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Black Rock Page 15


  And fo­und her­self tal­king to a wo­man who so­un­ded very old and very de­af. ‘Who’s that?’ the wo­man de­man­ded in a scratchy vo­ice.

  ‘I may ha­ve got the wrong num­ber,’ S’n’J sa­id. ‘I wan­ted James.’

  ‘What say, de­ar?’ the wo­man gra­ted.

  ‘James,’ S’n’J sa­id, ra­ising her vo­ice whi­le her mind told her that this was eit­her anot­her of Pe­ter Per­fect’s mind-fuck tricks or a CO-pro­vo­ked epi­so­de.

  It co­uld simply be an in­no­cent lit­tle old de­af lady ans­we­ring a wrong num­ber of co­ur­se, but she do­ub­ted it. She do­ub­ted everyt­hing now.

  ‘I’m ha­ving tro­ub­le he­aring you. Co­uld you say that aga­in? You’re very fa­int you know,’ the wo­man sa­id.

  You co­uldn’t ha­ve spo­ken a tru­er word, S’n’J tho­ught. I am fe­eling very fa­int. Any mo­re tricks and I may be on the flo­or un­cons­ci­o­us aga­in.

  ‘James,’ S’n’J re­pe­ated, as lo­ud and cle­ar as she co­uld. James hadn’t men­ti­oned a grand­mot­her, but, she sup­po­sed, he was still li­ving with his pa­rents and the­re was a chan­ce that this was the pa­rent of one of them.

  ‘No James he­re,’ the old wo­man fi­nal­ly cro­aked. ‘What a day for wrong num­bers! Had so­me­one ear­li­er wan­ted the po­li­ce. No po­li­ce he­re. No James ne­it­her. Sorry lo­ve, this is Ma­ida Va­le Two Se­ven Fi­ve. Mrs King.’

  And be­fo­re S’n’J co­uld say anyt­hing, Mrs King bro­ke the con­nec­ti­on.

  She re­di­al­led, won­de­ring what kind of a num­ber ‘Ma­ida Va­le 275’ was.

  ‘Hi, who’s cal­ling “Air Yo­ur Vi­ews” on Two Se­ven Fi­ve FM?’ an ent­hu­si­as­tic ma­le vo­ice en­qu­ired.

  ‘I’m sorry, I think I ha­ve the wrong num­ber,’ S’n’J sa­id.

  ‘A wro­o­o­o­on­nnng nu­u­um­ber!’ the vo­ice sho­uted in de­light. ‘Well, you’re li­ve on the air thro­ug­ho­ut Corn­wall, my dar­ling, and to­night we’re dis­cus­sing the su­per­na­tu­ral and whi­le you’re on the li­ne I’d li­ke to know yo­ur vi­ews on ghosts. Tell me, my dar­ling, ha­ve you re­cently had any stran­ge and eerie ex­pe­ri­en­ces?’

  S’n’J slam­med the pho­ne back in its crad­le.

  ‘stop it!’ she sho­uted. ‘I don’t know who you are or why you’re do­ing this to me, but I want you to stop it!’

  And it did stop. The next ti­me she di­al­led she got thro­ugh to James’ ho­me and James ans­we­red the pho­ne.

  Why this simp­le thing sho­uld se­em li­ke a mag­ni­fi­cent tri­umph to her, S’n’J didn’t know. All she’d do­ne was ma­ke a pho­ne call, af­ter all.

  ‘Hel­lo, who am I spe­aking to?’ she as­ked, just to be su­re that she was spe­aking to James and not me­rely so­me­one who so­un­ded li­ke him.

  ‘James,’ he sa­id. ‘James Gre­en. Who’s that?’

  S’n’J re­ali­zed she was abo­ut to say ‘Snowy’ and re­di­rec­ted her mo­uth. The re­sul­tant word so­un­ded li­ke, ‘Sne­e­j­ay’.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s Sa­rah-Jane Dres­den. You fi­xed my ex­ha­ust this af­ter­no­on. We ar­ran­ged…’ she ta­iled off, be­ca­use she was go­ing to so­und very stu­pid in­de­ed if she had only ima­gi­ned fi­xing up a da­te with him.

  ‘A da­te for to­mor­row,’ James sa­id and the­re was a kind of he­avy, be­aten to­ne to his vo­ice as if he only now saw that a cru­el joke had be­en pla­yed upon him. ‘And you’re rin­ging to say you can’t ma­ke it. Am I right?’

