Bedlam (16 page)

“I went where you sent me, Dennis. I spoke to a guy who knew all about me. He had my record on his desk, knew stuff I didn’t even know myself. Why would I make that up?”

“Why would Freidman say you didn’t show?”

“Because I didn’t fucking see him. We’ve already done this, Dennis, and you know what, I’m bloody sick of it. Maybe you made the mistake.”

“I didn’t, Joey. I wouldn’t send you to Gilmour House.”

“Why, because it costs an arm and a leg, and the budget’s already hammered?”

“No, because Gilmour House closed its doors to psychiatric patients twenty-five years ago.
It hasn’t been used or licenced since."

McNeil curled his lips into a sneer. “Yeah, well I’m telling you
it’s open for business now, complete with fresh paint and new carpet. I can take you down there right now and prove it. You want to take a ride in the snow?”

Dennis shook his head. “It’s after midnight, Joey. I think I’ll pass.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you believe it, and at the moment that will have to do. I have far more important things to discuss.”

McNeil narrowed his eyes. He also had far more important things to discuss and he needed Dennis out of the flat so he could begin. Nell was waiting.

“Like you said, it’s after midnight. I think I’ll pass.”

“You don’t get to pass, Joey. You get to listen. We got some additional results back, rushed through, in fact, from the labs. Mather has dipped into the budget in a big way. He’s pulling out all the stops on this one.”

“Oh yeah,” muttered McNeil, “I wonder why.”

“To bury you, Joey. I warned you to watch your back but you didn’t listen.”

“Huh?”

“We ran the blood from Nell’s room. One individual. It matched the orderly’s.”

“So?”

“We ran the blade. No prints, no blood. Clean as a whistle. Not a single trace. The lab guys are telling me that’s not the weapon used to slit the orderly’s throat.”

McNeil shrugged. “That doesn’t make sense, unless he took the real weapon with him.”

“He?”

“Jacob.”

Dennis nodded. “Sure, Jacob … or Nell. Let’s not forget Nell, and of course we only have her word that Jacob exists.”

“So?”

“Then we tested the blade you brought in. It came up with a veritable smorgasbord of matches.”

“Big word.”

“I do a lot of crosswords.”

“Go on.”

“But not the matches we expected.”

“Really?”

“One set of prints. Yours.”

“Yeah, well I did pick it up.”

“Two separate traces of blood. Yours …”

“I cut my hand.” McNeil opened his palm. A sudden image of Nell’s kiss sucked the breath out of him. The wound could barely be seen. He coughed to cover his confusion and clenched his fist tight.
“And the second?”

“…
the orderly’s.”

“That’s impossible.”

Dennis sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s what I thought. Would you care to explain it to me, Joey?”

“Someone is trying to set me up?” Now he did risk a glance at the bedroom door. He wanted to burst right in there and
demand to know what was going on, but instead he focused back on Dennis.

“That’s one option.”

“Just ask the orderly. He’ll tell you what happened.”

“There’s a problem with that.”

McNeil’s stomach twisted. “Shit. Don’t tell me he’s dead.”

“No. He discharged himself an hour ago.”

“I thought he was on ICU, at deaths door.”

“So did
we.”

“What does this mean?”

“For the case or for you?”

“Both.”

“As far as the case is concerned, we’re back to square one. We have two dead vagrants and a missing suspect - Nell. I have no idea what the drugs in her system mean, or what all the shit was at the hospital, but I suspect that you do. Until you decide to behave like a police officer should, I have no option but to place you on suspension. If it was up to Mather, you’d be answering questions under caution. You might yet. Mather wants you in his office at ten-thirty tomorrow. It’s a meeting you need to attend, Joey. I can’t stress that enough.”

“That’s a pile of shit, Dennis. I don’t know any more than you do.”

“Right, so what were you doing up on the viaduct?”

“I told you, I was checking out the crime scene.”

“Yeah? It took you long enough.”

