Don't Turn Around (7 page)

He peeled off his damp sweaty clothes and lit the gas hob for the kettle.

‘Frank? Is that you? Where have you been?’

Frank quickly slipped into the spare set of pajamas he had hidden in the clothes basket. Racing up the stairs, he flicked on his mother’s light, gaining some satisfaction as the 100 watt bulb hurt her eyes.

‘What do you want?’

Viv rubbed her eyes and turned on the bedside lamp. ‘Turn off that effing light, for starters. Where were you? I called for you and you didn’t answer.’

Frank rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yes well, call louder next time, I didn’t hear you.’ There was nothing wrong with his mother’s hearing as she cocked her head to one side at the noise of the kettle whistling on the hob downstairs.

‘Be a good boy and make your mother a cup of tea, my legs are giving me gyp tonight.’

Frank nodded and closed the door behind him. He paused as the floorboard creaked under the weight of his foot. He would have to get that fixed. Couldn’t have her waking up again, not when he was going out on the prowl.

Fixing her tea, he smiled to himself. He’d done it. He’d actually killed that pathetic excuse for a man. He wondered if his mother would be pleased when she heard. His heart skipped a beat as he recalled the scene. Not exactly how he had rehearsed it, but close enough. He had been careful. Nobody had seen him. And nobody would see him the next time.

T
he cell door rattled
, punctuated by sharp cries of despair. Jennifer ignored the noise as she waited in a queue to speak to Sergeant Greaves, the custody sergeant. A jolly man, his tufts of grey hair spiked the edges of his bald patch, which matched the pinkness of his cheeks. He smiled mischievously as he encouraged a young probationer to search the ginger-haired male he had just arrested for shoplifting.

‘Don’t forget the scanner.’ Sergeant Greaves handed the large black wand over the counter to the officer.

‘What’s that for?’ the prisoner asked, as the officer waved the metal detector over him.

‘It’s to make sure you aren’t lying,’ Sergeant Greaves replied, with a twinkle in his eye. The prisoner stiffened, then realised technology had not advanced that far yet and relaxed his posture.

Jennifer rolled her eyes to Lara, the detention officer who was removing cigarettes from her trouser pocket for a sneaky puff outside. The short stout woman gave her a weary look. ‘Can you sort your mate out? He’s a right pain.’

‘My mate? For goodness sake, who is it now?’ Jennifer asked.

Lara scratched her head. ‘It’s em, what’s his name … Charlie, that’s it. Charlie Taylor. He’s been asking for you all day. Said he’s a friend of yours.’

Jennifer’s mouth gaped at the mention of the name. ‘No … it can’t be. What’s he in here for?’ Another murderous scream from the custody cell. The young prisoner gulped nervously.

‘Bet you wish you hadn’t stolen that Twix bar now, eh mate?’ Sergeant Greaves interjected, positively enjoying the look of terror on the young boy’s face. ‘I’ve heard that chap is lonely, fancy keeping him company?’

The prisoner paled. “Don’t I get a cell to myself?’ he croaked, removing his trainers for the searching officer.

‘That depends on whether you tell the truth or not,’ Sergeant Greaves said with a wink.

‘Oh for God’s sake Greavesy, give the kid a break,’ Jennifer laughed. It was like watching a game of cat and mouse.

‘He knows I’m only joking. Now can you please go and see your angry friend? He’s only been nicked for breach of the peace, but we can’t let him out until he calms down a bit.’

‘Anything for you Sergeant, as long as I don’t lose my place in the queue.’ Jennifer turned towards the cells, feeling his eyes on her bottom as she walked down the stale smelling corridor, passing empty cells one and two.

Silence descended upon cell five as she approached it. Jennifer took the keys she had borrowed from Lara to open the door; quite happy that her old school teacher would never harm her. She cast her mind back to the dinner parties her parents used to have for Charlie Taylor and his wife, and how happy they had all seemed to the outside world.

The temperature dropped with each step Jennifer took towards cell nine. She strained to listen outside the metal door, not wanting to catch him on the stainless steel toilet that graced the corner of the cell. ‘Mr. Taylor, it’s Jennifer. Are you OK?’

No response. She put the key in the door and paused. Something wasn’t right. Looking through the peephole, she made out the figure of a man crouched whimpering in the corner, his face hidden from view. She removed the key from the door and undid the small serving hatch instead.

‘Charlie, are you OK?’

The man turned around, his voice weak and feeble. ‘Jenny, is that you? Help me, please.’

Overwhelming sadness bore down on Jennifer at the pitiful sight before her. Tears stained the man’s face. He pulled together the filthy rags that passed for clothes and shivered. Charlie had always described himself as a happy alcoholic, and he normally kept himself reasonably clean and fed. His usual cheery expression was replaced by a look of pure bewilderment, as much out of place as the silvery white hair, which was now dirty and unkempt.

