HIS OTHER SON (8 page)

Anders stood between them
and the open door behind him. None of the women moved, but he heard the door
slam shut. He glanced round and watched as it rocked on its hinges, as if
someone had slammed it really hard.

“Look, I don’t want any
trouble. I have a job to do.”

 
None of the women were smiling now. They moved
away from one another so that they seemed to fill the entire bathroom. Even
though Anders was still stood in front of them, the impression he had was that
they were surrounding him.

“Mrs. Stock will wonder
where we are.”

“We had better not keep her
waiting.”

“We have time for some fun though,
don’t we?”

Anders didn’t like the sound
of that. He edged back towards the door, and fumbled for the handle with his
undamaged hand. He wrenched the handle down, but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” the blonde
one said.

“We don’t like to be disturbed
when we enjoy ourselves.”

The dark skinned one began
to stroke Anders chest. Immediately he felt his heart constrict, a tightening
behind his ribs, a pain like a knife plunged in and twisted.

“It wasn’t drugs,” the older
one said. “No cocaine, nothing so mundane.” She took a small glass vial from
inside her robes and held it up to the light. It sparkled in the brilliant
white light of the bathroom. Inside the vial, a grey dust seemed to be dancing,
spinning off the glass as if in exultation.

 
Anders watched, fascinated, as she took out
the glass stopper, tipped the vial against her lips, and swallowed the
contents. After a few seconds she opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue and
showed Anders the grey dust bubbling and writhing in her mouth.

“Souls are usually best
taken with a good wine, but Brother Simon doesn’t like us to drink on duty.”

The blonde woman was behind
him now, and Anders was barely aware of her pressing her hands into his back.
The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, but as soon as the agony started
in his back he cried out.

As soon as the scream began,
the older woman pressed her lips hard against his mouth. He felt her lips
squirming against his, like slugs on oil-slicked glass. Her tongue insinuated
itself, and he felt a sensation like thousands of grains of sand rolling around
inside his mouth. The dust she had swallowed was being regurgitated, and he was
being forced to eat it.

The hands stroking his chest
were more insistent now, stroking more firmly, the fingers dipping into the
flesh, the nails probing beneath the skin, raking his ribs.

His back was racked with a
pain so intense he was forced to his knees with the pressure of it. He was
aware of hands moving around inside him, his spine being manipulated from
behind, the vertebrae being twisted and broken.

The lips were pulled away
from his but the woman closed his mouth with her hand, and the fingers of the
hand clamped shut, so he had to swallow the dust in his mouth. He felt it
scratch his throat, burning his oesophagus, entering his lungs.

Before he knew what was
happening he was flopping on the floor, coughing up blood. He couldn’t feel his
legs, or his arms. His heart was racing so fast it was out of control. His
mouth and throat were constricted and the only way he could draw breath was
through his nose.

“Who did you give him?”

The older woman shrugged.
“Past its use by date.”

“We ought to attend to Mrs.
Stock.”

The older woman sighed. “I
suppose we have entertained our guest long enough.” She stared down at Anders,
who was shaking feebly as his heart ground to a halt.

“We’ll clean up.” The blonde
woman nodded at the dark skinned one. “You get started with the old woman?”

Randolph Stock felt the veins in his temples pulsing
as he absorbed the fat man’s words.

           
“These
are your terms?” he asked quietly.

           
The
obese Brother Simon sat, as serene as he had been throughout the meeting. His
breathing was obtrusive, and was the only sound that could be heard in the
study. He merely nodded, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. His breathing
was affected by his weight. Every breath seemed to cause him pain, as if each
one was ripped from his lungs under protest.

           
Stock
pressed a button on his chair and it slid silently backwards. He moved to the
small table that held some decanters and glasses. He poured himself another
drink. He didn’t offer any to the others in the room.

           
When
he was back behind his desk he took some time in sipping his drink, composing
himself before he spoke. He had felt guilt about killing his son every waking
moment of his life since that night. Most nights he woke in a cold sweat with a
nightmare that was ever present; the Cadillac spinning out of his control, the
steering wheel wrested from his clutching fingers, and the car sailing into
space.

           
He
had endured the guilt for barely six months before he did something about it.
The bridge he jumped from was high enough, and the fall ought to have killed
him. He took it as some punishment from on high that all he did was break his
back. Confined to a wheelchair with no feeling below the waist for the rest of
his life was a fitting reminder, second by painful second, that he had killed
his favoured son.

           
“So,
let me make sure I have understood you correctly. And I understand these are
Dr.
Romodon’s
terms, not your own. You have prolonged
my wife’s life in return for money, but you cannot stem the cancer and
eventually she will die.”

           
“We
have given her an extra year at most. I regret we share with science the
failure, so far, to find a cure for cancer, but we are closer than the
scientists I can assure you.”

