Harvest (19 page)

“
Basement clear. Nothing
down here...” Stewart jogged the last distance to the stairs
feeling the blackness at his back like a rearing beast. His jog
broke into a run as he hit the first step. With each footfall away
from the basement the fear receded and reason regained its reign, a
growing confidence slowing his pace. The voice in his head now his
own again.

Frank Harbuck lay back in the
steamy warmth of the bath. The water washed over him, rising up his
sagging pigeon chest and into the crevices of his collarbones as
his bony hands held the rails on the bath. He lowered himself into
the comforting heat. Cupping the water in his clawed hands he
bathed his face and ran his fingers through his thinning hair,
plastering it to his prominent shiny scalp of liver spots and
broken purple capillaries. He heard his wife padding toward the
room, and with bleary eyes he saw her silhouette fill the
doorway.

“
Don’t turn the light
on...” he grumbled blandly. Not wanting the drone of the extractor
fan to shred the peace.

“
I know, I know. After
forty six years of being married to you, you would think I don’t
need telling.” Phyllis chastised absently as she started to brush
her remaining teeth in the gloom.

These days she did need
reminding. In the last two years she had started forgetting the
little understandings and rituals they had developed over the
decades together. Frank lay back and sighed as the heat relaxed his
stiffened limbs that felt hollow and brittle. He closed his eyes
and thought of the days when his body had been toned, strong and
light, not scrawny, sinewy and the dragging weight it had now
become.

He eyed his wife covertly and
wondered if the confusion that occasionally flitted across her face
was actually her wonder at who this old man was that claimed to be
her husband. Although they had both watched each other age through
the years, the shrivelled old woman that he lived with now was
totally irreconcilable to the young woman he had courted and
married. How jarring it must be for her to have her mental slips
into the past, only to be confronted by him how he is now, or by
her own aged reflection. He scoured through photograph albums with
her from time to time, reminding her of the time line of their
relationship and their physical appearance. Hoping it would keep
her grounded for longer.

His insistence upon
routine despite being retired probably made it easier for her to
keep her anchor in the present: up early, breakfast – full English
at the weekends, reading the daily paper together, shopping. Then
he went for an afternoon drink down the Labour club with the lads,
except there were no
lads
anymore, only Robbie Peters and James Mckerny were left from
the crowd that he regularly drank with. Robbie lived with his son
and his family now that his pins didn’t work so well and he needed
wheeling around. It meant that whenever Robbie was brought down the
club he was surrounded by his family. He couldn’t chew the cud over
a pint with Robbie’s grandchildren hanging off him or racing him
unceremoniously around the bar. James Mckerny didn’t recognise
Frank anymore. James didn’t recognise anyone anymore. The others
had disappeared, or were in rest homes or dead he guessed. The
afternoon consisted of a nap with a book then dinner, and
television in the evening while rubbing Phyllis’s feet or bony
back.

In the last year he regretted
choosing not to have a family. The financial struggle would have
been worth it to have people around him, people that knew and loved
him. Old Father-Time and the Reaper were whittling his world, his
life, away. Eventually the two old boys down the club would be
gone, and his wife would slip further into the past. Then it would
be just him. There would be no one around that had shared in his
past, only those that knew him as the old boy to say a polite hello
to. They wouldn’t give any thought to the life he had had. He
opened his eyes. Phyllis smiled at him before replacing her
toothbrush and left the bathroom.

Frank closed his eyes again and
took a deep breath which strained at his dry lungs as he sunk his
face under the water. The heat flooded his ears, deafening him to
his wife working at breakfast in the kitchen. The water flowed over
his cheeks, floating the hair from around his head like a halo.
Filling the recesses of his closed eyes and threatening his
nostrils. He slowly released the air in slaloming bubbles and
surfaced. Keeping his eyes closed he sucked in a fresh supply of
air and sunk back into the quiet womb-like world. After exhausting
his lungs he rose again. The surface didn’t break but stretched
across his face in a warm and flexible film.

