The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (19 page)

“
GET OOUUUUUUTTT!!
” he shouted, having found his voice. His eyes bulged from their sockets, showing yellowing teeth that hadn’t been brushed for many days. “
LEAVE ME ALOOOOONNNEE!!! YOU SHOULDN’T BEEEEEEEE HEEEEERE!!
” It was the cry of a lunatic. Blondie was clearly at his breaking point, if not already past it. Sorry ... not Blondie. That was just what we called him. Patrick. His name was Patrick.

“Shut up,” said Paul, firmly, shaking him. He didn’t seem to have too much trouble restraining him, being a lot larger, but Patrick wouldn’t stop shrieking and babbling. “Shut
up.
Shut
up,
” repeated Paul, shaking him by the arm over and over. Patrick kept on bellowing, and I suddenly thought about how all the commotion might be attracting attention.

“Paul,” I said, “the neighbours.” Paul looked up at me, anger still on his face, but he got it after a second. Paul paused, looked at the screaming man, and then pulled Patrick towards him, wrapping a thick bicep around his throat. He then slipped his other forearm under Patrick’s shoulder and up behind his squirming head and pushed, hard. Patrick’s voice immediately dropped to a squeak as his air cut off, but he still tried to curse us out. He made desperate rasping sounds that came in regular bursts, and flailed his arms fruitlessly backwards.

“Ssh,” said Paul, effort etched across his face, “ssh. Calm down.” Looking back, I think normally this wouldn’t have been too hard for Paul, but keeping the sleeper locked on as well as keeping himself upright, whilst standing this close to the heart of the pull—touching it—must have been a superhuman effort of will. I was impressed.

Patrick started to tire, and as his struggles lessened, Paul lowered him forward towards the sofa, finally dropping him slowly down so that he lay on the side of his face. At first I panicked—I thought he was dead—but then I saw he was breathing gently. I looked up at Paul, who had his hands on his hips now, taking in heavy breaths through his nose and pushing them out through his mouth. His face was covered in sweat. I stood there like an idiot, stunned not only by what had happened—and how
quickly—
but by my own lack of action or decisiveness. I had frozen, and furthermore I’d come up with no suggestions or contributions of my own since we’d arrived here. Sure, I’d gone in through the window and gotten us into the house, but that had been Paul’s idea. He’d done
everything
else, whilst I’d stood there and waited to be told what to do. I’d been full of ideas until now, running out of them when
action
needed to be taken, and quickly. Frankly, it was embarrassing.

“You okay?” I asked Paul, sheepishly. He nodded, not looking up from where he now sat the floor as he breathed. The effort of restraining Patrick had wiped him out.

“Uh,” he said in further confirmation, “just give me a sec. Room … room’s spinning.” His left hand felt the air around him blindly, and found the back of the sofa, which he then used to pull himself up. As he did so, I heard a faint whimpering; Patrick was already awake. He obviously hadn’t been as completely out as we’d thought.

I looked down at him to see tears running out of his screwed up eyes, his hands balled up into fists. He was muttering something as he cried, but in such a high-pitched, desperate whimper that I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Realising both that Paul would need a moment, and that this was
my
moment, I made my way over to the sofa and sat next to Patrick’s head. He didn’t seem to notice, which was just as well; my mind had gone blank. Totally fucking blank. All those questions, my future possibly hanging on finding out the truth. Now that the moment had arrived, I was freaked out. I don’t know what I’d expected to find here, but it wasn’t a crying wreck.

I tried to steel myself; I needed answers. A reporter gets answers. I had to do my job, had to
think
like a reporter, get past the weirdness and find out the truth. I suddenly thought that I should get my Dictaphone, so I could have a record for important future reference. That did it; just like that, the spell broke. Suddenly, it was work, and I was in work mode. Unfortunately, like an idiot, I’d left it in the car along with my bag and laptop, but a shift had occurred in my head and I was capable again.

“Paul?”

“Mmm. Just give me a minute.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just going to the car. Can you keep an eye on him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You sure?”

“Uh.”

“Just sit on him if he moves, okay?”

“Will do.”

That would have to do. I quickly got up, nearly fell over, then straightened myself and staggered into the hallway. I shut the door behind me to slow any sudden bolting that Patrick might attempt. Walking to the front door, I was relieved to see that it was locked by a latch mechanism, and didn’t require a key to open it. Popping the latch, I pulled the door open—wedging it with one of my shoes to make sure it didn’t shut behind me—and wobbled out to the car, where I retrieved my bag. As I slung it over my shoulder and made my weaving way back inside, I realised that I felt strangely good, even with the physical onslaught I was enduring. This was what I knew now—work—but on a level that I had never experienced. Only a few before me actually had. I couldn’t get back inside quick enough; as I said, the shift had happened, and my momentum was building.