‘What’s happened to you?’

‘I shouldn’t have listened, why did I listen?’ he whispered as he threaded his fingers through his hair.

‘What are you talking about? Has someone hurt you?’ Jennifer’s face was etched with concern.

Charlie sat on the bench, his breath coming thick and fast. He grabbed his head in his hands and let out a blood-curdling scream.

‘Calm down. I’m going to speak to the custody officer for you, OK? We’ll get you a doctor, then you can be released.’

He emitted a low moan, his face twisted in an agonizing stare. ‘I don’t want to die,’ he snivelled.

‘It’s only a breach of the peace, you’re not facing the firing squad. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a minute.’

As she turned to walk away, a voice snaked through the air, ‘Jenn-i-fer, I told you we’d meet again.’

It was the same slick voice that had spoken through Johnny the one that enunciated her name and felt like grease against her skin. She turned back to the open hatch.

Charlie wore a smile of contempt. His dark stare was hypnotic, and Jennifer felt the pull, deep into another world. Her heart plummeted as the horror unraveled before her. ‘Charlie, tell me what’s happened to you.’

The man growled a response. ‘You know this isn’t Charlie, you little bitch.’

‘I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Jennifer said as the hairs stood sentry on the back of her neck.

‘Don’t lie to me. If you want to play games, I have ways of making you listen,’ he hissed.

The man in the cell clicked his fingers and grinned wildly. ‘I know, like for like. What about that?’

‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘Why don’t you open that door and we can find out.’ Charlie’s eyes narrowed and his yellowed teeth flashed in the dim cell.

‘Not until you explain what’s going on.’

‘Relax, it’s me, Charlie, I won’t hurt you,’ he purred.

Jennifer knew she was not talking to Charlie anymore. She shot a look down the empty corridor, and back to the man in the cell. ‘Who are you?’ Jennifer whispered. ‘And what do you want?’

‘Oh Jennifer, you know who I am … now stop being coy.’

Jennifer rubbed her forehead. Her veins pulsed under her fingers and stabbing pain made her head feel like it was in a vice. ‘I don’t have time for this. Whoever you are, just leave Charlie alone.’

‘Or else what?’ Charlie laughed. ‘You? A slip of a girl afraid to let down her defenses? You’re only good for one thing.’ Charlie’s gaze travelled down the length of her body. ‘Just think, if I can give you a headache just by talking to you, what I could do if I were …’

‘I’m not listening to this shit anymore.’ The door hatch slammed shut as Jennifer turned on her heel and walked away.

The voice echoed down the corridor as she walked.

Jennifer strode to custody, leaving the keys on the counter. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s not the Charlie I used to know.’

T
he jukebox
in the corner sang out ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ by Simple Minds and Jennifer wondered how she had allowed her shift partner Will to talk her into a drink after work.

‘C’mon, what’s say we go out on the lash? You could do with letting your hair down,’ he said, his grin embellished by the coffee froth clinging to his ridiculous beard.

‘I’m sorry, mate. I’ve just got a lot going on right now.’

‘Jennifer, you’re single. You’re financially sound and you have no dependents, not even a cat. What do you have going on in your life that is so important you can’t stay a bit longer? We could go for a bite to eat, my treat?’

Jennifer stared into her drink as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Her worries were bubbling over, threatening to spill out at any moment. But confiding in Will brought its own set of problems. Not least of which was that he was a die-hard sceptic, and refused to open his mind to anything that wasn’t grounded in science. The alternative was keeping him at arm’s length, which betrayed their friendship.

Will wasn’t stupid, and if Jennifer was not going to tell him what was wrong then he would come to his own conclusions. ‘Are you …’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘are you hearing voices again?’

Jennifer’s felt a stab of pain as Will jumped to the conclusion that her mental health was at fault. But she desperately needed to confide in someone, and a sympathetic voice was better than none at all. Her eyes flicked around the empty bar and she nodded slowly. ‘I’m trying to keep them out, but it’s so bloody hard.’

‘You should have said. Are you worried about work finding out?’

She chewed her lip. ‘Something like that. You can’t breathe a word of this or I’ll lose my place on the department.’

‘There must be something we can do. Have you tried ignoring them?’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You don’t hear these damn whispers when you’re trying to sleep at night.’ Jennifer took a breath to elaborate, but decided against it and looked out the rain-dappled window instead. Blurred outlines of people milled by, all wrapped up in their own problems.

Will placed his hand on hers and to her surprise, she turned her hand palm upwards and wrapped her fingers around his. The warmth of his skin seeped comfort into her soul. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of a man and she relaxed into it. Perhaps it was time to trust him with the truth.