“I … I’ve been having some issues, you know I have. I took some pills.” Dennis’ brows shot up.
“Prescribed pills, Dennis. Maybe I overdid it or under-did it, I don’t know.”

“Prescribed by whom?”

“Dr Richardson.”

“The doctor who doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, he fucking does. He practises from Gilmour House.”

“The conveniently resurrected funny-farm?
Sure he does, Joey.”

“Yes, Dennis, I’m telling you I was there. Richardson does exist. I was in the same room, as close to him as I am to you now. His receptionist is called … fuck, I forget her name, and she wasn’t there anyway, and the lights were dodgy …”

“Joey, you’re not making any sense.”

“No, wait, Dennis, I can prove it … I met him before at the hospital. Check the CCTV. He was there the day I first interviewed Nell, the day I blacked out. I bumped into him in the lobby. I was being an arse. He was being a smug bastard. I wanted to hit him. Check the cameras, Dennis. He was there and he was at Gilmour House. He knows things. He knew about Kit, about Nell, about me.”

“What did he know about you, Joey?”

“He knew about what happened …”

“When?”

“Before …”

“And what happened ... before?”

“I … I don’t remember.”

“Then I suggest you try very hard, or find somebody else who does.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

I am stronger now, and so is he. Armed with the knowledge of his true love’s survival he is now a worthy foe and a far more valiant protector.

He has tasted the blood of battle, glimpsed the horror of defeat, and now it is time for him to step up, to show his true colours to all who play the game.

I will help him, as ultimately he will help me. Honour is a much-maligned concept. Temptation on the other hand is so … tempting. We were destined from the outset, our silken threads far stronger and more tangled than those that bind him to Kit, but by their very nature they are buried deep and only he can uncover them.

Smugness seeps gently into my belly and I make no effort to dispel it. Finally, I see victory as a distinct possibility.

“Be wary, my dear.”

Jacob’s voice is in my head. He is never far away now. He lurks in dark corners, in the shadowy places where righteous people fear to tread. Even now, in this place of believed sanctuary, where the very essence of Kit and her love for Joe is held, I cannot keep him out. I shake my head and concentrate my mind on my goal rather than his, and yet his bitter laughter mocks me.

“Do not forget our agreement.”

He blocks the moonlit window, his shadow depicted eerily upon the wall. I do not waste time wondering how he has tracked me, how he has stolen silently into the room. He is all-knowing. He is a step ahead, always, and I must focus solely on that if I am to bring about his downfall. I hug the covers closer, Joe’s scent my protection against the beast, yet Jacob merely shakes his head at my perceived weakness. In some ways he is correct: I am weaker, not stronger as I smugly proclaimed, my resolve, my single-mindedness diluted by hope. Perhaps it is all part of the game, the double bluff. He invented the game, and in-turn he is the keeper of the rules.

“All goes according to plan?” he continues as he steps closer, drawing the cold of winter with him. He lowers his gaze to avoid the moonlight as he approaches the bed, but in that brief moment I see that he is pale, depleted, and I smile inside. As I fully expected, the wound at his throat is no longer visible, but he has nevertheless misjudged the effects of his outrageous theatre, and now he suffers the consequences. I load that knowledge, like silver bullets, in a gun. He has erred for the first time and I will use it against him.

“He is alone. His superiors suspect him. He is reliant upon you, Nell, and you must now ensure our quarry is herded to the place of waiting.”

I consider Jacob’s request, accept that it is, in fact, a demand, but choose to debate a little longer. To concede too readily would merely alert his suspicion. “He is stronger than you imagine,” I chide softly. “He will not bend easily to your will.”

Jacob inclines his head in agreement and I lean away, seeking comfort beneath the downy cover with its memories of love. Soon I shall have my own such memories to replace the horror that inhabits my soul.

“What have you told him?”

I hesitate, unsure what is safe to reveal and what is wise to hold back. But when the mattress depresses under his weight, and I feel his breath at my cheek, I risk a desperate glance at the door. I have no wish for them to meet here in this place, and I venture Jacob reads my thoughts and agrees, for he leans away and lowers his voice.