  S’n’J sho­ok her he­ad, hard. Then re­ali­zed that James co­uldn’t see that and qu­ickly sa­id, ‘No, not at all. It’s just that I’m fe­eling a lit­tle stran­ge and…’

  ‘You don’t think you’ll be well eno­ugh to­mor­row.’

  ‘Lis­ten James. I do want to go out with you and I will go out with you to­mor­row. But I’m fe­eling a bit sca­red, to tell you the truth. I’m on my own and wor­ri­ed and if it isn’t too much tro­ub­le, I’d li­ke you to co­me over now.’

  Si­len­ce.

  He thinks you’re crazy now, she as­su­red her­self. You turn up at the ga­ra­ge ba­re­fo­ot and with pink goo ac­ross the front of yo­ur car, act da­zed, then you ask him out. To­mor­row. Now you’ve just told him you’re sca­red. Why don’t you just tell him you’re not qu­ite all the­re, sa­ve him won­de­ring.

  S’n’J spo­ke in­to the si­len­ce, ‘Only I think I ne­ed to be with so­me­one…’ She was flo­un­de­ring now, run­ning out of words. ‘I’m sorry, but I tho­ught you might, per­haps… lo­ok af­ter me for a bit… kind of… sit with me and talk or… so­met­hing.’

  If that do­esn’t put him off, not­hing will, she told her­self. Guys his age don’t go anyw­he­re un­less the­re’s a chan­ce they’re go­ing to get la­id. They cer­ta­inly don’t put them­sel­ves out on a Fri­day night to go and sit with a mad wo­man.

  ‘Can I call you Sa­rah-Jane?’ James as­ked, he­si­tantly. His to­ne so­un­ded of­fi­ci­al. Not che­ery li­ke his to­ne at work, but mo­re that of a ner­vo­us po­li­ce­man.

  ‘If you li­ke,’ S’n’J rep­li­ed, frow­ning. ‘Or S’n’J, or Drezy.’

  ‘Okay,’ he sa­id, so­un­ding re­li­eved to ha­ve over­co­me what for him had ap­pa­rently be­en a ma­j­or obs­tac­le. He to­ok a de­ep bre­ath. ‘Well, I think that what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re in­se­cu­re and you want lo­oking af­ter, and you want me to do it, but that I sho­uldn’t get the idea the­re’s go­ing to be any funny bu­si­ness. Is that right?’

  ‘Ro­ughly,’ S’n’J sa­id.

  ‘And you don’t think I’ll go for it. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Why not?’ he as­ked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Be­ca­use of this af­ter­no­on, right? Be­ca­use you think I think you’re nuts. Is that abo­ut the si­ze of it?’

  ‘That’s a per­fect fit,’ S’n’J sa­id.

  So­mew­he­re du­ring the last two or three exc­han­ges James had sud­denly ga­ined con­fi­den­ce and his in­ter­ro­ga­ti­on had be­co­me play­ful, co­qu­et­tish even, and the ef­fect was iden­ti­cal to the one he’d had on her this af­ter­no­on. The dark clo­uds in­si­de her he­ad be­gan to bre­ak and sun­be­ams po­ured thro­ugh the gaps. If James hadn’t had mo­re wo­men than she’d had hot din­ners she wo­uld ha­ve be­en surp­ri­sed. He co­uld charm the pants off her in no ti­me at all. He wo­uld co­me over. She knew that now.

  ‘Well, I do think you’re nuts,’ James sa­id. ‘I al­so think you’re very at­trac­ti­ve. And char­ming. And I’d lo­ve to co­me over. And don’t worry, I gu­aran­tee I won’t po­un­ce on you. Not to­day any­way. I’ll ma­ke you cups of tea ins­te­ad. De­al?’

  ‘Thanks James,’ she sa­id.

  ‘S’OK,’ he rep­li­ed. ‘We’re not all thugs, us tyre and ex­ha­ust fit­ters. So­me of us are a bit edu-me-ca­ted. So­me of us are qu­ite sen­si­ti­ve too. Any­way, it’s all part of the af­ter sa­les ser­vi­ce.’

  ‘I’ll bet it is,’ she sa­id.

