MONOLITH (6 page)

After Jess left the pub, Paxton sat at what had been their corner table for a while just running through messages on his phone, oblivious to the people around him and also to the staff who were waiting for him to leave so they could clear his table.

He finally looked up to see an agitated waiter gazing at him and realised it was time for him to leave. He was the only one left in the pub by this time other than the staff and he nodded to the waiter as if that gesture would be apology enough and got to his feet, wandering across to the door and out into the street beyond.

The weather had turned much cooler and as Paxton looked up towards the sky he noticed thick banks of cloud rolling in across the city, pushed by the chill breeze that was whipping along the streets. He pulled up the collar of his jacket, dug his hands into his pockets and set off down the street deciding after a few paces that he didn’t want the roar and rumble of traffic and the chattering of pedestrians as the soundtrack to his walk. He pulled his iPod from his inside pocket and pushed the earpieces into place, happy to replace the everyday sounds of activity around him with the thunderous melody of an Iron Maiden song. He eased the volume up slightly, smiled to himself and walked on in the direction of the tube station that lay towards the bottom of the road.

He checked his watch and realised he didn’t need to be home for a while yet so he took a detour into the store to his right. Paxton pulled the earpieces free to check what kind of music they were playing inside the shop. When he heard that it was RnB he pushed them back in hurriedly, as keen to drown out the dull thumping and insipid vocals as he had been to eliminate the noises of traffic and chatter outside. He moved among the aisles of CDs, DVDs and books casting an interested gaze over the titles and, on more than one occasion, contemplating whether or not to make a purchase. However he decided that he could download both the films he’d been interested in more cheaply than he could by purchasing them so he merely continued to browse through the racks of films, many of which had been cut down to ridiculously low prices in an attempt to shift them.

It was busy in the shop and Paxton was amazed that this chain of shops was closing if business was this brisk in all its branches around the country but, with this being London, he reasoned, most places were busy. Crammed with tourists most of the time who were perfectly able to buy the same products in their own homelands but who just wanted to wander in and out of shops in the capital as if there was some kind of magical experience about the whole thing. There was, Paxton had discovered at a very early age, very little magical about London or, indeed, anywhere else.

He eased up the volume of his iPod as he passed a group of teenage girls who were sorting through piles of the latest X Factor winner’s albums, pointing excitedly at the faces of the boys on the cover of the album. It was, Paxton thought with a smile, the blind leading the blind or at least the blind being told what to buy by the blind. Amused at his own philosophical musings he moved towards the escalators at the rear of the shop and rode one into the Games department where he took some time looking at the new titles and then at the pre-owned section. He selected two games from the latter section and went to pay for them.

A couple of assistants were chatting animatedly behind the counter and didn’t seem to see him so he coughed theatrically until the girl with dyed pink and black hair and a nose ring that would have graced a prize bull finally turned to serve him.

He eased down the volume on his iPod so he could hear her monosyllabic grunts, paid and prepared to collect his purchases.

‘Do you want a bag?’ she asked flatly.

‘Yes, please,’ Paxton said.

She looked at him as if he’d just proposed having anal sex in the middle of the shop.

‘I need a bag, please,’ Paxton insisted, amused by her reaction.

‘Couldn’t you just put them in your pocket?’ she said. ‘Bags are bad for the environment.’

‘Well, we’re all going to be dead in a hundred years aren’t we?’ said Paxton cheerfully. ‘I’ll have that bag, please.’

The girl shoved the two games into a red and black plastic bag and pushed it across the counter to him. Paxton nodded and smiled and turned away, heading for escalators that would carry him back down to the ground floor.

By the time he walked back out into the street it had begun to rain. Just light drizzle but enough to dampen the spirits even more. Paxton muttered something under his breath and strode off down the street now deciding that he wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He didn’t need to be wandering the streets in the rain. Besides, he wanted to check out the two games he’d just bought. He hurried across the street, ignoring the car that banged its hooter at him.

The figure that had been following him since he left the pub also quickened its pace.

Alan Reed stuck the forklift in reverse, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that none of his fellow workers were in the way as he guided the vehicle across the large expanse of open concrete behind.

It moved smoothly across the vast open area beneath the Crystal Tower the sound of its electric engine reverberating within the tomb-like environs of the space. However, Reed needn’t to have troubled himself about the sound the small vehicle was making because it was eclipsed seconds later by the thunderous roar of a pneumatic drill. The deafening pounding filled the huge underground arena and drummed in the ears of all those working at this subterranean level. Reed had ear protectors to wear as did all his colleagues but he had resisted the need to slip them on so far during the day. After all he was hundreds of yards from the source of the pneumatic drill’s fury and loud noises had never bothered him much. But now the sound seemed to be intolerably loud, the constant slamming and hammering causing him to wince.

