‘Who?’ demanded Gareth.
‘I don’t know. I set the car alight and he was standing there. I ran, and he followed me.’
Gareth looked across the woodland as Stephen closed the door and placed the seat belt around his body. ‘You’re sure someone was there?’
‘Yes. I wouldn’t make it up.’
‘I’m not saying that, but you have been seeing a lot of crazy shit.’
‘So you’re saying I made it up?’
From the corner of his eye, Stephen saw a figure standing at the side of the road. He slowly turned his head, seeing a woman in a white nightdress, her body ablaze, her face melting as she stood with her arms out as if pleading for help. He jumped. ‘Shit. Drive!’ he shouted.
Gareth turned to his friend. ‘What’s wrong?’
Stephen pointed. ‘Look.’
‘At what?’
‘You can’t see her?’
‘I can’t see anyone, Stephen. It’s just us.’
Stephen bent forward, placing his head in his hands. ‘I can’t deal with this. I need help.’
‘You’re tired, mate. That’s all. You need to rest.’
Stephen looked back. The figure was gone.
‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ Gareth turned the car around and drove away from the woods.
They were oblivious to the car following them.
On the drive back to Stephen’s flat, Gareth had something on his mind. He’d remembered the road where he’d dumped his own Volkswagen. He had to go back and get it. ‘I have to go somewhere first,’ he told Stephen.
‘Where?’
‘I’m going to get my car back. I know where it is. I remember.’
Stephen looked across at his friend. ‘Do you think that’s a wise move?’ Stephen had flashbacks, remembering the body in the boot of the car that Gareth had stolen off the drive. He couldn’t work out whether his mind was playing tricks again. But he was certain it was dangerous going back.
Gareth was insistent. ‘The tax runs out soon. Someone will call the police about an abandoned car. They’ll put one of those “police aware” signs on the window, and it’ll get clamped. It will come back to bite me on the arse. I’ll have fines, they’ll pile up. I have to get it.’
Stephen pushed back on the seat: the frustration of the last twenty-four hours had taken its toll. He was uneasy going to the place where Gareth had stolen the car, but he knew Gareth couldn’t get there alone. ‘I’ll drop you off and drive this car back, mate,’ he said.
‘I’m sure this is the road.’ Gareth indicated left, and turned the steering wheel gently, guiding the car into the side road. ‘Yes, I can see it further up. Look.’ Gareth tapped the brakes and rolled past the car on the left.
‘Shit. That’s going to cost you.’ The bumper was hanging off the back of the vehicle; one of the corners was touching the road.
They parked Stephen’s car and got out. The day had turned bitter cold, and a stiff breeze hit them as they stood on the pavement. Stephen placed his hands in his pockets, his body was fighting the fatigue, and he struggled to stop the trembling. They walked together to Gareth’s car.
Gareth saw the empty drive on his right; he suddenly got a flashback to last night, parking his car, getting out, racing along the road, grabbing at the door handles of the parked vehicles. ‘This is where I stole the car.’ He looked at the large detached house with the white-painted brick and the glistening marble-style paving slabs. He glanced at the mailbox.
Stephen grabbed his arm. ‘Keep walking.’
Gareth pulled away and stopped. ‘I need to say something. I need to knock and let them know what happened.’
‘You’re not serious? Say what exactly? Oh, hey, thanks for that last night. I’m so glad you left the keys in the ignition. I don’t know what I would have done if the lecturer I’m planning to blackmail had caught me. By the way, you’ll find your car in the woods. Well, what’s left of it.’
Gareth knew his friend was right. There was no way they’d greet him with a welcoming smile, an offer of tea and biscuits. He had to forget about the car. As they passed the house, Gareth looked inside the large, doubled-glazed front window. The curtains were open. Two people were chatting; a man was sitting at the far end of the room, the woman was closer to the window.
‘Gareth, come on. Let’s get the car.’
But Gareth was glued to the spot on the pavement, watching the couple through the windows which were slightly open. Suddenly there were raised voices and an atmosphere of hostility. He imagined the conversation, the husband in turmoil, looking for their car. His wife, sat close, telling him to calm down. It will show up. Worse things happen. It’s just a car for crying out loud.
‘We need to get out of here,’ Stephen instructed.
Gareth was transfixed, wanting so badly to knock on the door and apologise. But his guilt turned to horror as the living room door was flung open. Another woman entered, holding a large object in her hands. She raced towards the woman near the window, raised the object and hammered it down on her head. She lifted it again, struggling to hold it, then dropped it on the woman’s head a second time.
Gareth stood in complete shock. It felt like his jaw had pounded against the ground. His legs went weak, and his world started furiously spinning until he could not focus his eyes.
‘Are we going or what?’ Stephen asked, oblivious to what Gareth had just witnessed.
Stephen felt the surge of electricity pulsating through his neck a few seconds before Gareth. They fell to the ground, and hoods were placed over their heads.
25
The Caller
‘It’s nearly that time, Evelyn. I’ve been looking forward to it. If I’m truthful, I’ve been counting the days, a virtual calendar in my mind, nothing on paper but I visualise the date, hear the page flipping over, as the next day arrives. I’m sure you have too – time to bring the world to rights, rid the trash. I’ve got a good feeling, Evelyn.’
Henry Mitchell stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He gazed at his reflection, feeling every day of his fifty-three years. He still had a thick head of black hair; grey strands were starting to show, the odd wisp. He usually plucked them out, kept on top of them, but today they were determined to work their way through faster than he could deal with them.
He reached for the cup on the stained sink. It contained a couple of toothbrushes, an electric hair trimmer, a nail file and other items which aided in the process of ageing. He worked his fingers into the cup, seeking the small tweezers which had worked their way down the back. Henry brought the tweezers to the side of his head. ‘Bang. You’re gone.’ He lifted his head back, turning to the left. ‘You think I don’t see you?’ He grabbed the small strand and yanked hard. ‘There you go. That’s beautiful. It’s taken ten years off me already.’ He raised his voice. ‘Evelyn, two this morning. That won’t do now, will it?’
Dropping the long strands into the toilet, he yanked the handle. Water poured into the bowl like a cascade, and the cistern screeched as it began filling. ‘Another job on my list.’