The Hollow Places (16 page)

“I’m going to
ask you some questions. I’d like you to answer them as completely
as you can.”

Part of her
wanted to tell Firdy that Simon had followed her to Walthamstow. It
wanted to tell him everything to make the pain stop. The other
part; the greater part, it seemed, said:

“Fuck.
You.”

Firdy fingered
the handle protruding from her shoulder. She stiffened and couldn't
help crying out. “There will be consequences,” he said. “For both
of you.”

“You won’t
find him ... before he finds you.”

“We don’t have
masses of time, so I’m going to start twisting.” He grabbed the
handle and she wailed. “Last chance,” he said.

If this is the
last thing I'm going to do, she thought, I'm going to do it with
dignity. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and sucked in a
deep, deep breath. He looked surprised.

“Okay,” he
said. “Let's do it your way.”

She closed her
eyes against the approaching pain, knowing that she would not have
felt anything like this before. She didn't have much of a pain
threshold. Even paper cuts made her want to cry. Nauseous already,
she hoped that what Firdy was about to do would make her pass out.
Teeth clenched, she waited for agony.

Instead, she
heard something strike the kitchen window. She and Firdy looked
towards the source at the same time and they heard a second strike,
cracking the glass, and then a third, smashing the pane. Firdy
paused, momentarily stunned and confused, as a hand reached in,
unlocked the window from the inside and threw it open. Firdy rolled
across the floor, knees and elbows thumping into the ground. He
scrambled to his feet as Simon leapt through the window.

Another man
might have got away, but Firdy was struggling to move after
kneeling for so long. He aimed a kick at Simon who had closed the
distance quickly, but Simon absorbed it, barrelling into him at
full pelt and throwing him into the wall. They slid on the tiles, a
tangle of arms and legs.

Sarah pushed
herself away from the fight, overwhelmed by their grunts and rapid
breathing, tearing clothes, the boom of Firdy's body hitting the
wall again, then dropping to the ground, dragging Simon with
him.

Simon
performed what looked like a martial arts move that forced Firdy to
his back and pinned him there, but the smaller man managed to fire
a left hook across Simon's face. There was a spray of blood from
Simon's mouth and a tooth rattled across the tiles.

Sarah forced
herself to stop watching and went for the knife that she had lost.
It wasn't immediately evident, so she checked the skirting boards
and looked under the stools. As she searched, she heard blows
landing behind her. She hoped it was the sound of Simon laying into
Firdy, but she couldn't be sure. Neither of them spoke. It would be
a fight to the death. Her hands shook as the certainty came over
her. Finding her knife would be instrumental in swaying the
balance.

It was
underneath the counter. She crawled on her hands and knees, her
right hand burning from the gash in her palm. She was unable to use
her left arm at all without pain radiating throughout her shoulder
and neck before shooting down towards her fingers.

As her bloody
hand grabbed the knife, she realised that it had all gone quiet
behind her. Fearing the worst, she slid out from beneath the
counter.

Firdy was on
his back, legs and arms bent as though he was about to slide
backwards across the floor as she had attempted to do minutes ago,
but he was still except for his chest, which heaved with exertion.
He had thrown his head back. His mouth made an 'O' of
exhaustion.

Simon, to her
relief, was standing, regarding his fallen opponent. Sarah hurried
across the kitchen to hand him the knife. He looked at it for a
while before he took it from her, then he held it at his side while
he watched Firdy again.

Firdy's jaw
remained slack and Sarah saw that what teeth he had left were
yellow or black and as crooked as tombstones. He had a distant,
scared look on his face, as if something momentous were rolling
towards him, a terrible horizon. Drool spilled over his
almost-non-existent bottom lip. He groaned.

Simon didn't
move. Sarah was surprised by the words that came to her.

“Kill it,” she
said. Simon glanced at her and then back at Firdy who was writhing
on the floor, moving not in agony but with pleasure. Neither of
them spoke as Firdy grunted and appeared to orgasm, his gloved hand
reaching between his legs at the moment of ejaculation. He
collapsed then, on his back, getting his breath.

Simon's
expression conveyed nothing. He strolled through the kitchen, slid
the knife on top of a cupboard and returned to Firdy. He offered
his hand and Firdy hauled himself up, nodded and then staggered
into the living area where he slumped in the armchair.