Work on the lowest three levels of the Crystal Tower, including the underground garage and storerooms was near completion and Reed watched as electricians crawled about on scaffolding all around him putting the finishing touches to the lights that were buried in the thick concrete ceiling of the parking area. Even in this area, designed only for the parking of residents’ vehicles and for the storage of essential equipment for the building, the ambience had to be right. There was no bare cold concrete. Even the walls had been painted with soft pastel tones and some of them even sported murals by the youngest and hippest modern artists that this country had to offer. Reed guided his vehicle past one, pausing momentarily to glance at it. It was supposed, he assumed, to be some kind of country scene but the trees and plants looked as if they’d been painted by little kids not by some middle class art school student. If that was art, he told himself, then he was glad he knew nothing about it. He sat back on the driving seat of the forklift and ran disapproving eyes over the images before him. Trees that looked like bare twigs were surrounded by big yellow flowers and figures that looked like something out of a bad Lowry painting ambled through this creation.

And all Reed could think about was how much the fucker who painted it must have got paid. He shook his head and stuck the forklift back in gear, guiding it across the concrete floor towards some pallets at the far end of the parking area. A number of the other workmen down there nodded or raised hands in greeting to him as he passed and Reed returned the gestures happily enough. He had always been good at hiding his feelings and what he was feeling right now needed to remain hidden he told himself. No point in bothering anyone else with it. No one gave a shit about any problems but their own so why mention what was troubling him. The fact that he’d found out the day before that his sixteen-year-old daughter was pregnant was of no concern or interest to anyone but himself and his ex-wife.

Even the thought of what he’d been told caused his brow to furrow. He sucked in a deep, dust infused breath then let it out in a deep sigh. Sixteen fucking years old and pregnant. What the hell had she been doing?

It’s pretty obvious what she’d been doing isn’t it?

Reed grunted again, trying to shift the thoughts from his mind but finding it impossible. His ex had told him the news by text. By fucking text! Hadn’t even had the decency to ring him or nip round and tell him face to face. Not that he would really have wanted to see her, certainly not to hear that kind of news but it was the principle. To be told by text that your fucking daughter has just been knocked up by some spotty little herbert that was probably going to do a runner before the end of the month was hardly the sort of news you wanted to get at any time let alone via fucking text. All he could hope was that his daughter was sensible enough to get rid of it. What was the point in having a kid at her age? She was only a kid herself. It would be two lives ruined. Her’s and the kid’s. She’d never be able to do anything in her life that she wanted to do, never have any money, never be able to fulfil any ambitions.

He watched as the twin forks of the machine lifted the pallets to their highest point, then, satisfied that his cargo was secure he set off back across the underground car park, the sound of the pneumatic drill ringing in his ears.

Ambitions. He shook his head. Did she even have any ambitions? Did she actually want more than to be stuck in a council flat somewhere looking after a fucking kid she didn’t even want? He swallowed hard. If he was honest he didn’t know. Since he and his wife had split up and his daughter had gone to live with her he barely saw his daughter more than twice a week. He had no idea what she wanted out of life, whether she even had aspirations beyond what now seemed her fate. He saw her on a Tuesday and a Friday if he was lucky. She came to where he lived and he cooked them dinner (well, heated something up that he’d taken from the freezer). And they usually sat in silence as he struggled to force out of her what she’d done at school that day or what she’d been doing. She didn’t want to be there, he knew that but it didn’t make it any easier to cope with. He wished that she’d talk to him, tell him what she was feeling. He wanted more than anything to know how she felt about the possibility of having a child at such a young age. But he feared he would never know now. They had gone beyond that stage. They’d never been very close but now the gulf between them was vast and unbridgeable. If she had the kid he feared there would never be any way back. He didn’t know what her mother thought of the situation he hadn’t asked and he wasn’t about to. What the hell would it solve? It wasn’t as if the two them were going to get back together again and give her a home to bring up her unwanted child in, was it? But most of all he was saddened by the news. His initial anger had given way to a deep and painful sadness. She had been such a bright girl all through her academic life. Her homework had always been done, she’d always had good marks and good reports but then she’d seemed to lose interest. She’d missed lessons. Sometimes not even gone into school at all. The school had called him and told him about this and he’d apologised and said he’d try to help but what the fuck could he do? He couldn’t hit her, could he? Couldn’t threaten her? If he was honest with himself he didn’t want to have to do that. He had just hoped that she’d realise how she was ruining her life and maybe come to her senses but now, with this fucking boyfriend around that wasn’t going to happen, was it? What the hell could he or anyone else do to help his daughter now? That sense of helplessness, of having failed her somehow hurt him more than anything.

