Approaching Zero (14 page)

Pulling herself out of her racist slur, Kathy finally got the door open and stepped inside. Suri followed behind her and as Kathy flicked the light on, Suri was once again looking all around herself, taking in every angle of the hallway as quickly as her eyes could absorb it.

“Ah, you are Harriet Hoard.”

“Harriet Hoard?” Kathy looked around the hallway not quite understanding the reference.

“My friend on Internet show, Harriet Hoard. Like cartoon but for adult.
She has rubbish from ceiling to floor; poor Harriet Hoard cannot get in the door
.”

“Right, okay. Let’s get you something to eat, Suri,” Kathy said, suddenly wishing that she had at least cleared the boxes from the stairs, and hurried through to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” she told her and indicated the doorway of the living room. “I haven’t got much in I’m afraid. Is a sandwich okay?”

“Do you have peanut butter and jelly?” the young girl called back and Kathy poked her head in the door to see where this request had come from. She found Suri tracing her fingers across the pictures and maps pinned to the wall of the living room—Kathy’s mission control. Her smile had dropped slightly as she tried to understand the story that was being told, but her sparkle returned when she realised that Kathy was looking at her. “It is just that I have never had peanut butter and jelly, Kathy.”

“Neither have I.”

“Do you have it?”

“No, Suri. I’m sorry. I could do you a fish finger sandwich.”

“No!”

“Okay!” Kathy said, holding her hands up at the explosive reaction. “I thought you came from a fishing village.”

“I do not like fish.”

“I could do you a fried egg sandwich.”

Suri thought for a moment, her eyes almost closing before agreeing wholeheartedly that an egg sandwich would be great.

“You’re easy to please,” Kathy called from the kitchen, leaving the young girl on her own again. “Have you seen egg sandwiches in the films, too?”

“No,” Suri answered. Kathy waited for her to elaborate, to explain either that they ate eggs at home or that she had always wondered what the egg of a chicken tasted like, maybe with a reference to
Animal Farm
or
Chicken Run
, but nothing followed, so she turned on the hob and buttered the bread while waiting for the oil to heat. When the modest meal was complete, Kathy bought two plates into the living room and found Suri standing in the exact same position, perusing her wall, following each link with a wandering finger and a solemn expression. Kathy placed the plates on the coffee table, which was already over capacity with books and loose notes.

“I can see a flower,” said Suri seriously. “It is sitting in a head—a skull,” she corrected. “Do you know what this is, Kathy?”

“You can see it too?”

Suri nodded. “A daisy.”

“I have no idea what it means,” Kathy told her then began to talk Suri through the display. “There are currently nine children missing,” she began. “We know one of them to be dead for sure and the perpetrator of that crime is in custody.”

Suri turned slowly to Kathy with tears in her eyes and solemnly said, “They are
all
dead,” before turning her attention back to the wall.

Kathy’s body surged forward and upright, her hand struggling to keep the shock from tumbling out of her mouth in screams. She swallowed hard, shaking her head and said, “There’s no way you can know that.”

“It is these childrens, yes?” Suri asked, pointing to the juvenile portraits surrounding the maps and endless pictures of frightening-looking men and women. “I get nothing from these picture. No life, Kathy. These childrens are dead.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

Suri turned again to the notes and signs pinned to the wall. She was clearly experienced in handling the disbelief of others and waited for Kathy to speak again, which she eventually did without really knowing what to say.

“Okay, so… bastards!” she grimaced then managed to compose herself to say, “Okay, so this is why we need to stop them, Suri. You and me.”

“You have powers, Kathy?”

“Yes… come and sit.”

Suri followed the instruction and her former, beaming smile reasserted itself at the sight of her sandwich. “I am very hungry,” she said and began to eat as Kathy talked.

“I have used what power I have to assemble this information, Suri. In this country it is the perpetrators that are protected by law while the victims have no protection at all. People such as social workers, paid by our taxes to keep kids safe, are useless, and when the miracle does come that they get sacked for their ineptitude, they appeal, only to win and get put back into jobs that they shouldn’t have had in the first place.

