Nailbiters Page 8

  It is only after Will explodes that Amy starts to scream. Bits of him adorn the walls, the furniture, and her. Free of the stranger, Simon looks down at his wife. The woman he loved, splattered in redness and screaming. He has done that, and he will do more besides. For he is not really a person at all, is he? He is a number, a tool, a weapon.

  And this is what he does…

  * * *

  Monday morning. G786 called in sick for the last day of the previous week, but he is back at work now. He drives to the offices in his car and parks it in the car park. He takes the lift and walks down the corridor to his office.

  Inside there are three people waiting. A small man with curly hair, a bearded man with enormous ears, and a woman with a long, pointed nose. They are his observers for the day. The man with large ears rises and points to the file at the front.

  G786 sits down and examines the pictures inside. He doesn’t really look at them, doesn’t need to. Just needs a vague idea of the location – that and the piece of material at the back.

  They give him time to look anyway, then the small man closes the blinds.

  ‘When you’re ready,’ says curly hair.

  And he is ready now. Oh so ready!

  They wait as G786 shuts his eyes and rubs the material. They wait for him to join them back in the real world again, for him to open his eyes, tell them the mission was a success. But all he says when he eventually returns is:

  ‘It is done. It is done.’

  Gemini Rising

  Property of the Serial Crime Initiative

  Evidence Log No. 07 – 52 – 1465

  Description: Selected extracts from a journal recovered after

  the fire beneath Yardley Street police station, Norchester.

  Saturday, March 15 – 1980.

  My name is Sebastian Craine Jr, and I’m so alone.

  No, that’s not true. I feel alone, even though there are people around me. Anton, my little brother, follows me around like a lost puppy. It’s quite sad. He’s always done that, even though Mother disapproves. ‘Hero worship’ Father calls it. Intensely annoying, I say… Luckily, he also does what I tell him, so I can send him off on stupid, pointless errands (I’m a patient person, but my brother tests this). Once I sent him off into the garden to count the blades of grass, and he went – he actually went!

  Back to the point of this, my diary. Father was the one who suggested it, ages ago, but I was already thinking of doing something similar. Like I needed to get my thoughts down on paper.

  I’ll start with a little about myself. I’m thirteen years old, I live in a small village called Cambley, just outside Brenton – which is where Father (who I’m named after) works as a doctor at St Augustine’s Hospital. Mother doesn’t work, she just stays at home all day. She doesn’t even do any housework, because we have someone who comes in on a Monday and Friday, a widow called Mrs Thomas. Mother does nothing except play her instruments in her music room: violin, cello, but her favourite is that damned harp. She used to have a career of sorts, playing in an orchestra. I’m not sure what happened, but she doesn’t do that anymore.

  Oh, and she drinks. A lot.

  She thinks she’s good at hiding it, but she really isn’t. I’ve lost count of the amount of times Anton and I have returned home from school to find her passed out on the couch. I’m in secondary, but Anton’s primary school is on the way home. I have to call there so we can walk home together. I make him trail behind me…several paces.

  I quite like school. Well, the learning side, at least. I like finding things out, investigating. I’m good at history and the sciences, but rubbish at maths…and P.E. I hate P.E! Mainly because—

  [Fire damage]

  —enjoy some games. Puzzles anyway, jigsaws, that kind of thing, because you can do them on your own. And I’m into comics, which I buy with the pocket money Father gives me. We have a local shop that stocks the popular ones, though they get them ages after America. Spider-Man, Batman, The X-Men, Hulk. I love them all. I wish sometimes that… No, it’s silly. Just a dream.

  I’m a nobody, just like Mr Gregson says.

  I’m a nobody and I’m so alone.

  I don’t feel like writing any more.

  Wednesday, May 14 – 1980.

  Someone new started at school today. Her name is Lucinda. We were in the middle of English – To Kill A Mockingbird – when our head of year, Miss Berkley (whose hair is pulled so far back on her head she has a permanently surprised expression) knocked on the door and ushered her in.

  Lucinda is almost my height, with auburn hair. She has freckles on her nose and cheeks. Miss Berkley told us who she was, that she’d just moved to the area. She told Lucinda to go and find a seat. The one next to me was free…it always is. Lucinda came and sat down there. I think we’re going to be friends. Maybe.

  But the strange thing is, as soon as I saw her I knew. Even before her sister appeared behind Miss Berkley, so she could introduce her to the class next. Miranda her name is, and she’s the complete opposite of Lucinda. A negative of her. Where Lucinda’s all smiles, Miranda could scowl for England. Miserable cow! She took a seat near the back, glaring at Lucinda as she passed by. Very odd. I’ve never seen any before. I mean, I’ve seen them in photos or on TV, just not in person. Not in the flesh.

  Twins… Lucinda and Miranda. Fascinating!

  But how did I know? How did I know?

  Tuesday, May 20 – 1980.

  I had that weird dream again last night, the one I’ve been having ever since I can remember.