  ‘I’ll lo­ok for­ward to se­e­ing you, Miss Men­tal,’ he sa­id. ‘Be abo­ut an ho­ur, OK?’

  All she had to do now was wa­it. S’n’J went back in­to the lo­un­ge and tur­ned on the te­le­vi­si­on.

  An old black and whi­te film was sho­wing. Abo­ut a ha­un­ted ho­use, ap­pa­rently.

  S’n’J was now calm eno­ugh not to be­li­eve that so­me­one had ar­ran­ged this es­pe­ci­al­ly for her, but ne­vert­he­less she tur­ned the te­le­vi­si­on off aga­in. Ho­we­ver, she wasn’t qu­ite qu­ick eno­ugh to avo­id se­e­ing a long shot of the ha­un­ted ho­use in qu­es­ti­on. It didn’t lo­ok un­li­ke Black Rock.

  Thin­king not­hing, Sa­rah-Jane sip­ped at her whisky and wa­ited for James. Wit­hi
n fi­ve mi­nu­tes she was as­le­ep.

  S’n’J wo­ke up smi­ling. As far as she co­uld tell, her nap had be­en po­pu­la­ted with only go­od dre­ams.

  She was cer­ta­in that a no­ise from out in the hall had wo­ken her, which me­ant she hadn’t be­en as­le­ep that de­eply. An exp­lo­si­on wo­uldn’t ha­ve bro­ught her out of her nor­mal sle­eping mo­de. As Mar­tin wo­uld say, this girl co­uld sle­ep for her co­untry. And pro­bably win an Olym­pic gold, too.

  That’ll be James, she told her­self, sit­ting up and wi­ping her eyes. The no­ise had so­un­ded li­ke the let­ter-box flap be­ing used as a knoc­ker.

  She sto­od up, chec­ked her fa­ce in the mir­ror over the fi­rep­la­ce, told her­self that she lo­oked dre­ad­ful and went to ans­wer the do­or, won­de­ring why James hadn’t knoc­ked a se­cond ti­me.

  She fo­und out as so­on as she went out in­to the hall. James hadn’t knoc­ked a se­cond ti­me be­ca­use James hadn’t got he­re yet. And the rat­tling so­und had co­me from so­me­one using the let­ter box for its pro­per pur­po­se.

  The­re was anot­her buff A4 en­ve­lo­pe on the mat.

  ‘You bas­tard!’ S’n’J his­sed and ran to the do­or, ope­ned it and char­ged out­si­de, then down the hall to the sta­irs, wis­hing she’d pic­ked up her rol­ling-pin on the way out, for use when she ca­ught up with Mr Cle­ver Clogs Pe­ter Per­fect or who­ever the hell he was.

  Get­ting to the bot­tom of the sta­irs at the spe­ed she was tra­vel­ling wit­ho­ut her legs be­co­ming en­tang­led was so­met­hing she wo­uld ha­ve bet aga­inst, but her an­ger had se­emingly fil­led her with the agi­lity and gra­ce of a pre­da­tor.

  At the fo­ot of the sta­irs, she grab­bed hold of the ba­nis­ter post and swung her­self ro­und to fa­ce the bu­il­ding’s front do­or, which was just swin­ging to a clo­se.

  Got you, you shit­he­ad! she tho­ught, das­hing out­si­de.

  It wasn’t just ra­ining li­ke it had be­en ear­li­er; wa­ter was now ham­me­ring down as if it was be­ing blas­ted out of the sky with dyna­mi­te. The gut­ters we­re fast-flo­wing ri­vers and the man-ho­le co­vers spo­uted fo­un­ta­ins. The ro­ad was empty of mo­ving traf­fic. S’n’J squ­in­ted aga­inst the blin­ding ra­in and co­uld see no one on fo­ot on eit­her si­de of the ro­ad.

  Which me­ant that he’d al­re­ady got in­to his car.

  The­re we­re fo­ur par­ked cars be­si­des her own Si­er­ra. S’n’J ran to the first one - a Re­na­ult - and be­fo­re she re­ali­zed it was empty had al­re­ady yan­ked on the do­or hard eno­ugh to set off its burg­lar alarm.

  The next two cars we­re empty too.

  He wo­uldn’t ha­ve par­ked this far away and wal­ked. Not in this we­at­her! S’n’J told her­self as she pel­ted to­wards the next car. This too was empty.