Reed exhaled deeply, aware that his mind was wandering, his concentration faltering and being at the controls of a complex piece of machinery were no place to lose concentration. He realised that as he saw the twin forks of the truck were about to scrape the wall of the underground car park.

Reed cursed and tried to swing the vehicle to one side but the collision was unavoidable. The two forks hit the wall and scraped about an inch into the concrete. He rasped something furiously; his exhortations drowned out by the thumping of the pneumatic drill, stuck the truck in neutral and jumped down to inspect the damage he’d caused. No one nearby seemed to have seen the small collision and Reed advanced towards the wall he’d hit shaking his head, his face set in hard lines.

What he saw next stopped him in his tracks.

The twin forks of the truck had gouged two channels in the concrete wall about two inches deep, shaving off paint and scoring into the stonework but it wasn’t that which transfixed Reed as he drew closer.

It was the twin streams of red fluid that were dribbling slowly from the rents.

Surely he told himself, he hadn’t dug that far into the wall that he’d severed a water pipe. Was it rusty water he now saw spilling from the twin marks that disfigured that part of the wall before him? He slowed his pace again. The liquid that was running slowly down the wall ahead of him was deep red in colour, not the brownish-red hue of rust. And besides, he reasoned, all the pipes that had been installed in the building were brand new, they wouldn’t have rusted already.

What the hell was that stuff? He reached the wall and studied the gashes in the concrete more closely, fascinated now by the red fluid that was still running freely from them. He reached out his fingers and touched the liquid wondering if it was red paint. He felt the consistency and it was smooth as he rubbed it between his fingers. There was a strange odour coming from it too. Something vaguely familiar he thought. He raised his red-stained fingers to his nose and sniffed lightly. He frowned, sure once more that whatever the fluid was there was something about it that he recognised.

He was still considering that when the fork lift truck juddered forward.

It rolled a foot or two then stopped abruptly, the noise of its engine obliterated by the thunderous racket being produced by the pneumatic drill. The sound filled the subterranean chamber, bouncing off the walls and eclipsing every other noise down there.

Reed wiped the red fluid from his fingers onto his overalls wondering what to do. He ought to call someone he knew that. Damage had been done and it would have to be repaired. He shrugged, dismissing his own part in the mishap. It had been an accident pure and simple. He hadn’t meant to mark the wall had he? And it could have been much worse. Also, he noticed, whatever the red stuff was that had run from the two marks was not flowing so freely now. He obviously hadn’t done as much damage as he’d first thought. He nodded to himself and turned away from the marks.

As he did the fork lift shot forward as if fired from a cannon.

Even if Reed had seen what was coming it’s unlikely he’d have been able to avoid it.

The left hand fork slammed into his chest, snapping bone effortlessly and driving him backwards, slamming him against the wall as it tore through his upper body. He felt a monstrous combination of severe pain and breathlessness as the fork ruptured his lung and ripped through his chest, exploding from his back just below one shoulder blade, the impact lifting him off his feet and smashing him into the wall.

The fork tore into the concrete behind him, driven deeper by the continued forward momentum of the truck itself, the engine of which was revving madly now, filling his ears along with his own screams. He clawed helplessly at the fork that was skewering him, aware that his own blood was spouting warmly over the metal prong and making it slippery. Not that he’d have been able to free himself anyway because the truck itself was still shuddering as it revved, smoke rising from the rear wheels as the entire machine now shook and vibrated as it continued to try and move forward, the fork digging deeper into the concrete beyond Reed’s torn body.

Like an insect pinned to a board Reed hung there, impaled on the fork, his legs kicking madly, his feet a couple of inches from the blood spattered concrete floor. After less than half a minute even that perfunctory movement stopped as his body went into a series of small shudders and his attempts to drag himself free stopped. Blood loss and shock overtook him rapidly. The ground around him was puddled with crimson now, gouts of it still spurting from the wound that had wrought so much damage. When he tried to suck in a breath there was a rattling sound as the inhalation rattled inside his torn lungs and blood was pumping from his mouth, spilling down his chin and muffling the sounds he was trying weakly to make.

The engine of the fork lift had ceased; the only sound in the underground car park was the ever present rumble of the pneumatic drill. But it was joined suddenly by something else. A shout of horror and surprise. Then the sound of frantic footsteps as others ran towards the scene of carnage. But Alan Reed heard none of those other sounds. His last thought had been of his daughter. And then, there had been nothing at all.