           
Stock
closed and opened his eyes. He hadn’t expected Marlene to live as long as she
had and in truth he was grateful to
Romodon
for the
additional weeks he had been given. When those weeks spread into months he
began to hope it would be endless but he guessed it would not. If he had been
considering his wife’s treatment as a business deal he would have described her
treatment as a loss leader. The Church had treated Marlene, and accepted money,
but not a huge amount, as a kind of promotional venture. Their real intent, the
big prize for them, was Frank Stock.

           
“In
return for the renewed life of my son, Frank, you wish to take my
granddaughter, Paula?”

           
“A modest request.”

           
“For you, maybe.
My daughter has been a disappointment to
me, it’s true. And Paula treats me as no more than a nuisance on the occasions
when we converse, but she
is
family.”

           
Brother
Simon allowed an expression to mask his face that might have been taken as
empathy, or understanding. Stock wasn’t fooled. He knew instinctively that the
man was as cold as the desert night and just as barren of emotion.

           
Stock
swallowed his whisky. He placed the cigar in the ashtray and
steepled
his fingers under his chin. “What would you do
with my granddaughter?”

           
The
fat man shook his head. Parts of the skin on his face and neck were mobile for
seconds afterwards. “That would not be your concern. Dr
Romodon
has many uses for his sisters.”

           
“So,
Paula would join your…whatever it is you call yourselves.”

           
“That
is one possibility.”

           
Stock
fixed him with a stare that was as fierce as a pin holding a butterfly to a
board.
“And the other possibilities?”

           
“You
should not…”

           
“Don’t
tell me what I should not…The other possibilities?”

           
Brother
Simon sighed dramatically, although in truth he had expected Stock to be
insistent. If he was told the full truth it was unlikely he would
agree,
however desperate his desire to see his dead son
might be.

           
“When
we return a soul to their loved ones we leave a void where it has been resting.
We need to fill that void.”

           
Stock
turned his head away. It was no more than he had anticipated.
A life for a life.
At one point, in the early days of his
relationship with
Romodon
, he had imagined he would
be bargaining his wife for his son. And when Marlene began to improve he
thought that would be the deal. It was only now, when he had learned that his
wife was dying come what may, that he knew the price would be higher.

           
“So,
Paula will die.”

           
Simon
stared back, but said nothing.

           
Stock
felt excitement grow. He loved the cut and thrust of a business deal. No matter
what the stakes were, no matter what the subject.

           
“Now,”
he said. “I’ll tell you my terms.”

Ray opened the door to the pool house and immediately
heard the sobbing.

           
The
lights were dim but he thought he could see someone sitting at the edge of the
swimming pool. The ceiling was white with black stars painted on. Reflections
of the pool flickered onto it like random projections of blue clouds. The water
itself was gently rippling with the movement of the filter.

           
Ray
walked to the pool and stooped down. Paula was sitting with her feet in the
water. Her shoulders were heaving with sobs that seemed to rack her body.

           
“Hey,”
Ray said quietly, he didn’t want to scare her.

           
It
seemed for a moment that she hadn’t heard him, or had chosen to ignore him.
Then she turned her head to look over her shoulder. “Do I know you?”

           
Ray
reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of paper tissues. He offered
them to her and she took them with the gratitude of a drowning man taking a
glass of water.

           
“Have
I changed that much?”

           
Paula
wiped her eyes and nose with the tissues and set them down next to her. “You’ll
have to give me a clue. I’m not so good with faces.”

           
“I’m
Ray, your mother’s brother.”

           
“Christ,
Uncle Ray.
The black sheep.”

           
“Guilty.
Happy Birthday.”

           
“Yeah, right.
Have you been sent to bring me back to the
party?” The way she said it sounded defiant, but Ray could tell it was said in
hope that her parents had actually missed her enough to get someone to find
her.

           
“Sorry,
no. I saw the lights and guessed you’d be here. Did you scar the young man for
life?”

           
She
almost laughed, and the smile changed her face from the sulky teenager into a
happier person. “He’ll have plenty to brag about when he gets back home. So
what brings you back to the mad house?”

           
“Invitation from your mother.
But it wasn’t quite without a
catch.”

           
“Nothing
ever is with her. Did you see my father?”

           
“Oh
yes. I’m going to stay the night, see my mother, and my father unless I can
avoid it, then I’m off.”

           
“Wish
I could come with you.”

           
A
sudden noise took Ray’s attention away from her. It sounded like a door closing
on the opposite side of the poolroom.

           
“Did
you hear that?” he said.

           
Paula
shook her head. “This place makes weird noises. I come here a lot. I usually
swim nude.” She stood, and her hands fluttered behind her back. “Shall I show
you?”

           
Something
quite large splashed into the water. Paula moved hesitantly towards Ray, who
took hold of her arm.

           
“Stay
close to me,” he said.

           
Beneath
the blue tiled water of the pool something white was swimming towards them. It
looked like a skinless seal, but the speed it was moving, and the wake it was
producing, made it seem much more dangerous.