  I’m standing, gazing into a mirror. But the reflection isn’t really me, at least not the me I am right now. More like the me I want to be. My reflection is…more confident looking, doesn’t wear glasses (I’ve had them since I was seven); I’m standing prouder, taller, instead of slumping.

  Usually it’s just staring back. But last night, for the first time, it moved. It pointed, as if it was accusing me of something. Maybe of not being him?

  When I woke up, my covers were tangled and drenched in sweat. I’ve felt restless ever since. Like there’s something I should be doing. I need to do.

  God knows what it is, though.

  Monday, June 16 – 1980.

  Fun biology lesson today, we did ‘abnormally formed organisms’. You know, mutations, two-headed animals, things like that. Really interesting. Miranda calls them ‘freaks of nature’, but then she would, being one herself – ha, ha!

  I like biology. I didn’t like dissection at first, we did a frog the other week. But as Mr Lines pointed out, the natural world is a strange and wonderful thing. Bodies are machines, and it’s exciting to find out how everything ticks. Or doesn’t, if you’ve just cut it up… Oh, you know what I mean.

  I was quite squeamish at first, but put on a brave face in front of Lucy. Now I’m getting used to it.

  I think we have a mouse coming up soon.

  Wednesday, July 30 – 1980.

  Father took me with him into work today, for the first time. Anton was really annoyed he couldn’t come, but Mother told him he isn’t old enough. I think she was happy just to get a day alone with him. He’s her favourite.

  It was Father’s idea to take me. I think he wants me to follow in his footsteps. Well, he did name me after himself.

  I enjoyed riding in the car, listening to the music on the radio – more cheerful than the classical rubbish Mother plays. I couldn’t believe how big the hospital was when we arrived, it’s massive! Father’s a consultant there, he’s told me before. But I got to see how well respected he is by the staff. Maybe even feared a little. That feeling must be nice. The respect, I mean.

  He took me on a bit of a tour first of all and—

  [Fire damage]

  —until later when we got separated. A group of people came past wheeling a stretcher, there must have been an emergency or something, but when I looked up again there was no sign of Father. I admit, I panicked. And I know from talking to him later on that he did the s
ame. Anyway, I went off to look for him in completely the wrong direction.

  I wandered down corridors, searching for him in that maze. Saw signs for departments I didn’t even know existed. Walked past wards full of the sickest people, lying in beds, writhing, groaning. Some looked like they didn’t have long left, kept alive by machines.

  Finally, I backed up through a set of double doors. It was a little darker in that room than the corridor, and when I turned I could see sets of drawers down the sides of the walls, like filing cabinets.

  Something about that place drew me further inside and when I touched the ‘cabinets’ they were ice cold. Then I turned a corner and saw them. Three ‘beds’. Except the patients on these weren’t moving at all. Two were just shapes, covered with sheets.

  One was uncovered. A young man, stretched out on the shiny surface, completely naked. He looked…blue. I bit my lip, but found myself moving forwards, glancing left, right and behind, because I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t even be here. But I’d been left alone…

  So alone…and…

  His eyes were open, not closed as you’d expect. He was just staring up at the ceiling. The closer I came, the more I could see of his injuries. He had some kind of wound on his side, not that big but it had obviously done a lot of damage. There was one on his chest as well, but this had been inflicted afterwards – then stitched up again. I reached out a shaking finger, touched the skin. It was colder than the cabinets.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The voice startled me and I jumped, pulling my finger back quickly. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t get the words out. I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t, and that always terrifies me.

  I turned, slowly, to see a bulky man wearing a blue coat over jeans and a T-shirt. His eyes twinkled when he saw me, softening. ‘Hey…hey it’s all right,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to be scared. How did you get here?’

  I managed to find my voice and explained. He got the hospital to page Father, who came to collect me, glaring at the man – Colin, he said his name was – like it was his fault I’d ended up there. On the way back home Father made me promise not to say a word to Mother, as if I would anyway (I’m not sure whether it was for her benefit, or mine). Father said he knew it must have been a traumatic experience for me.

  ‘There’s no need to be scared,’ Colin had said. But, you know what? I wasn’t scared at all.

  In fact, in a funny sort of way, I kind of liked it.

  Friday, August 15 – 1980.

  I’ve begun studying medicine and anatomy. Father has lots of books on these in his office at home. He’s more than happy to let me read them. I’m not sure whether I’ll be going into that line of work, but I do find it all very interesting, the way—

  [Fire damage]

  —has been troubling me more than seeing that dead man, thinking about those people on those machines. Machines keeping machines – bodies – alive.

  I wonder what happens when you die? I used to go to Sunday School when I was little, Mother took us for a while. I remember the teacher telling us that the spirit goes on forever, that it lives on in Heaven. I’m not so sure, looking at those people, at the man who was dead. What if the spirit gets…wasted? What if it’s just there to keep the machine going, instead of the other way around? Like a battery or something? What if there’s nothing afterwards?

  Anton was a pain again today, but when isn’t he?

  Saturday, August 30 – 1980.

  Been having the dream again…a lot.

  I think maybe it’s because school starts soon.

