Posting it up for comments and spags to see if things could be improved. Jack rose late that day. The trees and shrubs along the developments boundary, bare on his arrival, were burnished gold now as he took his usual shortcut through and crossed at the lights, heading for the shops. Back home he made tea, poured milk into a bowl of muesli and slotted his usual two slices into the toaster.
The living room was dual aspect, the views taking in the neighbouring three storey blocks studded between neat lawns and the new build houses opposite. Westwards, the dual carriageway droned contentedly. Jack, accustomed to hiring top whack hookers and pissing away a couple of grand at favoured casino‘s, had begun to draw a strange comfort from the mundane routine and suburban vista. Feeling content he sat at the table and opened the paper and his safe new life shattered.
He scrabbled for the phone, punching out the familiar number. Colby answered on the third ring, sounding not at all surprised. ‘I gather you’ve read the papers or switched on a TV.’
‘I should’ve heard it from you bastards not the Daily Mirror. How long’s he been out?’
Colby’s voice pitched low and soothing. ‘Relax, we’ve only found out ourselves. He escaped yesterday evening but no one thought to inform us.’
‘Yeah, now they’ve got their conviction I can go fuck.’ Jack’s voice was flaky and full of resentment.
‘It looks like he had inside help.’
‘I wonder who?’ Jack laughed bitterly.
‘We’ve got two plainclothes on the way there Jack. Remember no one knows where you are.’
The toast leapt out abruptly. He tried to get a grip on his skittering nerves and peered through the window. Children on bikes dipped and swooped while robust men gardened outside boxy houses. Colby was right of course but when it came to Ghost, he’d learnt not to be complacent.
‘I’ll be round at some point. Needless to say I wouldn’t advise going out and keep the front door bolted.’
‘Just as a precaution, right?’ Jack‘s voice was cynical.
‘Exactly.’
He switched on the TV. There was only a small feature on Sky News. Prison breaks not being big stories. Jack paced the well-appointed confines of the flat, all part of the deal along with the surgery and the monthly chore of dying his blonde hair darker. It seemed like a result at the time, now it felt like the refurbished holding area of an abattoir.
Thank God Mum's not alive, they might have tried to get to me by...
Shaking his head to banish the thought he glanced at the stoppered urn on the shelf, brought back from her last trip with the church biddies from some holy shrine in Ireland. ‘For you son because you need protecting… from yourself as much as anything.’
Not that he’d ever been that bad, acting the middleman on a few deals or running the odd errand. Archie Boyde had always been on the periphery but Jack’s reputation burgeoned and contact became inevitable. Impressed by his savvy Boyde began offering more work. Slowly Jack was drawn into that labyrinthine world, hitching a ride on Boyde’s coat tails as he made his meteoric rise. Jack became a fixture. Still though he kept his hands clean of the worst aspects.
But he heard stories, especially about Ghost. He trailed Boyde like a pale shadow. Jack quailed at the memory of his flat, mask like face. The pasty flesh threaded with veins and reminiscent of blue cheese left to sweat in the heat. Save for the midnight hair and stormy eyes he might be mistaken for an albino. When he spoke to you, even just to pass the time, you wanted to be somewhere else.
Boyde might have a legion of anecdotes recounted over late night drinks in back street lock-ins but the ones about Ghost verged on the mythic. They said Boyde had found him years ago, wandering some rain lashed road like a lost soul. They said he was pure evil, that Ghost would kill his own Mother and Father if needs be but nobody seemed to know just who or where that mother and father were. It was as if Ghost had appeared out of thin air that wild, stormy night, waiting for destiny in the form of Boyde’s car. Jack had even made discreet enquiries himself but people tended to clam up when Ghost‘s name was mentioned; whether from ignorance or fear he could never decide. Even the hardest cases stepped aside heads bowed when Ghost appeared at Boyde's shoulder, smiling that soft smile.
And those who didn’t…well Jack had heard the rumours about extra hardcore in the foundations of some of the newer builds in town.