“What does he know?”

“Merely that Kit lives.”

“Does he believe you?”

I recall Joe’s desperation, his insistence that I tell him more, and I incline my head in response to Jacob.

“You must resist his attempts to discover her location. You must ensure that he is led there by his own efforts. Do you understand?”

“That may prove difficult.”

“Then I will assist you.”

He smiles. The moonlight catches the whiteness of his teeth and I press back further into the pillow to avoid him.

“He has the means to see the path clearly. His vision, at present, is obscured by confusion and denial.” He reaches out and trails his fingers gently down my arm. “You must ensure that he uses what he has. The boy will lead him to me.”

He grips my wrist and I barely feel his bite, as if he is tiring of me and seeks a more challenging subject. Or perhaps he is merely tiring of the game. I hold onto that hope tightly, though even I know it to be false. Jacob will never give up the prize.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Wake up, Nell. We need to leave now.”

McNeil peered through the darkened room, confusion at Dennis’ revelation well camouflaged beneath his calm hushed tone. He was no nearer working out what was going on around him, or to him, but Nell obviously knew something, and there was no way he was giving her up, to Dennis or anyone else. He’d left her to sleep as long as he could while he’d showered and changed and deliberated on his next step, but he couldn’t leave her any longer. Dennis’ suspicion and disbelief had been palpable. As a friend, Dennis had given him the heads up, the chance to explain and provide a logical explanation for his increasingly erratic actions, and he’d failed miserably. He’d made no sense, even to his own ears. Who would want to set him up? Who would have the imagination and energy to create an elaborate alternate reality so convincing that he believed it entirely? Who hated him enough to do that?

It was little wonder Dennis was questioning his account. If the situation were reversed, he’d have been way past the questioning stage. At the end of the day Dennis was a copper, and knowing the way Dennis worked a case, McNeil reckoned he’d be standing back now and waiting to see what happened. He had to make sure Dennis didn’t see anything.

He reached out, shook Nell gently, and she roused slowly, warm and scented. McNeil let his hand linger on her shoulder, seduced by his own need for sleep, comfort, the safety of the nest. She opened heavy lids and struggled to focus, her pupils dilated, the distinctive violet muted and dull.

McNeil recalled Dennis’ comments regarding the lab results. Although expected, they’d disappointed him. He needed to believe everything she’d told him and now he wasn’t sure whether all she’d alluded to was merely a product of a drug-addled brain.

“Have you taken something, Nell?” he sighed. He shook her more roughly and she peered groggily back at him. “Come on, we haven’t got time for this. You need to get dressed.”

A secret smile played around her lips, and McNeil shook his head with frustration, uncertain whether she’d been playing with drugs or simply playing another game.

He pulled her to a sitting position, and when he pushed back the quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed, she flopped against him, her head on his shoulder, hair against his cheek. He took her face firmly between his palms and forced her to look him in the eye. For once he didn’t avoid her gaze. He invited it. He needed to catch every reaction.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You think this is me?” Her words whispered against his skin, her hair caressed his cheek. He turned with a frown. The window was open, the curtains adrift. Coldness crept silently into the room.

“Jacob? Is this all Jacob’s doing?”

He felt her sag, resisted the compelling need to hold her warmth against him, and lowered her gently back to the mattress. He checked each arm for fresh track marks, smoothed his palm against the soft skin at the crook of her neck, and when he found nothing, he dismissed his own paranoia with a frustrated shake of the head. It was all part of some elaborate game - the Nell show.
Roll up, roll up and prepare to be amazed by the freakiest side-show on earth.
Only he wasn’t amazed, he was scared, scared that he’d be drawn so far into the game he’d end up centre ring, the star attraction, the two-headed boy in the formaldehyde jar.

He crossed to the window. The fire escape was empty, no footprints to suggest there had been an intruder, but he knew someone had been in the room. He could feel evil creeping like a weevil beneath his skin. He closed the window, secured the lock and turned back to the bed.