“And when these perverts are caught they simply get their wrists slapped instead of proper sentences, and no amount of protests can stem the flow of filth coursing its way back out of these easy, day-care, arse-wiping, namby-pamby, so-called prisons for these paedo sickos. Their sentences are so low and the recidivism rate is so high that the system is clearly failing. No amount of trying to rehabilitate them makes the slightest bit of difference. Paedophiles will all come back onto our world again. They might even move next door to us, sit on the seat next to us on the train, serve us in the local shop, or toast England’s success with us in the local pub. They are out there right now and the irony is that those who have acted against these perverts are the ones who are rotting in the cells.”

Suri’s eyes were wide and attentive as she took bite after bite of sandwich and focused on Kathy’s words.

“My work had never been more important, Suri. Terrorising children, raping them, abusing them over years, touching them, exploiting them through the twisted porn industry: all of these qualify the perverts to have their balls cut off, if not their throats slit as they sleep. And now we have nine missing children.” Kathy paused and ran her hand through her hair. “Dead children,” she corrected sadly. “We have the power to end this, Suri.”

As Suri licked her fingers and placed the empty plate on the table, Kathy pulled her heavy list onto her lap and began to leaf through it, revealing a flicker pad of faces.

“Every one of these men and women is infested with the disease, the evil, the filth that makes them think they have the right to take what they want from children. Every single one of these faces belongs to a monster, Suri. Do you understand?”

Suri nodded. “Are you going to eat that sandwich, Kathy. I am sorry. I am very hungry.”

“Go ahead,” Kathy answered impatiently. “This is all probably a lot to take in.”

Suri shook her head. “No, I am just hungry, Kathy.” She took another huge bite of the sandwich and cold orange yolk dribbled down her chin. She wiped it away and said. “And you are a psychologist, Kathy?”

Kathy nodded and leaned in to answer the question, her hands gripping each other tight on top of the file, a pose that was reminiscent of various counseling sessions that she had been involved in.

“And this is your life work?”

Kathy thought for a moment then nodded again seriously.

“And what have you found out about psychology?”

Kathy thought for a moment, making sure that she understood what the young girl in front of her meant as she casually munched the sandwich without a care in the world. “As I said, Suri, these people are monsters. There’s no more to know. They take the trust of young people and exploit them. They destroy lives and leave a poisonous legacy that lasts longer than any prison sentence that may be handed out to them. Sure, some of them were abused as children, but when we compare this to the amount of abused children who grow up not to be abusers themselves it pales into insignificance. I have worked with these creatures most of my professional life, Suri, and have finally come to the conclusion that there is only one solution—extermination.”

“Can I look?”

Kathy placed her hands firmly on top of the file before passing it to Suri. Suri licked the yolk from her fingers before opening at a random page and reading what she found there. “Stephen Howes, thirty-one. What do the colours mean, Kathy?”

“It’s a kind of code I use. I can sense the depth of the perversion.” She avoided saying that she could smell the perversion, even to another psychic, as it sounded odd even to her ears. “I then just note down anything else I can find out from public records and try to get a photo.”

“He is young.”

“They come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Stephen Howes,” Kathy mused. “All I know is that he’s a social worker and pervert. He has never been in trouble with the police as far as I can tell, but he’s riddled with the filth. And the scary thing, Suri, is that he’s not even one of the worst in there.”

Suri closed her eyes and placed her hand on the picture. Kathy watched as the young girl’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly, making her a little taller and regal-like. The concentration on her face couldn’t have been a greater contrast to her usual carefree, puppy-like demeanour. She was in this position no more than thirty seconds when she released a low rumbling sound, like a hum but more intense. And then her eyes were open again and the smile was back although she looked far paler than she had before the exercise.

Silence followed as Kathy waited for the young girl to say something, anything, which she eventually did.

“He is dead now.”

