Gone Again (15 page)

He was standing waist deep in the sea at Portobello embracing Lauren, both of them naked. He kissed her, caressed her buttocks, then entered her. Their skin and flesh began to fall away from their bodies but it wasn’t horrific, it was a relief not to be burdened by all that weight. Their skeletons dissolved until they were just ghosts standing there, still interlocked. Then their spirits entered the water and were dispersed around the oceans of the world.

Voices.

Not a dream any more, real voices. He snapped awake and sat up. Nathan’s heavy breathing in the room. Whispers were coming from somewhere else in the flat. He got up and crept to the bedroom door. Listened. Couldn’t hear anything.

He remembered last time, the break-in, how he’d thought it was Lauren.

Not this time.

He tried to think.

His phone. He’d left it on the sofa in the living room last night. Still there.

He went to the wardrobe and slowly pulled the drawer open. Rummaged inside and lifted out the gun box. Got the key from his pocket, unlocked it and took the shammy cloth out. Unwrapped the Browning and clicked the magazine out. He stopped a moment to listen. Still no voices, just the sound of Nathan breathing. He began sliding the bullets into the magazine, squeezing them in with his thumb. When they were all in he eased the magazine back in.

He crept towards the door. Pressed his ear against it. Nothing. His own shallow breaths, that was all.

He reached out and touched the door handle. Every nerve in his body was singing. He turned the handle and pulled the door open just enough. Darkness in the hallway, the front door closed, a thin spread of light from the stairwell seeping underneath.

He looked back at Nathan, still sound asleep.

He opened the bedroom door just enough to squeeze through, then inched into the hallway.

Caught a smell of something, alcohol, then felt a crushing pain against the left side of his skull. He slumped to the floor, his legs gone beneath him. He tried to grab at the bedroom door handle on the way down. Managed to tug the door almost closed, hiding Nathan, but the gun slipped from his hand as he fell.

He looked up. There was a zigzag of torch beams, spotlights shooting around, strafing the walls and ceiling. A short man in a grey hoodie was standing over him. A kitchen knife in one hand and a heavy torch in the other. Mark tried to focus but his eyes were wet, the pain bringing tears. His gun was under his foot.

He felt himself being dragged along the ground by a second pair of hands. As he moved away, he flicked at the gun with his foot, knocking it a couple of feet into the corner of the hallway. He was dragged into the living room, the guy in the grey hoodie following behind. In the darkness, the guy hadn’t noticed the gun over by the skirting board.

Mark was dragged to the desk chair. The two men lifted him into it. Mark could see now that the second guy was bigger and wore a dark blue hoodie. Was he the same guy from the first break-in? He pulled an electrical cable from his pocket and tied Mark’s hands behind his back with it.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Mark said.

The guy in the blue hoodie slapped him hard on the side of the face. The other side from the torch blow. The pain seemed to meet in the middle of his skull, and he shook his head trying to dislodge it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured Nathan sprawled over the covers in the next room.

He had to keep the men in here. Had to.

When he opened his eyes, the desk lamp was on. He could see them better. Both in dark jeans, hoodies pulled tight and wearing dust masks on their faces, so he could only see their eyes. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. If he couldn’t identify them, maybe they would let him live.

‘What’s this about?’ he said.

Blue stepped forward and threw a punch into Mark’s stomach, winding him. He struggled to open his throat, take a breath in, but it wouldn’t come. Five seconds, more, then he gasped and rocked with the throbbing pain in his gut.

Grey came up to him. He was skinny and shorter. He stank of whisky and hash. He punched Mark in the cheek, a clumsy strike, but a sovereign ring on his middle finger broke the skin at Mark’s cheekbone and he felt blood seeping down his face, dripping on to his neck.

Grey stepped back and leaned against the desk, arms crossed.

‘Let’s make this simple,’ he said, voice slightly muffled by the mask. ‘What’s the password?’

‘What?’

A backhand swing at his other cheek made his neck crack. The pain was swarming all over him now.

‘If you just tell us, we can all get on with our lives.’

Mark looked from Grey to Blue. ‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Just take whatever you want and leave. I won’t tell the police.’

