Rottenhouse (24 page)

‘
Weapons of choice for
any killer,’ Simon mused, but he wasn’t laughing. To Simon his
voice sounded like it was the musings of a man on the edge of
running. Now close to the painting Simon could read the brass
plate, again he knew what would be written on it before getting
there, but still, the shock of it was no different:

Chairman’s
Justice

They Leak. They
Bleed. They Don’t Stop Once They Started.

‘
I’ve got to get out
of here. This aint right. Nothing is right here. I don’t care what
he says or what Lucy says. I aint gonna fit in here.’

Simon heard the sound of a car coming
down the main road. Turning quickly and looking to the window the
world outside was faintly lit by a car’s headlight. But that faint
light was getting brighter with each second.

‘
Shit.’

The ornament, Simon. The ornament.

Before leaving the room and closing the
door to the freak show that was Mr Rowling’s study, Simon made
himself take one quick look at the black ornament that was on a
shelf below the painting.

‘
Well there’s
something you don’t see every day.’ Simon said whilst he was
halfway to the door. And he stopped for a couple of seconds until
he heard the car drive past and the familiar squeal of
brakes.

He wanted to touch the
ornament. Wanted to touch it, maybe weigh it as to prove to himself
that it existed and wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He licked
his lips and rubbed his hands thinking he probably looked a bit
like Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Arc, probably not as cool
though (he didn’t have a whip or a fedora and this was no golden
idol like it had been in the film). The car pulled into the
driveway, its lights lit up the kitchen and hallway overpowering
the household bulbs. Simon placed one hand onto the black marble
bust and rubbed his fingers across its cold features. It
was
real. Flicking off
the light in the study, the last thing Simon saw as he closed the
door, locked it and ran into the kitchen placing the key back into
the drawer as the front door opened, was the bust. And though he
could scarcely believe who it was of and why such a thing should
exist he couldn’t deny the fact that not only did Mr Rowling have a
copy Mein Kampf taking pride of place in his book collection he
also had in his possession a bust of the man that wrote it: Adolf
Hitler.

5

Simon had made his way into the kitchen
and started to pour himself a drink of water by the time the front
door opened. He was stood by the sink, his back to the window. He
knew his face must look flushed, it felt as red as a radish, so he
quickly gathered his thoughts in an attempt to calm himself. Though
the image of Hitler wouldn’t quite shift, a part of Simon wanted to
laugh, laugh until his head exploded.

There was silence between Lucy and her
father as they put their thin jackets on the hooks in the
hallway.

‘
You in the kitchen,
Si?’

‘
Yeah. Just having a
drink. Just got back myself.’

‘
Really?’ Lucy said
walking into the kitchen. Her eyes were wide with concern. ‘What
took you so long, you left hours ago?’

She took a seat at the small table. Mr
Rowling walked in and joined her, paying no attention to Simon. A
whiff of stale beer and cigarettes filled the air.

‘
The storm got me. I
managed to find some shelter. But it got me pretty good. Once I got
back here I realised that I didn’t have a key. I stood outside for
a bit then thought I’d look for a spare, found one,
too…’

Lucy finished the sentence, ‘Under the
rocks. Dad, I told you, imagine if that were a burglar or
something.’

Mr Rowling didn’t answer, just smiled
at the table. He was listening though. Simon could see that he was
listening very well. That was his finest trait, a man of few words
but with ears that seemed to pick up on anything and
everything.

Lucy shook her head, ‘Where abouts did
you hide? Must have been somewhere in the square I bet, that storm
hit just as you left.’

‘
Weirdly, it was in
that fire damaged house. Not ideal, but there was nowhere else to
go.’

‘
You went into the
Johnson place?’ Mr Rowling said. His cheeks were a little red, but
Simon couldn’t be sure if it were the beer or what he had said that
had caused them to redden.

‘
Yeah, like I said,
there was nowhere else to go.’

‘
What did
yasee?’

‘…
Nothing.’

