Blind School (11 page)

Marston looked hesitantly over his shoulder as Ellis approached, as if hoping Ellis was heading to someone else, or perhaps checking out escape routes.

Ellis paced determinedly the last ten yards, faced-off in front of him.

‘What the hell are you doing watching my son?’

‘What?
Your
son? I... I wasn't. I...’

Ellis grabbed him by the lapels. ‘Don't fucking give me that. I saw you staring at him when I was here the other day, and you're doing the same now!’

‘It's not your son I'm looking at – it's mine,’ Marston stumbled. ‘
Timmy
. It... it's the only chance I get to see him.’

Ellis searched Marston’s eyes for the lie, but all he could see was sincerity; now tinged with fear that he might be believed. Ellis eased his grip.

‘Oh... I see.’

‘I can't go near the house, and I'm not meant to meet with him either. Restraining order, you see.’ Marston attempted a weak smile. ‘So I wait for him to walk home – then I go the other way and we meet up round the corner for coffee. Otherwise I'd
never
see him.’

Ellis nodded, closing his eyes for a second in penance.

‘I understand. I'm sorry.’

He patted Marston's shoulder in consolation as he turned away – all those eyes still on him: his wife, his son and Timmy, the
Blind
School
pupils.

He knew he'd stepped over the line, starting to see demons at every turn: his own paranoia suddenly reflected in those stares aimed at him.

THIRTEEN

Bruno Tieschen and Alex Culverton agreed on Tieschen’s downtown cigar club for their meeting. Rich rosewood panelling sectioned off each private ‘smoking chamber’, and both the wood and the overstuffed leather armchairs were redolent with the smell of best
Havana
, despite the club’s powerful air-conditioning sucking the smoke from the rooms.

‘Nice to see a man who appreciates a good Cuban,’ Teischen commented, blowing his first smoke plumes from a freshly lit cigar.

   ‘One good thing about these cigar clubs, I suppose. The privacy.’

‘You should come here more often. You get all these business pussies only here because their wives won't let them smoke at home – but it's still a great atmosphere. You get your own personal smoking locker with bag of tricks and...’

Teischen broke off, picking up on the coolness in Alex's eyes. And, beyond the impatience, something else in them too, strangely unnerving. Teischen waved his cigar hand.  

‘Okay, Alex. You mentioned on the phone a fresh problem. Tell me?’

‘The air-crash investigation might not sideline John as much as I'd

hoped. Or at least not quickly enough for our plans.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘I'm not sure it would be right for me to 'suggest' anything. After all, he's my brother.’

Teischen smiled slowly, picking up on Alex's sub-text. ‘I didn't know you were the type to believe in karma?’

Alex gently blew out a cigar plume. ‘Let us say it's more a matter of burying any possible traces.’

Teischen lapsed into thought as he sucked harder on his cigar.

‘I too would have to be cautious. Bury any possible traces.’

Alex nodded. He'd got Teischen heading where he wanted.

‘Yes, I daresay you would.’

The next time Ryan and Jessica found themselves together was two nights later. A ‘search and identification’ patrol headed by Josh Eskovitz.

Their black van was parked under a highway overpass, shadows heavy in the last dusk light. Fifty yards ahead, a group of tramps shuffled to keep warm by a makeshift oil-can brazier. Ryan turned to Jessica.

‘My favourite the other day was the goat-man with slimy scales. He had a cute twinkle in his eyes. I don't think he's quite as bad as Mentinck makes out.’

Jessica smiled. ‘Mine was the gargoyle with serpents' dreads. Gave him strong rock-star street creds.’

Ryan joined her in a brief chuckle, then looked again towards the tramps huddled round the brazier.

‘Is this going to be our life from now on? Trawling the city streets at night in search of demons?’

‘Know what you mean. If I'd known, I'd have said I had to wash my hair.’

‘I mean, what are we waiting here for? It's not as if...’

Bang
! The sharp sound against the side of their van made them jump.

‘Jeez!’ Ryan exclaimed.

A girl close to that side let out a shriek.

They watched as a tramp in a dark coat emerged from the shadows and staggered into view: he'd knocked a garbage can against the van's side on his way through.

And they saw something else then: a swirling apparition within him take shape, half-monkey, half-rat – though weak and hazy. They had to peer to see it clearly.

‘Why's this one fainter than the one I saw last night?’ Jessica asked.

   Josh looked towards the tramp. He couldn’t see the aura himself, but he knew what they’d be seeing.

‘Because it's not as strong a spirit, so its aura – what we term its radiothesis – is correspondingly weaker. Only level nine and ten demons are slice and dice evil. Last night's one was level seven. But below that most mid-level demons are simply mischievous and lead people down the wrong path. Explore their weaknesses.’

A jabbering gaggle of voices could now also be picked up by the pupils, but that was fainter too.