The men looked at each other. Blue leaned forward and landed several more punches to Mark’s stomach and side. Mark squirmed and writhed in his seat, feeling the screaming of his internal organs.

Grey spoke. ‘We just want the password.’

This was about Lauren. It wasn’t random. He wasn’t going mad. Despite the pain across his body, he felt triumphant. Vindicated.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Grey approached Mark with the knife, like a playground bully with a stick.

‘Don’t think we won’t torture you, because we will. We’ve got instructions.’

Mark thought about that. ‘Who sent you? Taylor? Fisher?’

Grey narrowed his eyes then looked at Blue. Did that mean something? Was it recognition?

Grey pointed the knife at Mark, brought the tip of it closer to his neck. Mark strained his head away from the blade, but he couldn’t move any further, constricted by his hands tied to the chair. He felt the cold metal of the knife against his throat, then felt the blade break the skin, just a cut, a release of tension as blood dribbled down his neck and on to his T-shirt.

Grey grabbed Mark’s scalp and gripped tight, then began trying to push his head down, forcing his neck against the blade, which sank another tiny amount into the flesh. Mark could feel his pulse in his throat, the adrenalin coursing through his arteries as blood leaked out of him, the knife tip at his neck, just inches away from killing him.

The main light in the room came on.

‘Get away from my daddy.’

Grey let go of Mark’s hair and turned.

Nathan was standing in the doorway pointing the Browning at Grey. Two hands, shaking. The gun was swaying around, outsized in his tiny grip. Grey lowered the knife and put his other hand out.

‘Well, if it isn’t the runt of the family.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Mark said.

Grey shook his head. Blue was just watching, turning his head between his partner and the boy, soaking it in.

Grey took a step towards Nathan.

‘Leave him alone.’ Mark yanked at his wrist ties so hard that he lifted the chair off the ground. Blue came round and put his thick hands on Mark’s shoulders. Pushed down.

Grey took another step towards Nathan.

‘We weren’t going to hurt your daddy,’ he said, inching forward.

‘Stay away from me.’ Nathan’s eyes were wet as he shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other.

Mark wondered if the boy knew how to fire the gun.

Grey moved closer to Nathan.

‘Leave him!’ Mark said.

Blue held Mark’s shoulders.

Grey took another step. His right hand was out, placating, his left hand holding the knife by his side. He was about three feet away from Nathan.

‘Put your little gun down and come here,’ he said.

Another step.

Mark struggled under the weight of Blue’s grip.

Nathan closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes and stared at the gun.

Grey laughed and took another step forward. He was almost at the boy now.

Nathan examined the gun, trembling. He looked at the side. Fumbled a sliding switch over. Squeezed the trigger.

The explosion was deafening. Grey and Nathan were lifted off their feet away from each other, the man slumping in the middle of the room, Nathan thudding against the wall next to the door.

Grey had dropped the knife. Blood pumped out of a large wound in his neck, and he was missing two fingers on his right hand, a mess of gore spread across his palm. He dragged his other hand to his neck but it was useless, blood poured everywhere, a chunk of his neck gone, his body twitching in shock.

Nathan sat against the wall with his eyes shut, gun still gripped in both his hands.

The stench of gunpowder haunted the room.

‘Nathan!’

The boy opened his eyes, took a second to focus. He looked at Grey on the ground, who had stopped twitching but was still breathing.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Mark said.

Nathan turned to Mark. Then looked behind him. Mark realised that Blue’s hands weren’t on his shoulders any more. He swung his head round. Blue was edging towards the door.

Nathan lifted the gun and pointed it at him.

Blue broke into a run and flew towards the door. Mark heard him stumbling out the front door and down the stairwell, the bottom door slamming.

Mark looked at Nathan. The gun was limp in his hands, and he was staring at Grey on the floor. Blood pooled underneath the man’s head and spread out, running along the grooves between the floorboards.

Mark tried to think. ‘I said don’t look at him.’

Nathan didn’t move.

‘Nathan. Look at Daddy.’

The boy slowly turned his head towards Mark.

‘Now listen carefully. Daddy needs your help. Can you help me?’

His voice had reverted to toddler level, simple instructions and questions, referring to himself in the third person. Easier to get through to the boy.

Nathan nodded, a tiny head wobble.