‘
Really, Simon,
nothing? You sure, son? You sure you saw nothing? From the looks
ofyer it looks like yaseen a ghost.’

‘
What are you talking
about, Dad?’

‘
Simon knows. Don’t
yaSimon.’

Simon was all of a sudden very much
aware of the sweat that was boiling on his forehead and that he was
holding the glass so tight in his hand that it was apt to smash
into a million pieces. His teeth ground together and he blinked
more times than necessary. Trying desperately, but failing
miserably, Simon tried to lessen the shake by holding the glass
with two hands. Like a school boy caught kicking a smelly kid in
the toilets Simon said, ‘I didn’t see anything.’

‘
Come take a seat son,
looks like you need to take a weight off.’ Mr Rowling pulled out
the chair next to him and offered it to Simon.

‘
You okay, Si, you’ve
gone grey.’

This is it,
Simon thought,
it’s over.
I’m either going to make it over to that table or I’m going to have
a stroke right here and end up a dribbling wreck being fed liquid
food and shitting in a tube for the rest of my life.

6

Simon sat down. Two sets of eyes were
upon him, watching him. His own were fixed upon the pale bleached
wood following the shapes the knots made, each one looking like a
tiny Worm Hole to another dimensions.

‘
Si, what’s wrong.
Tell me.’

With a deep sigh Simon began.

7

‘
I’m not sure how much
of this will make sense but I have to get it out. Tonight was the
straw that broke the camel’s back I suppose. You know me, Luce, I’m
not the sort of bloke who gets like this, I’m like go with the flow
and all that, but these last two days have been… well, they’ve been
shite. Mr Rowling I know you don’t care for such language but I was
brought up without such graces I’m afraid, so I shall apologise now
before I go on.

‘
This place isn’t what
I expected. Its chaos. I’ve seen more shit here than I have ever
seen. Movies and TV shows haven’t got crap on stuff that goes on
here. Take that poor guy in the stream today. I watched him take a
beating for doing something so meaningless it beggars belief and
then this morning we find him floating face up, a knife jutting
from his head. Now, I know you don’t want me to do this, Mr
Rowling, I don’t mean no disrespect cos I know that is big around
here, but Lucy has the right to know. She has the right to know
what happened after.’

‘
What happened, Si?’
Lucy said.

Simon looked to the old man and saw
that he was not going to stop him. If Simon didn’t know better it
looked as though the old feller had given up listening all
together, but Simon knew that was not case.

‘
That Lewis guy, you
know Luce, the one they dragged through the club tonight like a
dog, he had an axe. A big shiny axe. He and Pickering… well
they…they.’

‘
SpititoutSimon, for
heaven’s sake.’ Mr Rowling said.

‘
They hacked him up,
Luce. Arms, legs…head. Chopped up like a chicken on a Sunday
afternoon.’

Lucy put her hands over her reddening
eyes. There were little sobs coming from behind her hands.

‘
Barbara, you know why
they did it, don’t ya. Those rules have been about since your days
and well before that. The only shameful thing here is that Simon
had to see it. That’s all.’ Mr Rowling said putting a very awkward
hand upon her shoulder. It was an act that looked
clumsy.

She didn’t reply. Lucy shook her head
and wiped a bit of snot from her nose. Simon had hoped for a little
support but was left wanting much like had been back at the
club.

‘
So that’s all, Luce.
I tell you that a bloke you used to play with was hacked to bits
like a piece of cheap meat and all you can do is twist a finger and
wipe away an errant tear?’

‘
What else do you want
from me, Simon? Really, tell me. It’s sad, yes. But like dad says,
it’s happened before and it will happen again. Just a shame you had
to see it.’