“Nell, I have to go, and I can’t leave you here, it’s not safe. I don’t trust you, not in this state. You need to wake up now and help me.”

She smiled sleepily, her eyes clearing slowly. “He is near. I feel his presence.”

“No, you don’t,” he answered brusquely. “Snap out of it. I just told you we have to leave.” He crossed to the wardrobe, opened the door and was rewarded as each hanger released the last particles of Kit’s scent like a puffball. He closed his eyes briefly as her love coated him, armoured him and strengthened his resolve.
I hear you
, he murmured silently.
Not long now
.

He reluctantly pulled out some of her clothes and threw them on the bed. “Come on, help me, Nell. You need to get dressed.” He struggled to dress her, forcing unwilling limbs into jeans and sweater, and socks onto tender feet. Like dressing a mannequin, her passive resistance was worse than the wriggling and twisting of a recalcitrant two year old. By the time Kit’s boots were secured and laced, McNeil was ready to slip back off the wagon and hit the bottle.

“Sit there and don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll be two minutes.”

He picked up Kit’s jewel box, took out the bracelet and the photos, and slipped them into his pocket. Nell watched.

“You can’t escape him,” she said. “No one can. He bides his time and waits. He is inordinately good at waiting.”

He slipped on his coat and pulled her roughly to her feet.

“You imagine you know me. I don’t know why or how, but you don’t and neither does he … if he exists at all. I need to know the truth about everything. I have to find Kit, and you’re going to help me, whether you like it or not.”

He checked the street from the lounge window. There was no sign of Dennis. That didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking or he hadn’t left someone else to keep watch and report back. It was the logical thing to do with a suspect, and it seemed he was suspected of something, even if Dennis hadn’t quite worked out what. McNeil got the feeling that Dennis hadn’t quite decided about him and he was being given the benefit of the doubt, at least until his meeting with Mather. It didn’t give him long to find out what was going on.

“We have to leave, now.”

“Where are we going?” asked Nell as he bundled her down the stairs, out the door and into the car.

“To find Kit, while I still can. Who knows, this time tomorrow I could be sitting in a cell carrying the can for this whole fucking business.”

“I told you it’s not that simple. Searching is what Jacob wants you to do, and therefore the very last thing you should do.”

“Then save me the trouble and tell me where she is.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t.”

He started the car and pulled out slowly into the night. He shot a quick glance at Nell when she failed to respond.

“You already know where she is,” she sighed. “You don’t need me to tell you.”

“I have absolutely no idea where she is. If I did, do you think I’d be sitting here now listening to your fairy stories?”

“Yes, you do. You’ve just forgotten.”

“What, you think I had something to do with her disappearance?”

“Yes.”

McNeil shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

Nell closed her eyes briefly and drew in a soft breath. When she re-opened them, McNeil could see that the fog, whether real or imagined, had totally lifted, leaving the violet sharp, intense and calculating. “As I told you at the hospital, you are responsible for all of this. To understand you must go back to the beginning.”

He checked his mirror. There was very little traffic. The snow and the lateness of the hour meant anyone with any sense was tucked up at home in bed. All the same, he squinted at the lights behind until they disappeared somewhere south of the Bedlam turn off. His lip twisted sourly. He was clearly the only person crazy enough to head into Bedlam in the middle of the night. The snow was thickening and the wipers fought to clear the screen. It was unusually harsh weather for November but somehow fitting. It suited his mood.

He turned off the main road and nosed the car down a darkened alley, a rat-run in the true sense of the word. Street lights had long since fallen prey to vandalism, vermin scurried between discarded rubbish bags - all-in-all a perfect place to get to the truth. He pulled in adjacent to a derelict warehouse and left the car idling, unwilling to switch off the ignition in case the temperamental engine failed to re-start. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the photo.

“Okay, Nell, if it’s so important, let’s
do that. Let’s start at the beginning. What’s the significance of the snake? You have a tattoo. Kit had a charm - this charm.” He threw the photo into her lap. The image was distorted by the fold of the paper, nevertheless it could still be seen, particularly by one who knew where to look. Clutched tightly in her outstretched hand, barely visible through the mud and blood, was a small enamelled charm, a two-headed snake.