Josh nodded towards the tramp. ‘This one's a level-five demon known as Mabaraymus. Levels four and below, their auras are so weak you won't see them at all.’

They watched the man shuffle towards the other tramps by the brazier.

‘So what's his story?’ Ryan asked.

   ‘Bill's weakness was gambling. Then later he hit the bottle too.’ Josh grimaced.  ‘Lost everything: his home, his job. Finally his wife and three lovely kids – she'd had enough.’ He eased a tired sigh. ‘Within two months he was down here with his only friends these guys and a meths bottle.’

They watched Bill reach a hand out towards another tramp swigging from a bottle of cheap rum. The other tramp grunted and elbowed him away. Bill tried again, but a second elbow jab and a sharp push knocked him to the ground.

Jessica looked on with concern, consumed with a wave of sympathy.

‘That's terrible. Isn't there anything you can do to help him? Maybe help him get his life back on track.’

‘Maybe.’ Josh said. ‘And you'll cover some of that later with 'containment'. But we discovered Bill only a month back – and right now it's not his time.’

Not his time
. Those words echoed in their heads as they contemplated Bill and his empty, desolate life.

Once again Ryan found himself picked out as the class finished and taken aside by Ellis Kendell. Though this time Kendell waited until they were sequestered in his private office before he said anything. 

‘That cover story for the hotel altercation we phoned your parents about – police mistaken identity – that go down okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah... it was okay. Looks like they bought it.’ He smiled tautly. ‘The real explanation was more of a stretch in any case.’

Ellis mirrored Ryan's smile for a second, then became more serious.

‘But that incident has given us another related problem. Most here have only seen one apparition, some none – but only a handful, like you, have seen
two
. With the girl at the café, Tracy Fulton, not a problem. She's in custody.’ Ellis took a fresh breath. ‘But Culverton is another matter. You could be in danger. So we'll need to watch you more than most, plus you'll need some sort of disguise...’

The
Blind
School
canteen was bustling and noisy, so Ryan and Jessica had taken a corner table away from the main throng. Jessica looked at him askew with a grin.

‘So you're special?’

‘Yeah. Or maybe extra-special, given that we're all meant to be a bunch of freaks.’

Jessica studied his face more intently. ‘Black spiky hair, Whitby Wyrm earrings... blood-drops facial tattoo. It'll suit you,’ she teased.

‘Sure. And now straight after telling my parents I might be going blind, I've got to drop the bombshell that I've become a Goth.’

Jessica chuckled. ‘Fact is, before these last couple of days, I hadn't seen any apparitions.’ She paused, reflective for a second. ‘Well, maybe only one. But even then I couldn't be sure. It was so quick.’

Each time she pictured in her mind that hazy apparition across the road junction, perhaps she hoped it would get clearer; but it was always the same replay each time.  

Ryan nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what was your parents' reaction when you told them about the hemeralopia?’

‘Just my mum. My dad died a few years back.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

She looked more intently at Ryan for a moment: said with concern, not just mechanically. She shook her head, smiled tautly.

‘Here's me teasing you over the Goth thing. My mom wants me to get a second opinion.’

‘Oh boy. Not good.’

‘Suppose I can hardly blame her, seeing how our family's been hit these past few years. She thinks I'm next in line for the Werner fickled-finger of fate.’

Ryan glanced towards a noisy group a couple of tables away. It was like any other school canteen, except for the dark glasses. They’d been urged to wear them at every opportunity outside the classroom so that they got used to wearing them. He looked back at Jessica, pensive.

‘Because of what happened with your dad?’

‘Not just that. But also what happened with my mom, she...’ Jessica broke off. Though she liked this guy, she'd only just met him. Yet the main reason she never shared the secret with family or friends was because it would probably get back to her mom. At least outside of that it was safe ground, and he did seem genuinely interested. ‘She became ill herself, just a year after my dad. Arthritis was the diagnosis at first.’ She paused, the memory still painful. She took a fresh breath. ‘So there she was battling away as a single mom after my dad's death: going to an office every day to put food on the table for me and my young brother, Ben. But getting tireder and finding it harder to move week by week... Until finally she was at home and could hardly move at all.’

‘How old's Ben?’

‘Only seven.’ She looked down absently for a second, tracing one finger on the table. ‘So now it's mainly me taking care of him and the house – mom can't cope with much. And one day while cleaning up, I found the medical report hidden in a drawer.’ She’d been tidying away some photos scattered on her mom’s dressing table, and only noticed the report as she put them away. ‘I had no idea what the term meant at first – Multiple Myeloma – so looked it up on the net. Incurable blood cancer that attacks the bones. Three year life span. No remission. No Hope. Don't pass go... don't collect the rest of your life.’

Jessica's eyes misted with the memory. She traced her finger absently on the table again. Ryan reached out and gently touched her arm.