Dead Night (6 page)

His hands were outstretched as he clutched blindly at the air.

“Help me!” he screamed. “He’s burnt my eyes out!”

Not being able to comprehend what I was seeing, I glanced back over my shoulder to Marty – the other Marty – sitting and grinning back at me from the edge of the bed.

“Marty?” I whispered at him.

Chuckling to himself, he looked at me, his eyes spinning like two Catherine Wheels in his face. “Oh, Sophie,” he smiled and clapped his hands together.

The sound of screeching brakes from outside made me turn back to the window. With my hands clasped to my face, I watched the blind Marty corkscrew into the air as an oncoming car smashed into him. With his arms flapping like wings on either side of him, Marty seemed to float in the air forever, until he hit the road with a sickening thud. I span around and looked back into the room, but Marty had gone, and in his place stood a giant. Standing at least seven foot tall, he was nothing more than a thin sheet of flesh wrapped around a pile of bones. His face was long and pointed, his cheeks and eye sockets sunk deep into his face. He wore a blue denim shirt, loose-fitting jeans, and a navy blue baseball cap on his head. A red bandanna was tied about his scrawny throat. His lips looked cracked and dry, and as he smiled at me, I could see a black set of fleshy gums and a row of smashed teeth that looked as if he had been chewing on a mouthful of toffees. But it was his eyes. They almost seemed to spin in their sockets like fireworks on bonfire night.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he smiled as he headed for the door. “You won’t remember me.”

Looking at his freaky form, I said, “I won’t forget you.”

At the door, he turned back, and with his lips looking so thin that they looked like a crack in a plate, and his seething eyes boring into mine, he said, “Sophie, you seemed to have forgotten so much already.”

Then, he was gone, and I was standing alone in the bedroom that I had once shared with...

“Marty?” I gasped. He had been trying to get it on with me – kissing me – and I’d told him to piss off. Then what had happened? I looked at the dishevelled bed. I’d pushed him off me and he had run from the room.

“What a pig!” I snapped, taking a small holdall from the bottom of the wardrobe. Not really knowing what I was doing or why I was doing it, I snatched up a shoebox that was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and along with Marty’s iPod, I placed them into the holdall.

“I can’t believe it!” I fumed as I headed down the stairs. “How dare Marty think I would just jump straight back into bed with him!”

At the foot of the stairs, I saw that the front door was hanging from its hinges like a wobbly tooth. “Marty?” I called out. “Where are you?” I was still mad at him for trying to get it on with me, but something told me that there was something wrong with this picture.

The
whoop-whoop
sound of approaching sirens filled the air outside. Still clutching the holdall, I made my way from the house and into the street. A small gathering of people were at the kerb. I eased my way amongst them and to my shock, I could see Marty lying in the street, one side of his head popped open like an overripe melon. Blood gushed from the hole and turned the street black. Marty’s eyes were open and they looked blankly up at the sky.

“Marty!” I cried and went to him, kneeling at his side. “Marty, what happened?” As I leant over him, I couldn’t help but notice what looked like scorch marks around his eyes.

The sound of sirens was deafening now as several police cars turned into the street and came to a screeching halt. Those who had gathered around Marty dispersed like people did when police arrived. I stayed beside Marty, and even though I knew he was dead, I wasn’t going to leave him.

“All citizens are to clear the street!” a police officer ordered through a speaker attached to the police car. “Clear the street!”

Looking up, I could see that I was now alone with Marty. The doors to the lead police car swung open and two officers got out. They were huge, wedged into their military-style uniforms.

“Move away from the body,” one of them barked as he came towards me, a long, black pointed Taser in his hand.

“He was my friend,” I said, trying to fight back the tears standing in my eyes.

“Get away from the body,” the cop ordered again, firing up his Taser stick. Blue and mauve sparks sizzled and crackled from the end of it.

“Please,” I started, hoping to reason with what was left of the human soul hidden beneath the skin. I looked up into the Skin-walker’s eyes.