Sarah grabbed
Simon's sleeve in her fist.

“What are you
doing?” she said.

“Calm down,
Sally,” he said. His words stabbed her. Sally. Simon was gone
again. They'd missed their opportunity to rid themselves of Firdy.
“It's going to be alright,” he said and she knew that he was
lying.

Firdy sat with his head between his knees, muttering
to what Sarah gathered were the voices in his head.

“I'm sorry …
didn't mean to … last chance … what I've done ...”

While Firdy
ranted, Simon sat beside Sarah on the sofa. Simon appeared to be
calm. Only Sarah was fidgeting, looking at the men and the door and
the broken window and wondering if she should take charge. In a
way, listening to Simon had got them into this mess. Perhaps if she
did things her way for a while, she could get them out of it. Simon
was unable to kill Firdy now, but there was nothing stopping her
and there probably wouldn't be a better time than this. He was
hunched, rocking back and forth. She could stab him in the spine.
He wouldn't see it coming. She glanced at the cupboard where Simon
had (discarded) stashed the knife.

“Keep still,”
Simon said.

“You're not
even yourself,” Sarah said. “Why should I listen to you?”

“You shouldn't
have run, Sally. We could be in a lot of trouble now. From now on,
I need you to do as you're told.”

She didn't
understand. Was that a message in disguise? Was she supposed to do
the opposite of everything he said.

She began to
stand and Simon yanked her back by the wrist.

“Sit,” he
said. “Let me see your shoulder.”

The handle of
the knife still protruded from her body. Considering the length of
the blade, she assumed that it protruded from the back of her
shoulder, but she couldn't turn her head to see without
excruciating pain. She kept her breaths shallow, because her chest
ached.

Simon said
that removing the knife would cause her to start bleeding again.
She was glad that he wasn't going to try to pull it out. And yet,
the sight of it made her feel nauseous, because Firdy had done this
to her. Although he had acted quickly and with ferocity, she
thought that he had taken great pleasure in wounding her in this
way, so that they were more alike. He had wanted her to feel what
it was like to lose the use of an arm. If Simon hadn't interrupted
him, her eye would have been next.

“Feels ok,”
she said when she saw that Simon had finished examining her. And
then: “In case I don't get a chance later, I want to say -”

“Shh.”

She wanted to
say that she loved him, that she always would, no matter what he
had to do to her. She hoped that he would know that to be true.
Somehow. Somewhere. Before the end.

Firdy was
tearing at the skin on top of his head. He appeared to be in agony,
and still in dialogue with the voices. Sarah had no doubt that he
was insane. She stared at Simon and wondered to what extent he was
all there too.

She was stuck
between two lunatics. She could make it to the window and get help,
even with one arm.

“Sorry,” Firdy
said. His face was sweaty and his eye was red. To Simon, he said:
“Looks like we're back to business.”

“On the lead
again,” Simon said.

Firdy raised
his eye to the ceiling, but neither of them mentioned the dead dog
out loud. Instead, Simon massaged his temple and Firdy said: “Get
me a drink.” Simon filled a glass with tap water. “Good boy,” Firdy
said, and then to Sarah: “How's your shoulder? I'm sorry about
that. Really, I am, but, in my defence, if your brother hadn't
left, it would never have happened.” He drained most of his water
in one gulp and then offered the remaining inch or so to Simon, who
declined. Firdy insisted, however, and Simon drank what was left
with a grimace. “We have to learn to share,” Firdy said. “What's
mine is yours …” He sat back in the armchair, enjoying the tension.
“Sit back down, Simon. Sit.”

Firdy doesn't
fit, Sarah thought, he's trying so hard, but he doesn't fit.

Their
leftovers from the night before were still in the table. The
television was on stand-by. She recalled the movie that they had
been watching; the arachnids, taking over a small town.

“What happens
now?” Simon asked.

“You know. The
Third – who you call 'the Creature' – wants me to wait. And so we
wait.”

“For the cover
of darkness,” Simon said.

“Under a full
moon? I don't think so.”

“So what are
we waiting for? Tell me, Firdy; what's going to happen
tonight?”

“It'll only
scare you,” Firdy said. “But when it's over, you’ll see through new
eyes. You too, Sarah. You’ll see the world in ways you can’t
imagine and this will all have been worth it.”

“And what do
we do in the meantime?”

