Untitled (6 page)

       Sid missed his wife and daughter, he'd been contracted to stay on site for six months and with half of that left to go he thought about them all the time. If it wasn't for the money being so good he wouldn't have accepted the job.

       The money and, of course, the pistol.

       Sid reached out and shook the gate as he'd done dozens of times before, but this time the chain fell to the floor with a metallic rattle that echoed around the remains of the old church, or was it an Abbey? He could never remember what it had said in the job description. He crouched down, picked up the chain and lock and prepared to re-secure it, making a mental note to warn Norman about leaving the lock open when the day shift left. He wrapped the chain around the two iron gates and then went to loop the padlock in place.

       "What the fuck?" Sid moved into the light of the overhead sodium bulbs and looked down at the lock.

       "Jesus." The main body had been crushed, the solid casting looking as if it had imploded. The steel hoop section was twisted backwards. If Sid hadn't known better he'd have thought something had been chewing it.

       With the lock in his left hand Sid fumbled with the clasp on his belt in an attempt to release his radio and shout Norman. The stud clicked open and he pulled the radio free, raising it to his mouth and then pausing when he heard the muffled laughter from outside the church.

       "Who's there?" Sid peered through the railings.

       
Silence

       Sid strained his eyes, the surrounding woodland distorted by an oozing fog that swept between the trees like a perpetually moving sea of grey. He tried to listen for the sound again, almost sure it had been the giggling of a young child. But that was impossible, wasn't it?

       "Hello?" he shouted; the sound of his own voice dead and flat.

       "What're playing at, Sid?" Norman crackled over the radio.

       Sid lifted the radio and depressed the talk button. "I wish you wouldn't watch me on those damn cameras, it creeps me out."

       "Just making sure you're safe."

       "Something's been fucking around with the gate." Sid turned and held the lock up to the nearest camera.

       "Do you want me to come out?" Norman queried.

       "No, I'm gonna take a quick look around and then I'm coming straight back."

       "OK. Tea or coffee?"

       "What?" Sid replied, confused.

       "Tea or coffee, to drink?"

"Coffee." Sid replaced the radio in his belt and waved at the camera before resting his palm on the butt of the pistol.

       He thought about pulling it from the holster, rubbing the handle as he considered the option. He'd never had use it before and he doubted he'd need it now. It was probably some local youths fucking around outside the perimeter. He didn't fancy being brought up on charges for shooting an innocent teenager. Instead he moved his hand around the belt and pulled out the long, black cased torch the company had supplied. He flicked it on and pointed it ahead as he pushed the gate open.

       The gate squealed, the hinges grating in protest at not being oiled and Sid stepped outside the church.

       "Hello," he called in as manly a voice as he could manage, better to scare people off than meet them face to face. "You might as well go home, nothing worth stealing here."

       Sid spun left at the sound of running footsteps and the wheezing chuckle that passed his ears on the cooling breeze. He ran the torch light across the tree line, but the fog had thickened, acting like a wall of cotton wool. The laughter came again and, this time, it was from over to the right.

       "This ain't funny," Sid yelled. "If you keep fucking around someone'll get hurt." He warned.

       "Yes they will," came the reply. "You." Sid heard the words and felt the breath on his ear.

He reeled around in a full circle, disoriented and scared. The fog was drawing in and, even though he wasn't far from the gate it was already obscured from view. Sid turned his head from left to right, attempting to get his bearings, but all sense of direction was lost.

       "Hurt," said the voice and Sid felt a burning pain in his thigh.

       He looked down and saw the dark stain spreading over his beige uniform trousers. Suddenly he was light headed and his legs gave out from underneath him. Sid collapsed to his knees and swayed for a moment before keeling over backwards. He felt cold as he looked up through the fog at the night sky and its pattern of flickering stars.

       "Hurt," the voice repeated and finally Sid saw his attacker, right before it thrust the curved claws into his eye sockets.

       The night may have been dark, but death was darker.

       Harrison drove home on auto pilot, his mind elsewhere as he negotiated the city streets. His stomach boiled like agitated snakes and he beat down at the conflicting emotions of guilt and sadness that threatened to ignite within him. Guilt at having argued with Maria at their last face to face meeting only compounded by his parting sentiments.

       
"Sometimes I just wish you were dead. Life would be easier."

       He'd been angry with her, furious to discover that Courtney and Ryan had started calling Greg dad. That bastard wasn't their dad and never would be.

       
"He does more for them than you ever did."

       Maria had thrown the statement at Harrison like an accusation and it had hit harder than the slap that followed. He'd wanted to hit her back, hurt her in return. Instead he'd wished her dead and sometimes you get what you wished for. But Harrison had never wanted his ex-wife – or his children- to die.

       The images of their tiny bodies in the morgue still burned his eyes and he had to blink away the tears. In all his time as a policeman he'd never seen anything like it.

       Harrison couldn't even focus his anger upon a third party; Tom had assured him the attack couldn't have been carried out by a human, that is was probably a wild animal of some description. And this only made it worse, how could you feel hatred towards an unseen animal? Harrison wanted a face, a name he could loathe.

       The only good thing left in his life had been taken away for good, more permanently than any court could have done. Finally he let the tears come, blurring the headlights and tail-lights that surrounded him.

       By the time Harrison pulled the car into the garage below his apartment he had cried himself out, there wasn't anything left within him to give. Life was empty and would never be the same again. He should have got out the car and taken the elevator the three floors to his two bedroom flat, but what was the point?

       He leaned over the passenger seat and popped open the glove compartment. Harrison hadn't smoked in six months, but the emergency pack was waiting for him, along with the Zippo lighter Maria had given him when they first met. He opened the cellophane wrapper and tugged out the silver lining paper to reveal the twenty white tips. He pulled one out with his teeth and flipped open the lighter, flicking it to life. He touched it to the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply, feeling the satisfying burn of smoke fill his lungs.

       
'I could just sit here and smoke myself to death.'

       The thought appealed to Harrison and he settled back in the driver's seat, cracking open the window and watched as the exhaled smoke was taken away. He reached inside his jacket pocket, wanting his wallet and the photos he kept of Courtney and Ryan. He found the leather note book he'd taken from the suicide's room. So much had been thrown at him since he couldn't believe it had all taken place in the same evening.

       He lifted the notebook from his pocket and stared at it. If he was going to smoke himself to death he might as well have something to read. It beat staring at photos of the children he'd never see again.

       Harrison flicked through the pages, going from front to back in one, fluid motion. He saw a variety of hand scrawled words and pictures, all done in blotchy ink as if written with a faulty fountain pen. He went back to the beginning and repeated the process, this time stopping about a quarter of the way through and began reading.