Should Have Killed The Kid (27 page)

Dave had obediently tucked the packet back away. The thought of passing the room with the slaughtered girl for a third time too much to bear. On top of that the dread of what could be lurking outside. Dave was pretty sure that even if he did work up the courage he wouldn't enjoy the cigarette much anyway. He pictured himself starting at every shadow. Jittery and jumpy, his throat aflame as he sucked down the smoke far too fast.

Still, his body wasn't quite getting that message and its cries for nicotine were constant, mixed with the little voice that murmured how nice it'd be to have a few more drinks.

He knew that Marge had the bottle with her now. She'd retrieved it from the kitchen earlier. The label had read sherry but Dave doubted that was what it actually contained. The spiked coffees had possessed a little too much of a kick for that.

He'd still been traumatised by the trundle bed's retrieval and refused her offer of a drink then. Something he regretted immensely now.

Need something to settle my nerves,
he thought as he fidgeted once more, his trip playing over again in his head. Thinking about all the choices he'd made. The points where things could have been so very different.

It spiralled down into the one familiar lament.

Should have killed the kid. If I'd just killed the kid,
he thought.  He squeezed his eyes shut as the sound of footsteps approached across the polished floorboards. Dave assumed the soldier had finally made a return but didn't bother looking up. Instead he lay picturing how different things would have been if he'd taken the knife and done what had been asked. Imagined how his life would have progressed as the years passed...

The silence was broken as he plotted the scenario in his mind.

‘You’ve seen the room then?’ The old lady chuckled and Dave could picture her shaking her head at the disgusted look that no doubt plastered the soldier’s face.

Dave tried his best to block the conversation as he played through his fantasy but despite his efforts their words provided a backing track to the images in his mind. As he pictured slitting the boys throat and the kid toppling to the ground. Pictured Monty slapping him on the back on a job well done. Pictured himself thinking:
well that wasn’t
too
bad…

‘What the fuck is going on?’ The soldier sounded sick and bone tired. Also like she'd been crying.

‘Here, have a drink.’ Surprisingly, Marge’s voice morphed into a fair imitation of the tone she’d used when talking to Will. Even more surprisingly, it seemed that the soldier took Marge up on her offer. She gulped down the fluid noisily just as everything started to go wrong in Dave's head.

Well that wasn't too bad...
Before he even finished the sentence the fantasy went off the rails. It sped up until it flew by like footage from a time lapse camera and Dave rapidly morphed into a spitting image of Monty. The third person POV of his imagination gave him ample opportunity to study how his frame sagged about the shoulders with the weight of years pressing down upon them. How his face became thick with lines, his eyes sunk deeper into the sockets, the haggard line of his cheekbones became more and more pronounced while the same feverish glitter that had infected Monty's glare flooded into his own eyes.

And all the while Monty stood there slapping him on the back. His hand rising and falling in a metronomic beat.

Uuggghhh.
Dave shivered and opened his eyes. He returned to his study of the couch while the soldier gasped, finally having relinquished the bottle.

'Better?' Marge asked.

'No. Not even a little bit,' the soldier replied. 'What the fuck is going on? You seem to know all there is to know about this.' A faint slur had crept in Sally's voice. Dave wasn't surprised. Considering the potency of the brew, she'd just downed a heroic dose.

'Well, that is kind of difficult to explain. And it's a story that goes way, way back. So far, really, it's kind of difficult to grasp how intrinsically it is woven into everything.'

'The point. I don't want the bullshit.' Sally cut her off, just as Marge's voice was starting shift to storyteller mode. 'What are those things? Why the fuck have they destroyed everything and why the fuck is...' Sally seemed to remember the boy's sleeping presence as her voice abruptly dipped in volume. '... is killing a fucking innocent kid going to do anything about it?'

'It–'

'And how the fuck could you and the other guy do what you're doing?'

'It–'

'The magic–'

'My turn yet?' Dave couldn't really tell if it was amusement or anger in Marge's voice as she made her third attempt to interject. 'Yep? It's alright if I have a fucking word now? Good... Fuck, for someone who wants all the answers you don't exactly give a person much fucking opportunity to explain themselves.'

'Fine. Sorry. Go on.' Dave could just picture the muscle jumping in Sally's jaw.

'Thank you. Shit, the way you act, a person could get to thinking that you had the impression this is somehow
my
fault... No? Ha, because I can tell you this shit has been happening for longer than you, me, him, the kid and Monty have been around
combined
. Add them all up and then times the total by a few thousand and you'd be starting to get closer.' Marge paused and took a swallow from the bottle. She swished the liquid around her mouth a few times before swallowing and Dave couldn't help but be impressed. If he'd tried a similar thing, he'd probably be on the ground at the moment, coughing and gasping. 'Now, we do have a few hours to kill but I must say at the outset, a lot of this is going to... challenge many things you think you know. I don't give a fuck, alright? If you interrupt with your fucking disbelief, that's it done and dusted. End of story, do we agree?' Marge paused and harrumphed a few times, clearing her throat.

'Yes.' The soldier didn't sound happy when she replied a second later.

'Good, great. Glad I have your fucking permission. Now...You want to know what the things are? Something tells me you're probably going to be disappointed but shit, sometimes there's just no pleasing people. There's been a lot of discussion around this point but in layman's terms, the best way to describe the fuckers would be landlords... Yeah, landlords.

