pain on top of pain where Lucy was concerned, because although he'd imagined them to be married at the time, he somehow felt it would never have worked out. Deep down he knew it was “young love” and a teenage fling. This made Lucy's life all the more wasted. She had never found that true one in which to spend it with, unlike Peter who now wanted to share his life with Lauren. One life, right here and now, to live out just once with her and never to return again. He wanted to grow old with her and die, and then call it a day.

‘Where have you been all these years, why did you just ditch me from your life?' she shot back.

‘It's complicated.'

‘I bet it is.'

‘Trust me Lauren,' Noose cut in, laughing nervously. ‘It really is.'

She looked at Noose, some of the blood still on his face and hands. Lauren didn't know whether to laugh at the sight of them in dresses or scream for help from the guard downstairs. No, some gut feeling told her she would not be harmed by the pair. ‘You're a wanted man.'

‘I didn't kill them,' he yet again had to cry out, almost ready to just give up and admit to the murders. It seemed that everyone already thought he'd done it, so why continue to waste his energy fighting them? ‘Look, just let us in. We have no one else to turn to.'

Lauren stepped aside, and they went in. ‘You're not the only one on the run. That Alex who assassinated the PM just strolled out of prison. The guards let him go, apparently.'

‘What?' Peter asked her, filled with dread.

‘Yeah, he's got a lot of support. People are saying he was set up.'

‘Reaping Icon,' Peter uttered.

‘Who?' Lauren asked.

‘Things are bad,' he replied, trying to take hold of Lauren's hand. She snatched it away. ‘We've wasted enough time. I thought I'd never get the chance to see you again.'

‘You could have come to see me any time you liked in the past ten years.'

‘No. Really, I couldn't have.'

‘Anyway, how
did
you get in? Security is tight around here at the moment,' Lauren carried on, turning her back and moving quickly across the room to the window. She edged the curtain open a crack and peeped down.

‘I knew the code to the door,' Peter said. ‘I can pull up a lot of information like that in my mind now.'

‘And we nicked the clothes off a washing line,' Noose added.

‘Never leave clothes out overnight!' Peter tried to joke. Lauren was not in the mood. She started trembling.

‘Lauren, are you okay?' Noose asked her, though purposely kept back.

‘Of course I'm not bloody okay. How am I supposed to be okay when you two just waltz back into my life?' Her tear ducts were bone dry, and she paced the room. Peter had a good look around – things hadn't changed since last time he was here. He remembered it well.

‘We kissed last time I was in your flat,' he said to her, pulling up the memory in his mind. He too, though, now held back from her. Their presence was just beginning to sink in. She rubbed at her forehead, flicking the air randomly as she fought these old emotions. ‘We had such plans.'

‘Did we?' she mumbled. ‘Did we?'

Noose coughed to get Peter's attention, shaking his head to try and deter him from pushing Lauren too much too soon.

‘Look, Lauren,' Noose cut in, ‘can we stay here just tonight and get cleaned up? I know it's a lot to ask.'

‘Inspector Noose,' she started, turning to look at him. ‘Whatever happened to you?'

‘I wish I knew,' he sighed.

‘You were so well-loved in the community.'

‘I was? I thought I was a joke.'

‘You were the best inspector that Myrtleville ever had. Now look at you, a convicted pedophile, rapist and murderer. No motive, just pure sexual depravity.'

‘You know I didn't do it,' Noose whimpered, about ready to give in and just go along with what people said about him. He looked for the sofa and slumped onto it, not caring if the dress rode up and showed his hairy legs.

‘The forensic case against you was watertight,' Lauren pointed out, her gaze keeping away from Peter. He just kept looking right at her, no longer in the mood to deny his desires. ‘Somebody must really hate you.'

‘Why would somebody harm those poor girls just to get at me?' Noose questioned, even he finding it difficult to believe. ‘They never even discovered the identity of the woman I slept with.' He rubbed his eyes. ‘Oh for fuck sake, I've just had enough. I really have had enough of everything.' His hands came away from his eyes and he found himself looking at Lauren's carpet. There, amongst the rather worn grey-green flower pattern, was the face. It was looking right at him, smiling. He looked up to the heavens, his fist clenching momentarily. ‘I'm so tired of pleading my case. I just wish I was dead.' Peter, reluctance not even a brief thought, came to sit next to him and put his arm around him. Lauren couldn't help thinking it an amusing sight, the pair of them sitting there hugging in frilly frocks; a smile twitched on her lips and she made the concerted effort to push any further emotion down into the pit of her stomach. There it gurgled and bubbled away, a fierce pain striking her. She mustn't let it show, she thought – she couldn't let this invasion into her focused life cause any upset. ‘I've been so lonely,' Noose sobbed like a little child, grasping hold of Peter's face and drawing it close. He rubbed his friend's cheek and drew it close, pressing his against it. Tears came to Peter's eyes too, and the men clasped each other tight for what seemed to Lauren like an age. Their chests jerked in and out as they let it all out, neither wanting to let go for fear of the other leaving. Noose was the child, comforted by this ceaseless liver of humankind who had returned to him.

‘You turned your back on me, Noose,' Peter cried, turning the tables to allow Noose the adulthood. ‘Last time I saw you, in the hospital, you walked out and left me.' ‘It doesn't matter now, Peter. None of it matters,' Noose told him. Now Peter was the child, Noose comforting and reassuring him.

Lauren was completely at a loss as to what to do. Part of her wanted to drop her wall and collapse into the two men and feel their comfort right now, and yet the mindset kept pushing through to keep her distanced from them. She had kept herself at a distance from everyone these past few years. When she had dropped her guard and let someone in, it had ended in utter tragedy. She wasn't prepared to put herself through that wreck again. Her body wouldn't allow it anyway – its own innate failsafe protected her from even feeling the touch of another being. The dead could not touch her, and this was what made her job as part of the forensics team so perfect. She was utterly at home poking and prodding all those corpses. When it came to the living, hurting, mess that was now on her sofa… Well, she just physically couldn't go to them. To touch the living – to allow herself to embrace and indeed be embraced – was to open the flood defence and ultimately drown again. Too long had she forced herself down this path. She couldn't envisage coming back.