  Thursday, September 18 – 1980.

  My birthday. The worst yet because—

  [Fire damage]

  —about any of this. I bloody hate P.E!!

  Wednesday, January 21 – 1981.

  That bitch, Miranda!

  She just can’t accept I’m friends with Lucy, even after all this time. Miranda’s the dominant one of the pair, I know that because I’ve been doing some research into their…condition. Doesn’t make things any easier to swallow. It’s like she controls every aspect of her life. Always has done as far as I can see.

  This morning at break time, I was chatting with Lucy when Miranda came along, pushed me over, and dragged Lucy away.

  Everyone laughed.

  Thursday, January 22 – 1981.

  Had the dream again last night.

  Every time I see my reflection now, it seems a little bigger, as if it’s growing. Growing stronger. It’s still pointing, accusing, but it was also mouthing something. That’s new.

  Wasn’t until I woke up that I realised what it had been trying to say, and that scared me so much I shivered.

  It wanted me to do bad things to Miranda.

  It wanted me to hurt her.

  Saturday, March 14 – 1981.

  I’m learning so much from my trips to the hospital. Father thinks I’m studying in the library there, when he drops me off – it is a teaching hospital, after all – but really I’m sneaking down to see Colin.

  He’s worked in quite a few morgues and, strictly speaking, doesn’t abide by the rules. Colin told me once that at another hospital, one he’d had to leave, he let students ‘experiment’ on unclaimed bodies.

  He lets me experiment on them, too – I think partly because of who Father is, partly because he just likes me. Colin lets me cut into some of them with a scalpel. It’s just like in biology really. He lets me see inside.

  They’re so pretty.

  Tuesday, April 7 – 1981.

  Bloody Anton! The snooping little bastard!

  He found my diary. I walked in on him reading it in my room. ‘I…I just wanted to see,’ was his whiny explanation. Looking back, I don’t even think he understood half of what he was reading. I’m not sure I understand it myself and I wrote it.

  I just saw red, I suppose. The next thing I knew I’d grabbed him by the throat with one hand and was squeezing, hard. With the other I’d taken out my pocket knife and flicked it open.

  Then I had a better idea.

  I’ve been wanting to test the limits of how far I could push Anton for some time. So I told him to go and play on the main road.

  And he went! I don’t know if it was because he felt guilty or just wanted desperately to please me, but he actually did it. I watched him through the window as he headed up the hill next to our house, towards the road.

  It was as he stood there, watching the cars speed by, that I had second thoughts. This was my brother. I was about to run downstairs when I saw one of the cars stop. Someone got out, and snatched up Anton just as he was about to…

  That was one of our neighbours, a lawyer called Mr Mowberry, on his way back from work. He brought Anton home, told Mother what had happened, where he’d found him. I watched from the top of the stairs, as Mother slurred her thanks, then clutched Anton to her.

  Father was less forgiving. He spanked Anton, drumming into him that he must not play up there, that it was dangerous. ‘Why on earth did you do it?’ Father kept asking, but Anton just stared across at me when I finally came down, saying nothing. I think Mother caught the glance, though.

  I’m going to need a much better hiding place for my journal.

  The basement, maybe?

  Saturday, May 16 – 1981.

  It happened again today.

  I was visiting Colin when one of the orderlies brought a ‘package’ in. It’s what they call the bodies, I guess so they don’t sound as creepy. He was a tall, thin man, with greying hair. Louis, Colin called him.

  And I knew…as soon as I saw him, from my hiding place (I wasn’t supposed to be there). I had that same feeling as—

  [Fire damage]

  —likes to chat, so I asked about Louis while we were eating our sandwiches. How I knew, I can’t explain – but I was right. And it must mean something.

  Louis has a twin. An identical twin brother called Dennis.

  Sunday, June 7 – 1981.

  I’m not s
ure how to start this…

  I overheard them last night. Mother and Father.

  Mother spent the day playing her music, tuning and retuning her strings using her fork – not realising that the reason they never sound right is because she’s always drunk.

  By bedtime, she was blotto again, falling asleep on the couch. Father sent us to our rooms, but around midnight I heard raised voices. I’ve always found it hard to sleep and even more so since my dream started to change. But I was just beginning to drift off when the argument began. Anton, of course, won’t have heard a thing. Once he’s asleep it would take a nuclear explosion to wake him… (No, not one of those, poor choice of words.)

  Mother had obviously woken, because I heard her slurred bawling quite plainly by the time I reached the top of the stairs, inching down them a step at a time.

  Now I could see into the living room, saw Father had a glass in his hand, half filled with scotch (it took quite a bit to drive him to the bottle, I think because he’s seen the damage it can do at work). Mother was on her feet, without a drink for a change, finger raised and pointing in his direction.

  ‘…always been something not right about him,’ I caught, before Father told her to keep her voice down. Fortunately, I was close enough now that I could hear anyway. I wished afterwards I’d simply gone back to bed. ‘You can tell just by looking in his eyes,’ Mother continued, voice lower but still full of hatred. ‘He’s different.’