He opened a window to banish the stuffiness, immediately clocking a Vauxhall Vectra lurking blatantly with two figures hunched inside. A fine October afternoon unfurled to taunt him in his brick cage. Alpine clouds cruised into the blue but already a lowering sun began to tiger stripe the lawns. He cast superstitious glances towards the window half expecting Ghost to come scuttling over the rim like a giant cockroach.
He doesn’t know where you are, there’s no way.
But as dusk drifted from the horizon and shadows leaked from the corners each tentative sound resonated ominously from the communal stairwells until a child’s call or a carefree voice relaxed him again. He plucked the biggest blade he could find from the knife rack, keeping it close. He wasn’t violent by nature but no amount of charm or reason would swing it with Ghost. The last scally who’d fucked Boyde off had spent the last twenty-four hours of his life in agony. Ghost had used pliers and an oxyacetylene torch then snuffed out his screams by snapping his neck. Jack had done much, much worse, sending the whole mob down for the rest of their naturals. He should’ve guessed they’d have one more trick up their sleeves.
The nastiest trick of all.
Eventually he snatched up his mobile. ‘Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting all day.’
Colby spoke in the same easy tone but Jack sensed tension. ‘I’m sorry; we’re following up a few sightings.’
‘Sightings,’ Jack repeated.
‘Ninety miles southeast of the prison. Jack he seems to be heading in your direction but it’s only a general direction, it doesn’t mean…’
‘Sure it doesn’t.’ His panic scrabbled ever higher.
‘We’ll get some more manpower on board. Until he‘s caught you’ll have someone in the flat with you.
‘Where are they then?’
‘It takes time.’
‘What about one of the grunts in the car.’
‘We don’t want them operating on their own.’
Jack closed his eyes and swallowed. They were taking this seriously then. ‘Send ‘em both in for fuck sake.’ His voice broke.
'The idea is to intercept him before he gets anywhere near you. Just keep all the doors and windows bolted. Another hour at most and we’ll be there.’
That voice, oh so persuasive. He remembered it well, along with the astute eyes gazing across the table. It had been more like a cosy chat than interrogation.
‘A stash of Charlie big enough to keep the Columbian Army marching across South America, laundered money, stolen credit cards…we’ve got enough here to put you away for a long, long time Jack.’
It hadn’t taken much persuasion in the end, the incentives were too good and the truth was Colby had sussed him.
‘How old are you now, nearly forty? Getting too old to be ducking and diving, always looking over your shoulder and keeping one-step ahead. Must be exhausting?’
And it was. He’d had the tidy birds, flash cars and the easy money. All he wanted now was a quiet life. And that’s what they were offering, a completely new start.
‘If you help us.’
And here he was.
He dropped the phone. The window was slammed like a trap. Jack checked the bolts on the door for the umpteenth time.
He‘s found me. There was no way they’d be deploying extra manpower otherwise. He crossed to the sofa and collapsed; exhausted by the fear gestating in his gut like a clawing foetus. The urn brooded before him. He’d kept it after his Mother’s death, a reminder, maybe even a talisman. It made him feel she still watched over him like she had in his youth as he’d progressed from petty street gangs to the more serious players. She’d always said he’d rue the day. ‘Evil in a sharp suit’s still evil. There’s nothing about those people to admire son.’
But it was the sharp suits and the lifestyle that swayed him, not her warnings.
He laid his head back and sighed raggedly. He closed his eyes and repeated a mantra in his mind. They’ll be here soon, very soon. His breathing began to even, deepening. He felt drained by fear. Slowly his eyes closed.
Jack.
A soft voice whispered into his awareness. He jerked awake. The flat was draped in murk and almost dark.
Fuck, did I doze?
Listening intently, he rose and crossed to the window. The hum of distant traffic slithered in as he opened it. He craned his neck peering out. There were no last minute commuters or pedestrians passing below on the grey path. The neon frontage of the shops glimmered behind the stirring trees then abruptly winked out. Jack felt a curious disconnection as though he’d been sucked from the real world. He went to the light switch and flicked it. No light banished the sooty gloom. He toggled it impatiently then tried the hallway. Groping down the passage to the bathroom he tried the switch there too, again nothing. Through the front door spy hole the communal landing was a woodcut of shapes and shadowy angles.