Frank panicked with the urgency
of needing to breathe. His eye’s flicked open and the heat of the
water washed over his naked eyes. He could make out the gloomy
details of the bathroom from his underwater world but no obstacle
other than the surface itself. Frank’s hands leapt for the rails of
the bath to draw himself up but they struck the same restraint that
kept him under. His fingers scrambled at the smooth malleable skin
unable to gain a grip or to break it. The surface of the water had
become like polythene. His lungs desperately clung to the last of
his air, begging his body for more.

His thick nails clipped to
stubs, scraped the surface in an attempt to tear through. He bashed
his fists against it with all his strength, but only created slow
ripples that radiated to the edge of the supple surface that sealed
seamlessly with the bath. Finally the pressure forced him to gulp.
Water flooded his mouth and he willed himself not to swallow, but
the vacuum in his chest overpowered him. He gulped again and the
first mouthful of water forced itself painfully into his lungs like
a balled fist. The instinct to draw breath grew. He choked and
gulped more down, then another choke and another intake, each
mouthful like gobstoppers in his lungs. His fists bounded on the
pliable but unforgiving surface, his feet slid frantically on the
bottom of the bath, his whole body thrashed in the watery grave.
His body stilled as his mouth opened wide in one final swallowing
gesture. His wide eyes stared through the surface. One of his legs
gave a last twitch. His face pressed gently against the translucent
skin as he floated naked and lifeless.

It watched
from above, hovering just above the surface. It changed the surface
back to normal. Answers acquired,
It
drifted away.

Chapter
Fifteen

Craig let Kelly in. She
was back in uniform but she hadn’t tied her hair up, it was a good
look. Uniformed and sultry. He fantasised that that was her
intended look, then panicked that it was. No, now that
was
wishful thinking. Besides, it
would be some time before he found women in Police uniforms sexy
after the previous nights grilling. Heading past the lounge on the
way to the kitchen he saw that Rachel had stirred from her sleep on
the sofa.

“
You’re back.” Rachel
roughly pulled a brush through her flattened hair.

“
We were back hours ago –
just didn’t want to wake you. We both went to bed and agreed to
meet up for a cuppa before Kelly had to go to work.”

“
Tea sounds
bliss.”

Craig thought coffee would
probably be better for Rachel. He had found Rachel asleep on the
sofa, a pile of empty miniature bottles of alcohol nestled in the
top of her large bag. The bottle of vodka he kept on his book case
was still in place but the level had dropped considerably. He
didn’t judge her on it. If it hadn’t been for the pain killers he
would have considered a vodka induced blackout to block out the
fear that crouched in his mind as he struggled to get to sleep.

Craig switched the kettle on in
the kitchen and the two women sat at the small battered table
butted up to the blank wall.

“
How are you feeling?” he
asked.

“
A little worse for
falling asleep on the couch. Can’t say I slept peacefully though. I
had nightmares like I have never had before – and believe me with
the visitations I receive I have had some pretty awful nightmares
in my time.”

“
Same here. Wasn’t just
nightmares – sleeping was like wrestling with a crocodile or
something. I feel shattered.” He knew he looked it too, but then
none of them had had much sleep.

Rachel popped open a compact
mirror. “I look a mess.”

“
I don’t know, I think
pillow hair is underrated.”

Rachel began to cleanse her
face with some round waifer-like pads. “Thank you.”

“
It works for you, Craig
after all.”

“
Thank you Kelly, I
thought so,” he replied sarcastically.

“
Did you put the blanket
around me?”

Craig nodded to Rachel as he
prepared their drinks and she freshened up her make-up.

“
Thanks, I didn’t even hear you come in. She nodded to
his sling.
“
Is your arm okay
now?”

“
It
doesn’t feel too bad. I’m gonna keep the sling on for a bit
though
.
I never want to see
my arm in that position again.
”
Craig gave a mock shudder. “Very unnerving. Oh, and I have a
nice mottled yellow-purple-and-black-bruise thing going on which
is, y’ know; colourful at the least.” He spooned the tea bags into
the bin.

Rachel nodded her head to
Kelly’s uniform. “You haven’t got work? Not after last night.”