Then, looking down at me, the officer said, “I know you. You gave me the slip last night on the way back from the morgue. We’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

Recognising the officer, I looked away as if trying to hide my face, but I knew it was too late for that. “I think you must be mis -”

“You’re under arrest,” the officer barked before I’d even had the chance to finish.

“For what?” I asked him, hearing the sound of other officers approaching me from all sides, their Taser-sticks crackling.

“For theft of evidence relating to murder,”

the officer said.

“What evidence?” I asked, although I knew he was talking about the blood – the blood that was lying in the holdall by my side.

But when the officer spoke again, he didn’t accuse me of stealing the blood; he accused me of stealing something far more bizarre and insane.

“You stole the body of that young woman,” he said, dragging me to my feet. His grip was strong, and I could feel his fingernails sinking into the flesh of my upper arm.

“Are you kidding me?” I gasped. “How in the hell did I steal that body? What did I do, stuff her up my sweater?”

“You had accomplices who came in and took her body away...”

“Accomplices?” I spat as he dragged me towards one of the parked police cars. I gripped the holdall, refusing to let go of it. “Ask the lab technician and that other copper – the one with the broken legs.”

“Impossible,” the officer growled. “Both of them are dead.”

“Dead?” I breathed. “How?”

“Sergeant Banks died of his injuries,” the officer said, steering me towards the rear door of his police car.

“People don’t die of a broken leg,” I said, trying to resist as he forced me onto the back seat of the car.

“He did,” the officer snapped at me, his eyes glowing bright.

“And the other one?” I asked him. “What happened to him?”

“Suicide,” he replied. “Very sad.

Whatever he witnessed in that morgue disturbed his mind so much that he...”

“This is bullshit!” I yelled, knowing that I was being lied to. I didn’t trust Skin-walkers at the best of times – let alone one in a police uniform.

Drawing my knee back, I kicked out at the door as he tried to close it on me. Then, there was a burning sensation which travelled up the length of my leg. I jerked my leg backwards and cried out in pain. The cop waved his Taser-stick in front of my face and with a look of hatred for me, he said, “Next time I’ll zap you straight in the face.”

With tears streaming down my face, I curled up on the backseat and held my leg. The pain was excruciating and made me feel sick. The smell of burnt flesh filled the car. I heard the officer climb into the front seat and fire up the engine. Another climbed in beside him, but I was in so much pain, I didn’t even look up.

“What about Marty?” I said through gritted teeth.

“Marty?” the happy-zapper officer said.

“My friend,” I whispered.

“The guy you murdered, you mean?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder at me.

“I didn’t murder him!” I groaned, the pain in my leg sapping any fight I had left in me.

“Not what several witnesses have told us,” he said, pulling away from the kerb.

“Apparently you pushed him right out in front of that car.”

“They’re talking shit,” I whined, holding my leg.

“And you’re in it,” the officer said, and the other copper laughed.

Potter

I must have been mad to even consider the idea of going in search of Sophie. What was wrong with me, for crying out loud? It was like I was in some kind of emotional shoot-out or something. Part of me was glad that she hadn’t been home. But there was that other part – the part that feared for her safety. Sophie’s father said that others had come looking for her and that they’d been killers. Why would these people be looking for her? What kind of life was she leading now in this world that had been
pushed
? Sophie had been the kind of girl who wouldn’t have said shit even if her mouth had been full of it – so how had she got herself into trouble? And what kind of trouble was she in?

Was it my problem? No – not really. We had been lovers once and I had been in love with her – but she had rejected me. Even when I’d left her bedroom that night, as she lay screaming and petrified of me, I hadn’t been able to forget – not at first, anyway. As I had crisscrossed the country picking up the odd job here and there and sleeping in cheap motels, I had written to her. In each letter I had explained in the best way I could – and I wasn’t very good with words – how much she had meant to me and how sorry I was for scaring her.

But Sophie never replied once. She made it clear that she didn’t want anything more to do with me.

So why should I go and get myself into a heap of shit for her now? I attracted shit like a cow’s arse attracted flies and I didn’t need it, not now. I was meant to keep my head down in this new world.