The words sounded cool and were delivered without emotion before Suri slammed the file shut.

“He’s what?”

And now Suri was on her feet, looking around herself again. “Do you have any films, Kathy?” she asked when the TV caught her eye.

Kathy could barely answer.

“I do not mind what film it is.”

“I …”

“Can we turn this on?”

“He’s dead?”

“Yes, Kathy. Do you have
Grease
?”

“No, look, we need to talk about this, Suri.”

“I am very tired, Kathy. Is there a film in my bedroom?”

Again Kathy couldn’t quite find the words to answer and watched as Suri shifted awkwardly around the room, looking under papers and in cupboards as if she had lost something and that something meant more to her than anything else in the world. Then she heard herself say, “You can take the laptop. We’ll find you something to watch on YouTube.” And the sudden relaxation in Suri was astonishing as she let out a deep sigh that turned into a yawn. As she strolled across the room and out of the door, Kathy quickly grabbed the laptop and charger and followed her into the hallway, trying to decide if the feelings inside of her were of joy or horror.

***

“Knock knock!” Stephen Howes’ wife knew not only to knock on the office door but to say the words too, alerting him of her presence before she actually got in the room. “I bought you a cup of tea, love,” she said, popping her head into the room without fully committing to entering. Stephen was always cross with her otherwise, and she didn’t blame him. He was a social worker and often had to work quite a few hours at home. The cases on which he worked always involved children and were always heartbreaking. She couldn’t blame him for becoming irritated if he was interrupted and the very least she could do was respect his boundaries.

Stephen smiled warmly, but rubbed his hands over his eyes and the unnatural gaze that had developed from staring at the computer screen for too many hours. “Thanks, Kerry. Come in.”

Kerry sheepishly pushed forward and left the tea on the very edge of the desk without joining him on the screen side. She knew that he often dealt with difficult images in his job and she had had nightmares for a week after accidentally catching a glimpse of an activity involving a baby that she couldn’t even begin to describe.

“You are going to come to bed at some point tonight, aren’t you?” she smiled weakly, already backing towards the door. “You work too hard, Steve.”

“I won’t be long, honey.”

Kerry disappeared out of the door, knowing already what this answer meant and left her husband alone. Stephen watched until the door had been closed for a few moments and he could hear his wife safely downstairs again before resuming his evening activity. He clicked onto the video, checking the door one more time, and reached into his trousers. He hadn’t even bothered to do them up when his wife interrupted him. He had her exactly where he wanted her. As the scene played out on the screen, his body began to throb and ache with pleasure and he mimicked the rhythmic movement in front of him with his hand in his pants, stroking himself hard, biting down on his lip, the sweat exploding from his trim body, his face reddening with excitement.

“That’s it,” his disgusting voice growled at the disturbing assault in front of him. “That’s it there!” But then he was forced to abandon his pleasure and grip his chest, his joyous panting turning to gasps. He couldn’t catch his breath and the searing pain swept through his lungs, building momentum with every gasp of air he tried to inhale; it was like trying to breathe with a mouthful of sand, the blood coursed through his veins, making his eyes bulge. He twisted on his computer chair and tried to turn back towards the film, trying to make everything all right again, but the pain shot through both his arms making him judder, excruciating pain that he had never felt before, leaving him breathless and exhausted. His chest felt like it would explode. Unrelenting and excruciating, blood now seeped through his eyes and he couldn’t stop the blood-curdling screams from exploding out of him. And now the heavy charge of footsteps on the stairs told him that Kerry was on the way to see what all the noise was about.

“Not like this,” he pleaded breathlessly and as he tried to reach out to stop the film, he fell out of his chair and landed heavily on the carpet with a thud. The last thing he saw as the life drained away from him was his wife’s slippers pattering into the room. Although he had her well-trained, even she couldn’t deny the truth of the scene as her husband lay dead on the floor with his penis hanging out of his trousers to the soundtrack of the screams of children coming from his computer.