“
Tell me about it! I have
to go in though. Craig invited me in for a bit before my shift so
the three of us could talk.”

Craig delivered the teas
to the table. “Breakfast isn’t up to much – bread is green and only
enough milk for tea.” He roughly deposited the bags onto the table
from his shopping trip with Kelly the night before.
“
So
– chocolate
anyone?”

The two women laughed at him
and delved into the bag.

Kelly pulled a Galaxy bar out
of the bag. “Not my breakfast of choice but I need the comfort of
chocolate.”

“
The energy rush would be
helpful too.” Craig sat his bar of Dairy Milk before
him.

“
Are you both alright
after your interviews with the police?” Kelly looked uncomfortable
and a little guilty, as if the grilling was somehow her
fault.

“
Well he didn’t get his
truncheon out, so I’m quite glad of that.” Craig battled to unwrap
a chocolate bar with one hand.

Without word Rachel took it
away from him opened it and broke it into chunks and slid it back
to him. “It made me feel so guilty. As if we had done… Well, as if
we had played some part in Amy’s disappearance.” Rachel shook her
head grimly as she took the wrapper from a Kit-Kat.

“
I don’t think they can
really suspect any of us. They only have to look at our alibi’s for
the other disappearances, and I guess even the tapes from last
night go a little way to show that we didn’t enter the flat at the
time of the disappearance.”

Rachel bowed her head. “Poor
David’s equipment. The university will be so cross with him.”

“
They won’t keep hold of
it for too long. We might get more interviews, but that’s just
normal procedure. They will be just as baffled as anyone, though
they won’t admit it. They will search the building and local area
but it’s a time consuming exercise,” Kelly explained.

Craig swallowed a melted
mouthful of chocolate. “An exercise that didn’t turn up anything
before with Emily. I can go along with the baffled feeling – have
either of you got any idea what happened to Amy?”

Silence descended and Rachel
shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable in her seat. “I have never
experienced anything like this before.” She broke off a piece of
chocolate for herself and held it poised before her lips, her eyes
were evasive. “I saw just as much as you did on that monitor,” she
popped the chocolate into her mouth and brought her contribution to
a momentary close, creating a quiet to be filled; fielding the
theorizing out.

Craig quickly took his tea up
and allowed the baton of explanations to pass to Kelly, who
realised this with a physical jolt. She stammered and started; “Amy
was on the screen, she heard or saw something, then there was a
terrible noise, a flash and the next moment she was gone.”

Now that Kelly had stated
what he, and probably Rachel, had assumed Kelly wouldn’t
acknowledge he stepped in. “So to clarify – we are saying that she…
Amy, was snatched into thin air. The flat door was locked from the
inside when I went down there and tried my heroics. The monitor’s
feed showed she was alone. If the windows had been unlocked I would
have been reasonably happy to entertain someone entering and
leaving that way, despite it involving
Spiderman
abilities.”

Rachel took her turn
again. Craig imagined that now he and Kelly had shown they were
willing to stand at the edge of scepticism and reason, Rachel was
more willing to commit her ideas. “The only experience I have
that’s remotely like this is with poltergeist activities;
if
that’s what that was last night.
On occasion I am convinced they can result in some minor scratches
and bruises, but
never abductions.
I
leave all ideas like that to Hollywood and fiction.”

Craig was disappointed that she
couldn’t explain it further and frustrated that she wasn’t more
willing to hypothesize more from her own unique perspective and
corner of knowledge, but settled himself by thinking that of all
the strange stories and occurrences that he knew none of the famous
disappearances, ghost and monster stories he knew of came close to
what they had experienced. He blew on his tea, although there was
no need, the ritual was just strangely comforting. “But where does
that leave us?” Craig’s motive for involvement was in wanting a
story. That’s what had pulled him into this; but he had a sense
that things had gone beyond that now. The story he had been chasing
had turned on him and it had evolved into something no one would
believe within a newspaper. Even though for Craig the story was
chillingly real and threatening, and demanded to be resolved.