'Wh–'

'I said no interruptions, okay?' Marge's voice dipped to frosty and Dave could easily picture the withering stare that accompanied the words. 'Good. See long before everything we have come to know and love about this planet happened, things were a bit... different... there was a...
different
time... one of... magic.... When a pact was made for the earth. If you think of the things as landlords then I suppose the best bet would be to imagine it as a tenancy agreement–'

'What the fuck?' the soldier burst in apparently unable to contain herself any longer.

'I said–' Marge's tone conveyed a veritable ice age now.

'You said you'd fucking explain. What the hell's this shit about landlords and "different times"?'

'I am trying to explain, what the fuck do you think I'm doing?'

'You're explaining exactly jack shit. Are you deliberately trying to be vague?'

Dave could hear something akin to hysteria creep into the soldier's voice.

'Listen. A lot of this is ancient fucking info. It's not like this is first hand experience I'm fucking relating here.'

'What's that supposed to mean. What, you don't know?'

'I know more than you do, you stupid–' Marge's voice grew gruffer by the second.

'You don't, do you? You're fucking kidding me!'

Dave wanted to roll over and scream at Sally to shut up and stop provoking the old lady but he couldn't force himself to move. He could easily see how moving would just make himself a target for both their anger. A second of silence stretched out during which Dave held his breath, certain that the soldier had gone one step too far.

He waited on tenterhooks. Waited for Marge to...

To what? Surely Sally can take her.

'You done?' Marge finally broke the silence and Dave breathed a sigh of relief that her voice erred more toward amusement than the bellowing rage he expected. Though a second later he realised how easy it was to interpret that as creepy and the sick feeling that had been brewing in his stomach grew infinitely worse.
Was she just taunting the soldier? Deliberately winding her up?
He was put in mind of a cat playing with her prey. 'You might not like the fucking explanation but it's the best one you are going to get. Once there were fucking ape-men roaming this fucking planet. Then suddenly what came flooding out of Africa? And we have these landlords. Are we starting to put it all together yet?

'No? Well maybe I'd better fucking spell it out for you. We ain't always been here. And we were never meant to be here this long. 'Cause you see, it appears that us new arrivals kind of got comfortable in our new place and pulled a bit of a swifty on the fine folk that installed us here. Powerful blood magic was invoked. Magic of the kind that makes the shit you've witnessed look like little more than fucking parlour tricks. We were going with this landlord analogy so, might as well continue it. To avoid an hour's long conversation on the mechanics of blood spells and the complexity of trans-dimensional shielding, we'll just say that the locks were changed. Landlords could no longer pop in for a quick inspection and eviction was definitely a no go. No, they had that first portal wrapped up tighter than a fucking dog's arsehole...' Marge paused for a swallow from the bottle while Dave's brain reeled, trying to make sense of her words. He hoped the soldier was having more luck than he was having. Everything just swirled through his brain, twisting and contorting into ever more confusing patterns that made it want to just shut down and never think again.

'Problem is, flash forward a few hundred Millennia and all is still good with the first portal but what do you fucking know? Another one fucking pops up. And then another one. And another. More and more frequently. Growing like a house of cards while we rush about like fucking headless chooks trying to plug them all. And sufficient time has passed for laziness to set in. The blood magic... Not as strong as it used to be... Sure, can still erect the barriers but these spells don't last how they used to. Ha, fucking sums up the modern world right there. Even the magic's become disposable. But fuck, long story short: something like this was bound to happen. There's been near breakouts before. Though nothing like the wholesale shit-fight Monty's dropped us all in. Still it was only a matter of time. As more and more of the portals sprung up around the place, we had to lower the standards... And well, you know the rest.' The old lady paused for another swig. 'Still can't believe it was fucking Monty,' she added in a softer tone at the end.

More silence followed as the soldier obviously tried to digest the info.

'So, what? You're saying there's some sort of secret organisation of magicians who protect these portals? And you and Monty are part of it?'

Marge cackled laughter. 'Ha! Organisation is a fucking funny word for it,' she snorted. 'Insinuates that there is an organised nature to things. Maybe once but I'd hardly refer to it as an organisation. Secret yes. Association might be a better word.'

 'But surely there's some sort of organised thing? You expect me to believe you've kept all this secret for this long and–'

'We keep in touch.'

'What does that mean?'

'I think it's pretty fucking clear.'

'It's–'

'Next question, thanks.' The old lady's voice went cold as ice, much as the blood did in Dave's veins when he thought the soldier was going to push the point.

'How do you find all these new portals then?' Fortunately she seemed to get the message as well and changed tack. Though her tone wasn't very far removed from Madge's own and Dave felt his stomach roiling again. He could feel things building up to something bad.

'Ha, that's the easy bit. If you know the blood magic it's a piece of piss. Believe it or not, there were a few cluey ones over the years who thought it might be a whizz bang idea to put some alarms in place. For instance. What happened in Hent, that was like Hiroshima up here. I nearly had a fucking aneurysm. And before you fucking start with "why didn't you do something about it", I'll just let you in on the secret that I was down in that very room that sickened you so much, staving off another fucking breach because, shock horror, a bit of planning seems to have gone into this and the things were pushing for all they're worth through
all
of the fucking portals.'

'I wasn't–'

'Fuck off, you weren't. Could see it written all over your face.'

Marge laughed at something the soldier did. Dave imagined it was glare at the old lady.

'And this blood magic, you're just borne with the knowledge, are you?'

'Pfft. Anyone can do it. It's a matter of knowing how. It's more a state of mind that allows you to tap into the potential already there if that makes any sense. If it doesn't, fuck you, it's the best explanation you'll be getting.'