“You stay put.
Since you can't be trusted, I get to watch you.”

After a few
minutes of silence, waiting for the dark, Simon told Sarah that she
may as well try to sleep.

“You're
kidding?” Sarah said and Simon only gazed at her in response. She
took one last look at Firdy – he was grinning – and she forced
herself to close her eyes. She was afraid and would have been
surprised to know that she fell into a fitful sleep within a couple
of minutes.

“It's with
us,” Simon said,” but distracted.” He could feel its presence in
his mind, scrabbling, alert but benign compared to its usual
intrusion. Firdy didn't reply. “It's not distracted,” Simon
realised. “It's saving its strength for later. And there's
something else happening... We're connected again, me and you, but
it's working both ways. I can feel you this time.”

Firdy assessed
the tone of Simon's voice and the rigid expression on his face.
Everything about the man was careful and controlled.

“I can feel
you,” Simon went on, “but you're hiding things from me.”

“Now you know
how it feels.”

“For one
thing, you're hiding what's going to happen tonight.”

“Of course, I
am,” Firdy said. He watched Sarah's breathing to make sure she was
asleep. “To be honest, I’m not sure what's going to happen, but
everything is going to be better. For all of us. This life – your
missions, the chaos – that will end. You'll be normal again. I know
you want to be normal, Simon.”

“What about
your life?” Simon said. “How does that improve? That’s the real
reason you’re doing this. That’s why you’re so dedicated. I don't
imagine that you'll go on living like this. Hiding your face.
Wearing sunglasses at night. Running you errands. There must be
something in it for you, because if I had your life, I think I
would have killed myself. If I was trapped in your life, in your
body ...” Simon heard the leather of Firdy’s gloves creak and knew
he was hitting the mark. “The pain,” Simon said. “The constant
pain. The loneliness.”

“I’m not
alone,” Firdy said.

“You have your
crazy pets, I suppose.”

“They're not
pets!”

Sarah stirred.
In her sleep, she shuffled so that her head rested on Simon's
shoulder.

“She needs a
hospital,” Simon said.

“I lost my
temper with her,” Firdy said, “but she'll be fine. I wouldn’t do
anything to hurt you; hurting you is like hurting myself. We're
connected, right? And I'm not alone, actually. I have you. And I
have her. And I always will.”

“I didn't say
you were alone. I said you were lonely. I know that it's awful for
you.”

“So this is
how it feels to be invaded,” Firdy said. “I don't suppose it would
do any good to ask you to stop.”

“I want to
know what's going to happen tonight,” Simon said, “and I'm going to
keep digging until I find out.”

Firdy stood
up. “You might not like what you find along the way.” He paced for
a while, stopping at a kitchen cupboard. After pulling open a door,
he looked surprised.

“The glasses,”
he remarked.

“In the bottom
cupboard,” Simon said.

Firdy stooped,
frowned again, and then removed a plain, half-pint glass. He took a
little time to examine the sparse contents of the refrigerator
before settling for tap water again, downing the contents in one.
He refilled the glass, paced some more, checked his pockets,
fiddled with the scummy contents.

The presence
of the Third, as Firdy had called it, negated any possibility of
physical violence between them, but it allowed their psychic battle
to continue, Simon probing and Firdy twisting away from him. No
observer, even if Sarah were to wake, would have known that such a
struggle was taking place; Simon seemed to be approaching sleep and
Firdy appeared to be preoccupied by trivial things; the buttons of
his jacket, the plain decoration of the kitchen, cobwebs in the
corners. Aside from the occasional ripple in the form of a frown or
wince their faces appeared relaxed and unperturbed.

As he strolled
around the room, Firdy came across a cracked floor tile, which had
no doubt been broken by Simon slamming his head against it. The
throbbing of his cheek testified to that. The Third knew about the
fight. She had retrieved that information and had scalded him
accordingly, but that was over now, as she agreed that their future
conduct was more important. Firdy stepped over the tile and kept
pacing, managing to put it out of his mind until he encountered the
white enamel of Simon's tooth. He wanted to pocket it, to keep it
as a bloody souvenir, as ridiculous as that was, but deep down
inside him he could feel the Third turning his way. Her
investigation was best avoided, so he took a psychic step away from
her and a took physical path towards Simon, settling down in the
armchair opposite him.