‘OK, good boy. Now come over here to me.’

Nathan dropped the gun and pushed himself up against the wall.

‘That’s it.’ Mark’s voice becoming more normal as Nathan responded.

Nathan did a zombie shuffle over to Mark, looking at the bleeding man the whole time.

‘No, don’t look at him, look at me.’

Nathan turned. He was at Mark now. Mark wished he could put his arms around the boy, shelter him from all of this.

‘Now, listen to me, Nathan. Are you listening?’

A nod.

‘Good. Daddy’s hands are tied to this chair. I need you to untie me, OK?’

Another nod.

‘OK?’

‘OK.’ The first word he’d spoken since the shooting.

‘Good, now look at the knot behind my back, can you see how to undo it?’

Nathan moved behind the chair and Mark felt him make little tugs on the cable. The boy couldn’t tie shoelaces, he’d never had to, kids’ shoes were all Velcro these days. He didn’t have any experience of trying to untie knots.

‘Can you see a bit you could pull at to make it come loose?’

‘I don’t know.’

Just then Grey let out a groan that made them both jump. More like a moaning beast than anything human. Nathan backed away from the knot at Mark’s wrists. Mark tried to keep his voice level.

‘Nathan, I really need you to do this. Can you do it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Just try. Pull on one of the bits of cable that looks like it might come loose.’

Grey groaned again. ‘Fuck,’ he said.

Then he moved.

He rolled over a little and waved his dismembered hand in the air.

‘Fuck.’

‘Daddy.’ Nathan had a tremor in his voice.

‘It’s OK,’ Mark said. ‘Just ignore him. He can’t hurt us any more. Concentrate on Daddy’s wrists, OK?’

Mark felt Nathan tugging at the cable and he flexed his hands, trying to create leverage. Nothing yet.

‘That’s it, you’re doing great. Keep going.’ Mark put on his happiest, most encouraging voice. The one used for homework sessions and taking medicine.

Grey let his injured hand fall to the floor and yelled. Nathan and Mark jumped.

‘Shit,’ Grey said. ‘Fuck.’

Mark wondered how he could speak with half his throat missing. Grey’s left hand was still at his neck, soaked in blood, the hoodie fabric glistening and discoloured.

Grey rolled over on to his side and opened his eyes. Looked at Mark and Nathan.

‘Come on,’ Mark said. ‘The knot. Pull it.’

‘Daddy?’ It sounded like Nathan needed to piss, agitated.

‘Just do it.’ All calmness gone from Mark’s voice now.

Grey looked around, dazed. Mark wondered if he could see properly. Then Grey spotted the gun over by the door. Propped himself up on his elbow, hand still at his throat. The movement made more blood pour out the wound.

Mark couldn’t feel anything happening behind him. ‘Nathan? Come on.’

‘I’m scared, Daddy.’

‘I know, just concentrate. Try to untie the knot. Quickly.’

More tugging. Mark squirmed his hands around, trying to loosen things off. He bent his hands back, examining the tangle of cable with his own fingers as best he could. ‘This bit I’m touching, try pulling this bit out.’

He felt Nathan’s fingers pulling at it.

Grey began dragging himself across the floor. ‘Jesus fucking . . . shit . . . Christ fuck . . .’ He wheezed out the words between coughs and cries of pain. He tried to get to his knees but crumpled. Pulled himself along using his maimed hand, thick smears of blood left in his wake. He was moving towards the gun.

‘Nathan?’

‘I’m trying.’

Grey was halfway to the gun. Mark felt Nathan pulling hard at the cable knot. Had something loosened?

‘Never mind that,’ Mark said. ‘Change of plan. Go and get the gun.’

‘What?’

‘Get the gun and bring it over here.’

‘Daddy . . .’

‘Just get it.’

Grey was a few feet from the gun now.

‘Quickly!’

Nathan scurried across the room.

‘Stay away from the man.’

Too late.

Nathan was running past him when Grey lunged forward and grabbed the boy’s ankle with his bleeding hand. Nathan tumbled like in a rugby tackle, just short of the gun, thumping into the floor with a sickening noise.

‘Nathan!’ Mark wrenched his hands behind his back and felt the cable slacken a little.