Pulling my shoe back out from under the front door, I kicked my other one off as well—we were guests here, after all—and shut the door behind me, making sure the latch was shut. I dumped my bag on the small table by the front door, fished out my Dictaphone, and brandished it in front of me as I opened the living room door.

“For future reference,” I explained to Paul, expecting him to be impressed by what he would see as simple forethought, not knowing my job. He was sitting on the arm of the chair now, looking at Patrick, and looked up.

“Oh, yeah, yeah of course,” he said, as if suddenly woken from a daydream. He waved a hand at me to say
carry on, all yours
. I switched it on, and sat down again next to Patrick, who hadn’t stopped crying or whimpering. I pressed record, the little red light came on, and I was away. I would listen to that recording a lot in the hours to come, during the waiting. If you asked me to back then, I knew it so well that I could probably have recited it word for word. I couldn’t manage that now, though.

But not because I don’t remember it.

***

(Sound of faint crying, and creaking leather as I shift on the sofa, moving closer to Patrick. I am the first person to speak.)

“Can you hear me?”

(No response.)

“We’re not here to hurt you. We’re sorry we had to break in, but you wouldn’t answer the door. We didn’t have a choice. We just really need to talk to you. I’ve come a long way to do it.”

(He says something now, but it’s barely audible.)

“Sorry? I couldn’t hear that?”

(He says it again, and it’s still hard to hear, but it sounds like ‘Lies.’)

“Lies?
No, we’re not lying. We just think you might be able to help explain a few things. People are dying.”

“Please … please . ..leave me alone. I’ll do anything.”

(The voice is dripping in fear. It’s like he’s pleading for his life.)

“What are you so afraid of? What do you think we’re going to do?”

(There is a long pause, but the crying has stopped. When he next speaks, it’s in a harsh, broken whisper.)

“Something awful.
Something terrible. Knew you were coming, felt you coming for days. Locked the doors. Couldn’t go outside. Couldn’t go outside. Had to be safe. Secure.”

“You … you knew we were coming? Like … I mean, the same way we knew how to find you?”

“Knew
disaster
was coming.
Some disaster. Knew running would only make it worse. Had to hide. Had to hide. Had to get secure.”

(There is a pause again at this point; he opens his reddened eyes and looks at me. They stare into mine for nearly a full minute, his head trembling, and then he looks me up and down. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly clearer.)

“It’s … it’s not you, is it? You’re not the … disaster. You’re not it. And … he isn’t either, is he?”

“Try throwing something else at my head. Then you’ll see disaster.”

(That voice is Paul’s.)

“I thought …”

(Patrick breaks off suddenly, wide eyed in terror. There is a sound of rapid movement as Patrick bolts upright, and grabs my arm in a painfully tight grip.)

“The window!
You broke the kitchen window! It’s not safe!”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t the big one, it was just the little one—”

“No, no, it has to be fixed, has to be secure—”

“Okay, okay, we’ll let you fix it, but please, you have to answer some questions first—”

“But it’s not—”

“That’s the deal. Okay? Quicker you answer our questions, the quicker the windows gets covered. I'm sorry, I know it’s your house, but there’s some really bad stuff going on that you might be able to help stop. Okay? So calm down.”

“PLEASE!”

“Sorry, pal. That’s the deal.” (Paul again.)

(There is a very long pause, then a slumping sound on the leather, followed by heavy breathing.)

“Come on then, come on come on come on. Quick.”

“You said this ‘disaster feeling’ started a few days ago? Wait, what’s your na—”

“At work.
I was at work. I was sitting at the computer, preparing the contract for the Anderson shipment, and then suddenly I knew that I had to go home immediately because total disaster was coming. It was COMING. I wasn’t safe out in the open. I looked around the office, and no one else knew it. Thought about telling people, but no time. I just grabbed my keys and left. I think someone asked where I was going. Didn’t stop. That was Monday. Haven’t left this room since, except for food and toilet.”

“This was Monday? Has it gotten worse since then?”

“No. I know it’s coming. That’s enough. I thought it was you. Can we fix the window now? Please? You said you’d help me!”

“What kind of disaster?”

“I don’t
know
, I told you. I’m not crazy. It’s
coming
. Just because I don’t know what it is doesn’t make any difference. If it finds me … something terrible will happen. Something … TERRIBLE. I … I have to stay here, and be secure. I’ll be safe in here. I’ll wait. I’ll wait it out.”

(There is a pause here, as I look at Paul. He returns my gaze, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. This house will not protect this man. Paul suddenly looks confused, and it’s him that speaks next.)

“Monday?
But the Stone Man didn’t arrive until yesterday. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“The what?”

“The statue thing.”

“What are you talking about? Help me fix the window, you said you would.”

(The voice is pleading, desperate again, almost like a child. Paul speaks next.)