‘Jack.’
The call came again, more distinct. Footsteps, ascended from the bottom of the stairwell and a dog began howling fearfully as if the devil had passed.
He spun around, stumbling down the passage towards the black maw of the living room, fumbling and smashing a knee into the coffee table. He grabbed the mobile, feeling for the redial button. There was nothing, the phone as dead as the echoing steps in his ears. Brandishing the kitchen knife he felt through the dark to the telephone table. The landline was out too.
He almost wrenched off the window. If he could just push it wider he could leap out but his fumbling fingers couldn’t manage the safety catch in the dark. The footsteps seemed to boom ever louder then stopped abruptly. Sticking his head out he saw petrol blue clouds bullying a wan moon. The Vectra was indistinguishable from the other cars Beneath the amber daub of the streetlights. They too began to dim, followed by the lights in the houses and flats.
‘HELP!’ His voice cracked, withering in the dark air. There was no response. Everything was deathly still, all light extinguished now. Even the sound of distant traffic seemed to have drained away along with the light to leave an unearthly void. He opened his mouth to shout again but a sigh of movement rippled behind him and froze the words to his lips.
‘Jack.’
The voice was low and amused, as chill as the fear that scoured his spine. Turning the thought occurred to him that he had heard no sound of entry, no lock being picked or door shunted. It was almost as though Ghost had stepped through solid matter.
‘They won’t hear.’ He emerged from the darkness at the room’s far end. It clung to his face, lifting like a widows veil as he stepped into a square of moonlight. His eyes shone malevolently, scorching Jack. ‘I saw to it.’
‘You killed them?’ Jack whispered.
Ghost’s features were bleached in the silver light. ‘There are other ways …for the likes of me.’
Jack nodded with exaggerated care, not really taking in the words, aware only of the looming form filling the room. He tried to raise the knife but fear impaled him on a cold metal spike from his throat to his clenching anus.
Ghost regarded his face beadily ‘You’ve had work done and you‘ve changed your hair!’ He smiled a neat spiteful smile. ’But you’ve still got a big gob sunshine.’
‘They made me.’ It was pathetic but all Jack could summon from his disintegrating guile. ‘Don‘t do this Ghost,’ he pleaded.
Ghost tipped his head to one side, considering. ‘It’s not me you should be asking son. Mr Boyde’s the one. But he’s dead now so you can’t.’
‘Dead?’ Jack blinked. ‘A couple of hours ago, that withered up heart finally caved in to the years of good living.’ Ghost sniffed blithely. ‘But he made one last request then I’m released.’
Jack was trying to keep a grip, to keep Ghost talking and figure out some means of escape. ‘What do you mean released? They don’t let you out because Boyde’s dead.’
Ghost laughed. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree sunshine.’
‘Listen, I can help,’ Jack thought desperately. ‘Now he’s dead I can go to the police say you were forced to take the rap, that Boyde’s guilty of all the murders. You might get let out.
‘That place couldn’t hold me. I stayed to be near Boyde and fulfil my obligations. Now he’s keeping his side of the bargain.’ Ghost began to move forwards. ‘Unlike you Mr Boyde realised there is always a price to pay. From the day I was bidden I made him aware of that.’
Bidden? Jack huddled up against the window, trying to merge with the glass, mystified but desperate to keep him talking rather than acting. ‘How do you know he‘s dead Ghost?’
Ghost stopped. ‘I mean, if it’s only a few hours surely there wouldn’t have been time. It wont even be on the news yet and…’
‘I knew the moment he died,’ The whisper slithered from a scything smile, cutting across Jack‘s babble. ‘The very instant.’
Jack stared back white faced.
‘Oh Jacky, haven’t you worked it out yet?’ Ghost shook his head. ‘Small time hood becomes the top face just, coincidentally, after I come on the scene.’