  Fifty yards ahe­ad of her the last car’s en­gi­ne star­ted.

  ‘Got you!’ she his­sed and inc­re­ased her pa­ce un­til her legs scre­amed.

  The car’s wi­pers be­gan to work and its he­ad­lights ca­me on.

  It was go­ing to be clo­se. Very clo­se.

  But she wo­uld ma­ke it. She knew wit­ho­ut a sha­dow of a do­ubt. The ga­me was up for Mr Pe­ter Pis­she­ad. He wo­uldn’t be ter­ro­ri­zing her any mo­re af­ter this.

  If, as S’n’J wo­uld tell her­self la­ter, she had felt a lit­tle less li­ke a Ter­mi­na­tor Unit and a lit­tle mo­re li­ke her­self, she wo­uld do­ubt­less ha­ve sa­ved her­self a gre­at de­al of pa­in. This co­uld ha­ve be­en ac­comp­lis­hed by the simp­le act of re­mem­be­ring the ho­le in the pa­ving slabs. It wasn’t a de­ep ho­le, just a two-inch in­den­ta­ti­on whe­re a sec­ti­on had bro­ken off, but she had tur­ned her ank­le in it twi­ce be­fo­re.

  And now, as she slo­wed to yank open the car do­or be­fo­re it dro­ve away, she did it for a third ti­me.

  This ti­me it felt as if her right leg had be­en re­mo­ved and rep­la­ced with a bolt of light­ning. She ske­wed si­de­ways, fell on her right sho­ul­der, twis­ted and cur­led, and her legs sa­iled over her he­ad and flip­ped her over. When the blur of mo­ve­ment had fi­nis­hed, S’n’J was kne­eling on the wet pa­ve­ment be­si­de the dri­ver’s do­or of the car, fa­cing the di­rec­ti­on from which she had co­me. Her kne­es had ta­ken most of the for­ce of the fall and they felt as if they had smas­hed in­to a tho­usand pi­eces. And as any IRA ‘Cor­rec­ti­on’ te­am wo­uld ha­ve be­en glad to tell her, inj­ured kne­ecaps pro­vi­ded mo­re ago­ni­zing pa­in than al­most any ot­her part of the body.

  But she wasn’t go­ing to let an­y­t­hing stop her. She scramb­led to her fe­et, yan­ked open the car do­or, flung her­self in­si­de, grab­bed Pe­ter Per­fect by the thro­at and be­gan to throt­tle him.

  It was a go­od fi­ve se­conds be­fo­re she re­ali­zed that Pe­ter Per­fect was not Pe­ter Per­fect at all, or even ma­le. The per­son cur­rently strug­gling to bre­ak the strang­le­hold on her neck was a mid­dle-aged wo­man.

  S’n’J let go. The wo­man crin­ged.

  ‘Did you just de­li­ver a let­ter for an­yo­ne?’ S’n’J de­man­ded.

  The wo­man sho­ok her he­ad.

  ‘Whe­re ha­ve you be­en?’

  ‘Vi­si­ting my da­ugh­ter,’ the wo­man sa­id in a ter­ri­fi­ed vo­ice. ‘Let me go! I’ll get the po­li­ce.’

  ‘I am the po­li­ce,’ S’n’J sa­id qu­ickly. ‘Whe­re do­es yo­ur da­ugh­ter li­ve?’

  The wo­man po­in­ted ac­ross the stre­et. ‘Over the­re,’ she sa­id.

  S’n’J nod­ded. She do­ub­ted very much that this was her aut­hor, or his post­wo­man. ‘OK. I’m sorry abo­ut at­tac­king you. I tho­ught you we­re so­me­one el­se,’ she sa­id, thin­king fran­ti­cal­ly. ‘We’re ac­ting on a tip-off. We’re af­ter a drugs co­uri­er and we tho­ught it was you. We didn’t see you get in the car. Are you all right? Do you want me to ta­ke you to the hos­pi­tal?’

  The wo­man nod­ded then sho­ok her he­ad. S’n’J as­su­med this me­ant yes she was all right and no she didn’t want to be dri­ven to the hos­pi­tal.

  ‘Can I go now?’ the wo­man sa­id.

  ‘Yes,’ S’n’J sa­id. She step­ped back, clo­sed the car do­or and the wo­man dro­ve away.