‘
A shame! Jesus Luce,
what the hell has gotten into you? Two days ago you would have
freaked out at that. Now it’s as though it’s all just part and
parcel of everyday life like you see it every day. Or saw it.’
Simon saw a glimmer in Lucy’s eyes then, like a thousand memories
came flooding back all at once reminding what had gone on here,
reminding her of all the cruel and twisted stuff she had seen and
accepted. Simon was afraid that he was losing her. Not in the
literal sense, she was his and he was hers, but she wasn’t Lucy
anymore. She was two people now, the girl she had fled and hidden
from, the one called Barbara had found her shell, the one called
Lucy had stolen it, and now Barbara wants it back. And she wants it
all to herself.

‘
You’re changing.’
Simon said unable to hold it in.

‘
What’s that supposed
to mean?’ She snapped back. Lucy never snapped back.

‘
Since we got here.
The girl I once knew; seems like I lost her along the
way.’

‘
Seems a bit
farfetched that, Simon. Bit like High-Brid cars and drink driving
laws and men that make a living from photos, if yaknow what I
mean.’

‘
Mr Rowling, please,
come on, give me a break will ya. I’ve tried to be nice, Christ,
I’m a nice guy, but all this, all this death and beatings and axe’s
and hanging men and rats and fat guys in girls clothes and the
nightmares, it’s driving me insane. Really, how thick can someone
be? How thick can an entire village be? He called you Bob. Not a
cunt or a fucktard or a prick. No, just your name. Bob. Bob. Bob.
It’s insane. I can’t take it anymore. We came here to mend things,
to try and rebuild, the last thing I expected was to be a part of
two murders. The last thing I needed right now is for you screwing
with me.’

‘
SIMON!’ Lucy yelled
looking as if she were about to wrench the hair from her head. But
it was too late. The freight train had left.

‘
No, actually, the
last thing I need is what is happening right now, with Lucy. She
isn’t the girl I came up here with. She isn’t the girl I want to
marry any more. As insane as that sounds, it’s the
truth.’

Out of breath Simon slid the chair away
from the table and walked over to the sink with the gasps of shock
and surprise from Lucy floating with him like unwanted rain clouds.
He had done it, finally lost the plot, and was, now that the
adrenaline was wearing off, regretting it. He didn’t need to turn
to see the look of dismay upon old man Rowling’s face; it was
reflected in the windows like a painting dipped in water and left
to run.

‘
Shit it.’ Simon
whispered, and he hung his head in shame.

8

Simon had expected something a little
more from Mr Rowling. Perhaps a defence of his actions. Perhaps a
little fisty-cuffs for being called thick or a cunt or a prick (and
in the heat of it all Simon thought he had called him a fucktard,
but couldn’t be sure). But there was none of that. He was sat in
his chair just looking at Simon with that blank look he was so good
at giving.

Lucy on the other hand had a mouth that
was wide open, jaw to the floor with hands that were either side of
her cheeks like a shitty actress in a low budget horror flick
acting as if she had just seen a ghost. Simon clutched his hands
together they were shaking so wildly. He was both scared and
exhilarated at the same time. There was something satisfying about
what he had just done. The truths weren’t out, but the ones that
counted were, and all parties knew what Simon was feeling. It was
the same feeling Simon had when his father had been killed in the
house fire and he was finally able to tell his mother what he had
been through as a child.

9

‘
I’m still Lucy.’ She
whispered.

Mr Rowling placed his hand upon
hers.

‘
It’s alright,
Barbara, truths out now and we is all better for it. He’s right
about a few things I suppose, but it don’t change what we do and I
am not going to apologise. He’s said some things I know he regrets
but that’s pebbles in a stream as far as I’m concerned.

‘
Besides, looks like
you’ve found yerself a husband. Shame I had to find out that way,
would have preferred something a bit more traditional…’

Lucy leant over and
hugged her father then. Wrapped him up like a mother swaddling her
child. Simon watched as Mr Rowling closed his eyes and eased his
body into the cuddle, allowed himself to
be
cuddled, and then wrap his own
arms around his daughter. She mumbled something to him and him to
her, words lost but by no means worthless for they made Mr Rowling
squeeze tighter and hold his daughter closer for a moment
longer.