She picked up the photo carefully and smoothed out the fold with the heel of her hand. Her fingers trembled as she traced the outline of her own battered image.

“Is that how you found me?” she whispered.

“No, that’s how the SOCOs found you before I got there. They thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead.”

“I was.”

“And now you’re not.” McNeil shook his head. “Don’t start with that, Nell. I’m done with the whole
undead, vampire-trippin’ thing. All I want to know is where you got the charm in the photo and what the connection is with the tattoo.”

She raised her wrist and stared at her tattoo as if seeing it properly for the first time. “I’ve always had it, for as long as I can remember.”

“What do you mean, as long as you can remember? How long have you been with Jacob?”

“Forever.”

“All of your life?”

“All of my lives.”

“
Lives?
I don’t understand. Is Jacob your father?”

Nell shook her head and confusion clouded her eyes.
“No … my creator.”

“Nell, I just told you,
forget the riddles. I don’t have time for them. What about the charm? How did you get it?”

“The charm?
I picked it up. It fell in the long grass and I wanted it back.”

“
The long grass?
Were you there when Kit was taken? Down at the canal? Did you see what happened?”

“I saw everything.”

“What did you see?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

“You’re not making any sense. If you saw everything, you must remember.”

“Another
life, and the memories fade.”

“Nell! Cut it out. I don’t understand.”

“You will. Soon.”

McNeil shook his head. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. He didn’t trust himself anymore. Knowing she was withholding information and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it caused his gut to cramp and the voices in his head to scream at him. He could make her talk. He could put his hands around her throat and squeeze the truth out of her. His hands itched to do just that - or he could hand her over to Dennis and let him decide whether she was crazy, or he was crazy, or both.

“You said you wanted the charm back. Was it yours to begin with?”

“No, not mine ...”

McNeil turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“It had served its purpose. I had to retrieve it.”

McNeil frowned. He tried to think back. He couldn’t recall where the charm had come from or how long it had hung from her bracelet, just that Kit was particularly fond of the snake with the purple glass eyes. “Did you give her the charm? Did you know her … before … before she disappeared?”

Nell smiled. “I knew her before. I know her now. I will know her again.”

“Just stop!” McNeil yelled at her. In the confines of the car the force of his voice, the vehemence in the two short words, threw her back in her seat and her eyes widened. “You took her, didn’t you? You and your fuckin’ freak of a boyfriend. What did you do, befriend her, entice her to a spot at the edge of nowhere and steal her away from the life she loved?"

He raised his clenched fist and felt something dark rear up and
threaten to overpower him. The engine cut out with a shudder and silence engulfed the car.

The boy sat where Nell had been, skinny arms raised to ward off the blow. One foot jerked with fear, hitting the glove-box with a rhythmic thud. Cheeks wet with tears and snot, lip burst and bleeding. T-shirt torn, spattered with mud and blood, one sleeve hanging from the seam by a single thread. Beneath, unwashed skin, a scrawny bicep, bruised and swollen, marred with angry finger marks, and at the centre of the battered flesh a twin-headed serpent coiled ready to strike. Fresh blood oozed from every pinprick. Ink bled from the image and stained the surrounding skin.  McNeil heard the child’s words in his head as they tumbled in a broken stream from his open mouth. “I’m
…  sorry … I’m … sorry … I’m … sorry …”

McNeil gasped and felt white hot pain smother the words and strangle his response. He dropped his fist, dragged in tepid, sickly, recycled air-con and felt his stomach roll. Flinging open the door, he staggered from the car, boots sliding in the fresh snow, hands outstretched as he scrambled desperately to maintain his balance. He veered away from a pile of rubbish, painfully shouldering a brick wall in his attempt to avoid the seething mass of rodents that streamed angrily from the refuse.
When his momentum finally slowed he dropped to his knees and vomited.