Kiera had said that – and she was right.

Kiera! What about Kiera? She needed my help more than Sophie did. I needed her help too.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have left the manor? Kiera and I were a team now – we always had been. I turned my back on Sophie’s home once and for all, knowing I would never mention that I had come looking for Sophie – whatever my true reasons had been for doing so. Then, leaping into the air, my wings shot from my back and I raced into the cold, winter sky. I didn’t head straight for Hallowed Manor; I was going to take a detour first.

Kiera had stuff that she wanted, especially her police badge more than anything. So banking right, I headed in the direction of Havensfield.

I knew Kiera’s home address, but I had never been there. She had spoken about her flat to me many times, talking about her comfy armchair placed by the window so she could sit and watch people pass by in the street below. Kiera had told me about the thousands of newspaper clippings that covered her living room wall. As I flew nearer to Havensfield, my curiosity grew about how Kiera had lived and what her life had been like before leaving for The Ragged Cove.

The streets of Havensfield were deserted, and just a few houses still had lights shining within them. It was late; I didn’t know how late, but I guessed that most people had gone to bed for the night. That suited me, as I didn’t want to be seen by anyone, especially as I was breaking into Kiera’s flat. I just wanted to get her stuff and get back to the manor.

Swooping out of the sky, I felt my wings withdraw into my back and wrap themselves around my ribcage. I’d had wings for as long as I could remember, but I could never get used to that feeling of them disappearing back into me. Every time it happened, it felt like I was momentarily suffocating. Then my lungs would expand, and I could breathe again.

I pulled the collar of the scarecrow’s coat up about my throat, glanced up and down the deserted street, then approached the front door that would lead me to Kiera’s flat. Without much effort, I pressed my shoulder against the door and felt the lock pop. With one last look over my shoulder, I eased open the door and snuck inside.

There were three doors leading off the main hall, and a staircase leading up into the darkness.

Knowing that Kiera lived in flat number four, I climbed the stairs. I tapped gently on the door with my knuckles, just in case Kiera had been evicted, and in her absence somebody else had moved in. I waited several moments and when I didn’t get any response or hear any movement from inside I pressed my shoulder against the door and forced it open.

I closed the door behind me and stood alone in her flat. It felt odd being there on my own. In a weird way, it felt like I was, invading Kiera’s private space. But I’d only returned to get her badge and some clothing. The place was in darkness, and I couldn’t risk turning the lights on.

The flat had stood empty for months or more, and it might make neighbours curious if they suddenly saw a light on in the flat.

Feeling my way across the poky living room, I wondered where Kiera might have left her police badge. There was a door set into the wall and I pushed it open. A bed was in the far corner of the room and it looked like the bed clothes were lumpy and dishevelled, as if Kiera hadn’t made her bed the last time she had slept in it. Smiling to myself, I headed towards a small nest of drawers.

There was a bedside lamp, and what felt like a book and a jewellery case. Running my fingertips amongst the clutter, I couldn’t find Kiera’s police badge. So, opening the top drawer I began to rummage around inside. It seemed to be full of clothes of some kind. Still in search of Kiera’s badge, I removed some of the garments. Then, holding a piece of clothing that felt elasticated, I realised I was looking through the darkness at the biggest pair of women’s knickers I had seen in my life.

“Whoa, Kiera,” I breathed, struggling to picture her wearing such frumpy underwear. They were nothing like the skimpy, silky numbers I had seen Kiera wear. I pulled out another pair. “Jeez, I never knew you wore parachutes!”

Then, from behind me I heard someone scream. “Who are you?”

Wheeling around with the giant-sized underwear in my hands, I saw the silhouette of a figure sitting up in the bed, and it was then I knew that I was in the wrong flat. The bedside lamp flickered on to reveal an old woman sitting up in her bed.

“What are you doing with my knickers?”

she screeched, her snow-white hair matted and her wrinkled jowls swinging on either side of her ancient-looking face.