Will squeezed her fingers. ‘You’ve had a tough childhood. It’s possible you suffered post-trauma from it. The mind is an amazing thing, you think you’re coping really well then bam, it hits you out of the blue.’

‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it,’ Jennifer said, withdrawing her hand and looking at her watch.

Will stared at her, willing her to carry on.

Jennifer opened her mouth to speak and was interrupted by the vibration of her mobile phone. She frowned as she put it to her ear. ‘Hello? … Hello? Anyone there?’

‘Everything all right?’ Will said.

She rejected the call and slid the phone back into her pocket. ‘Yeah, lately I’ve been getting silent calls. It feels like I’m being watched, but I’ve nothing to back it up.’

She massaged her forehead. ‘I’ve got a pounding headache, do you mind if I call it a night?’

‘No problem. It’s probably all the stress you’re under. Why don’t you give your counsellor a call in the morning?’

Jennifer forced a smile as she delivered a lie. ‘I’ve already set up an appointment. Are you all right getting home?’

’The rain doesn’t bother me, I’ll walk.’

Jennifer finished her drink and placed her glass on the table. ‘In that case I’ll be off.’

‘Want me to walk you to your car?’ Will said, pushing his chair back under the table.

‘I’m parked right outside, you numpty,’ Jennifer said, giving him a peck on the cheek, his soft bristles tickling her lips.

Will held her elbow briefly. ‘Any problems, give me a call?’

‘I’ll be fine, and not a word to anyone.’

Jennifer watched through the windscreen of her parked car as Will loped down the dimly lit street, leaning against the splatters of rain. Curling her fingers around the door handle, she leaned forward to offer him a lift when an icy whisper drew her back …
Jenn-i-fer …
She stiffened as a thin frost crept up the inner windows, sealing the doors and cutting her off from outside world. …
Jenn-i-fer …
The deathly whisper spoke with decaying breaths
,
immobilising her body as corpse-like fingers caressed the nape of her neck.
It’s not really there, it’s not really there,
she whimpered, gulping back breaths as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. A chill froze the back of her neck as she repeated her mantra, her limbs trembling under the weight of malevolence. Seconds passed, each one an eternity. She exhaled in relief as the sensation ebbed. Another brick in her defences crumbled into dust.

L
ong shadows fell
in the living room of the ex-teacher who had given up on life. His house was nothing more than a shrine, haunted with memories. The small golden carriage clock ticked silently from its place on top of the large box-shaped television. But he could hear it. Ticking the minutes. Each one that passed brought him closer to oblivion. And that suited him just fine.

Charlie Taylor gazed lovingly at the faded photograph, flicking it over to re-read the blue inked inscription.
Rosie, aged four, Frampton-on-Sea.
It didn’t matter that the photo was in black and white. To him, it was alive with colour. He could almost smell the sea as they sat underneath the buttermilk sky. Seagulls crying overhead, the salty wind catching his deckchair as he lowered himself in. Shrieks of laughter as it collapsed in the sand. Charlie’s heart ached as he relived the memories, the pain tightening his throat as his body shuddered with another jerking sob. But still the memories came, each one striking a dagger into his already bleeding heart. Charlie blinked as he focused on the picture of his daughter, her tongue catching the dribbles of ice cream trailing down her chin. Photographs of his only child were so rare and precious, if only they had more … or a portrait … a portrait would have been nice. He closed his eyes as the pain created fresh tears. He had lost part of himself when his daughter died, on this day so many years ago. Since then he had become fragmented, piece by piece crumbling away like a cliff edge under the weight of the hammering sea. He tried to carry on, but life pounded against him in waves, and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Your daughter has leukemia.’
Bam!
‘I’m leaving, Charlie … I just don’t love you anymore.’
Bam!
On and on it went, eroding his soul until there was nothing left but sand and water. And still the clock ticked. It was three years since he had welcomed the news that his drinking would kill him within twelve months. Three years on, and he was still alive. Others had passed before him, people who deserved to live. But the world wasn’t finished with him yet. His wounded soul was an attractive meal to the vultures circling overhead.

T
he figure watched
from the hall as Charlie drank himself into oblivion. It would have been easy to leave him to finish the deed. But the plan was not to watch a man drink himself into the arms of death. The plan was to send a message. It was just like old times. The thought of sending the old man up in flames sent a thrill of delight through the watcher’s festered soul. This time it would be easy. Matches or accelerant were not necessary. Spontaneous combustion was a gift from the realms of the supernatural. The cloaked figure grinned as they cracked their knuckles. They promised they would send a message. And they always kept their promises.