‘Everyone said you were the making of him…’
‘Making of him,’ Ghosts chuckle drained into the dark. ‘The man was a no mark hustler, an also ran, I’ll give him this though he was ambitious…ambitious enough to cross a line most men never would.’
Jack shook his head not really comprehending, aware only that he was very close to death.
‘I don’t understand.'
‘Then you’ll have to ask him yourself, when we get to where we‘re going.’
Ghost swooped like an owl on its prey. Screaming, Jack’s instincts finally engaged. He raised the knife spastically. A gravid weight crashed onto him and the blade jerked before melding into firm flesh. Ghost fell back, looking down in amazement at the handle protruding rudely from his blue, prison shirted belly.
‘Well well, I never would’ve thought you had it in you.’ He grasped the handle. Jack gawped as he pulled the blade determinedly from flesh. Disbelief mauled what little rational thought remained. There was no blood but a smell like shit and offal.
Ghost waggled the silver smear back and forth teasingly in the dark. ‘I’ve got a couple of hours to kill, perhaps we could have some fun?’
Jack lurched sideways, cannoning off the wall like a snooker ball towards the opposite end of the room. A desperate idea of throwing one of the dining chairs through the window and jumping flashed into his mind but already he was aware of the pale shadow erupting behind, reaching out.
He was half way across the room when a hand fastened on his shoulder. He heard a snarl and felt pain as fingers bit into his flesh like a steel trap and yanked. Sailing backwards Jack’s hand reached out in a desperate act of defiance and grasped at the heavy urn. Ghost spun him around, unwittingly aiding the trajectory and momentum of the blow. It shattered into the white face. Jack felt a chill splash from the holy water within and a guttural roar seared the air as Jack collapsed to the floor and his unravelling mind plunged towards black.
The last thing he heard was a pounding on the front door.
There were some awkward questions and no neat answers. Questions about the strange, coma like state Jack emerged from hours later to begin babbling about Ghost, and power cuts and a prescient knowledge of Boyde’s death, questions about the body in prison issue shirt and trousers found withered and burnt in a roadside ditch, completely contradicting Jacks version of events; and questions about the test to try and match the DNA from the body to a hair from the brush in Ghosts cell, which threw up some equally perplexing oddities
They moved Jack to a new safe house far to the North. Colby kept frequent contact amazed by the turnaround in the former criminal. Jack started attending the local Catholic Church and became a pillar of respectability. The wide boy who’d spent most of his adult life thieving, whoring and gambling developed esoteric interests encompassing quantum theory, alternate states of consciousness and spiritual models of reality.
During one conversation Colby asked if he ever worried that it wasn’t Ghost’s body in that ditch, that one day he would come looking again. Jack paused for a moment.
‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘He’s back where he belongs…unless he’s bidden by some other bugger.’
Colby didn’t press the matter further.|
Confusing
Written by BedtimeStoryteller (134 comments posted) 11th April 2008 | Good, but I found the ending confusing.
Ian
Guiseley, UK |
Written by philkent (191 comments posted) 11th April 2008 | | Thanks Ian, yes I've got my doubts about the ending too, at least in as such I'm not making it clear as to what and who Ghost is exactly. I've rewritten that particular part a few times and still wasn't sure I was getting the idea across. | is this the re-write
Written by jjimbopryde (17 comments posted) 10th May 2008 | Enjoyed the carecterisation and the way the story leads on.
Wondered why it was in fantasy at first but it turned into a pleasant surprise and fits well.
The only slight quibble is ghost, the name. It felt (at first and only till you know the guy) that i was reading a neil gaiman.
Thought the end worked pretty well and was left in no doubt as to 'who' ghost was.
Enjoyed, thanks
j
|
Written by philkent (191 comments posted) 10th May 2008 | Thank you Jimbo,
this was more a case of tinkered with than a re-write, so I'm glad you got it so to speak. It'll probably change again in the near future as I'm in the process of editing it yet again but thanks for the input.
Phil |
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