  She sto­od watc­hing the car for a few se­conds, not be­li­eving any of this had hap­pe­ned. She might ha­ve run down the ro­ad and fal­len, but su­rely you co­uldn’t half strang­le a wo­man then ma­ke her be­li­eve you we­re a cop. Not that easily.

  Get­ting back wasn’t easy. Her ank­le was badly twis­ted and her kne­ecaps shot pa­in in­to her that re­ac­hed right up to her gro­in and down to her to­es. S’n’J lim­ped.

  The qu­es­ti­on, How co­uld he ha­ve got away so easily? had an ans­wer so simp­le that even thro­ugh the pa­in, she fo­und it and had fi­led it away long be­fo­re she re­ac­hed the top of the sta­irs to her flat.

  He’d suc­ke­red her, that was how. He’d run downs­ta­irs, ope­ned the front do­or for ef­fect, then ret­re­ated back down the gro­und-flo­or hal­lway - and had pro­bably hid­den amongst the junk that was sto­red be­ne­ath the sta­irs. He’d be­en cle­ver eno­ugh to re­ali­ze that she wo­uld gi­ve cha­se and al­so that when she saw the do­or clo­sing she wo­uld as­su­me he’d go­ne thro­ugh it. He’d pro­bably go­ne out af­ter­wards, se­en which di­rec­ti­on she’d go­ne and set off the ot­her way.

  Well then, how co­me he didn’t le­ave any wet fo­otp­rints on the flo­or? She wasn’t up to fi­gu­ring that out right now. She en­te­red her flat, clo­sed the do­or and pic­ked up the new en­ve­lo­pe. The wri­ting on the front of it was in the sa­me hand as the cor­rec­ti­ons on the ear­li­er pa­ges; it was writ­ten with an HB pen­cil and sa­id: For­got this ear­li­er. Sorry.

  S’n’J tur­ned the en­ve�
�lo­pe over. The­re was a furt­her mes­sa­ge writ­ten on the back: See how easy it is to tell li­es? See what po­wer it gi­ves?

  This might ha­ve be­en a re­fe­ren­ce to what was con­ta­ined wit­hin the en­ve­lo­pe - Ste­ve Byrne of­ten did this when he sent in his comp­le­ted ma­nusc­ripts to Mar­tin. On the box, he eit­her wro­te sho­ut li­nes - the kind of thing that got put on the front of pa­per­backs (Vi­si­ons of blo­od lust dan­ced in his he­ad, was S’n’J’s all-ti­me fa­vo­uri­te) or qu­otes from the story.

  This might ha­ve be­en a story qu­ote, but she do­ub­ted it. It lo­oked mo­re li­ke a re­fe­ren­ce to what she had just do­ne in the stre­et.

  Tel­ling her­self that this was im­pos­sib­le wo­uld ha­ve se­emed a lit­tle li­ke stan­ding on the til­ting deck of the Ti­ta­nic and tel­ling it, even as it slid be­ne­ath the wa­ves, that it was un­sin­kab­le.

  It wasn’t un­til S’n’J got in­to the bath­ro­om, still car­rying the en­ve­lo­pe and it wasn’t un­til the bath was half-full, that she dis­co­ve­red she in­ten­ded to ha­ve a hot fo­amy so­ak whi­le she re­ad the next ins­tal­ment of Black Rock.

  She was dis­gus­ted with her­self, but the­re was not­hing^ she co­uld do abo­ut it. The story was an itch that ne­eded to be scratc­hed. She had to know what hap­pe­ned next.

  You fo­ol, you don’t ha­ve to know at all, her Girl Gu­ide vo­ice told her.

  The vo­ice was right. Up to a po­int. But no mat­ter how dis­gus­ted she felt with her­self, the ur­ge to know what was on the pa­ges wo­uld not go away un­til it got what it wan­ted.

  So she clim­bed in­to the bath, ope­ned the en­ve­lo­pe, pul­led out Chap­ter Three and lay back in the ste­aming wa­ter pro­mi­sing her­self that if things got out of hand she wo­uld stop im­me­di­ately. Pro­mi­sing her­self that she wo­uld only re­ad for ten mi­nu­tes any­way in or­der to be dry and dres­sed by the ti­me James ar­ri­ved.

  Twenty mi­nu­tes la­ter, she had bro­ken both of the­se pro­mi­ses.