Breakdown (24 page)

Jack. Age 30

I made it into Halliday’s bathroom before I threw up. The image of Steve trying to stop me going into Cutter was still on the screen, frozen in time again. He’d known, maybe not for sure, but he’d seen Martin start to fester back then, had tried to stop it, but like with the whispers, like hearing the fucking ringing of a phone in the distance but not wanting to answer it, I’d ignored it. So Martin had picked it up instead, and if that was just the beginning, Martin just stretching his wings, what the hell had happened afterwards? What the hell had happened between him and Gray?

“You okay, mate?”

Knees took my weight as I choked out more bile. “Leave me alone, Craig. Please.”

A hand rubbed at my back as he crouched down. My grip just tightened on the toilet seat.

“You met Gray a few months after that incident?” Halliday was by the door, leaning against it.

“Christ,” I mumbled. “I’d forgot I’d done that to Mase and his old man. I didn’t remember. I thought it had been Cutter. I thought—”

“Jack, in some ways it was Cutter. Can you see what he did?”

Looking at Halliday, just briefly, I rested my head down and closed my eyes.

“He knew certain things helped trigger the identity disorder,” said Halliday quietly. “Which suggests he either knew something was happening at home, or suspected it at the least.”

My stomach turned and I gripped at it. “He never asked about my fucking private life.”

“Do you think he needed to? You have more than a voice for expression.”

Groaning, I rubbed at my eyes.

“What happened then, Jack? Something happened, something significant enough to get you to testify against Cutter and get him arrested.”

I shrugged. “Photos, Gray showed me photos of the kids he’d cut up.”

“But you knew Cutter’s reputation for cutting. That wasn’t new information. And from Martin’s psychological profile, he wouldn’t have entertained you going to the police over Cutter either: he was just tasting his own freedom, although he still had firm ties to you; he would have fought as hard as you against police involvement. Something triggered a reversal. Can you remember what?”

I tried to sort around, move a few dusty boxes into place, but it only disturbed more dust that made me choke and cough. I pushed up, then pulled away from Craig’s steady hand on my shoulder when life decided to go for a round of screwed up waltzing again. “Shower,” I mumbled. “I really need a fucking shower now.”

Light patters of water hit the tiled floor, sending out a fine spray that gently tapped a
Come on, Jack, get in here
at my feet. I thought it was cleaning that I needed, but sat there just a few feet away with socks and trainers long since kicked off, then ordered neatly next to the T-shirt folded on the rail, I watched the soft shower pool around the drain, then swirl down into oblivion. Arms folded across knees, head resting down, I let the steam fill my lungs, partly wanting to sear through the need to cry disgust.

I was a bastard, I knew that. But Martin?

Steamed heat sent shivers down my neck, causing its own perspiration, and I closed my eyes.

Fuck.

Images were shaking loose, most just echoes, but that falling feeling was there, slamming fist-first into a wall and just waiting for the broken bones and hurt to kick in before life blacked out. Halliday was right; Martin would have pulled every trick going to keep Jack out of jail, Christ knows I had, and that niggle was there, a grief over some unseen death, only it lacked the corpse and the ability to grieve properly. What the fuck had Martin done back there?

Jack. Age 18

Making it to the bottom of the stairs, I grabbed my leather jacket off the coat stand and tugged it on as I headed through to the kitchen. I’d opted for loose jogging pants and a sleeveless hoodie, a pure thug look if I’d have thought about it too long, but there was a thuggish side beneath the clothes that wanted to stay out of sight in the hoodie for a whole host of different reasons. I slipped the thin hood over my head now, letting it almost shield my eyes. Gone too was Cutter’s silver chain. Being someone’s collared bitch itched and grated, making life fall into a whole pile of crap. Instead a black rope necklace with two crosses—one silver, with a smaller black one nested on top—sat loosely around my throat. It felt and looked a damn sight better than Cutter’s; it’s why I’d chosen it. Well, my old man had officially picked it out some time back. He had good taste; but then it seemed he had a thing for Italian design, especially when it came to the female form. Hence my old lady.

“I’m out for the night,” I mumbled, patting down my jogging pants in search of my house keys. I’d lost my ride, but maybe all the mouth over having a life had won my old man over. He’d at least let me have my house keys back. I flicked a look at him as he stood washing up. “I’ll be back tomorrow, maybe about teatime. I’ll give you a call if it’s any different.”

A plate went on the sink, and caught in the glare of the sun through the window, my old man half looked back over his shoulder. “Just another year until you get your car back, son.” He sounded tired. “That’s something to work towards, right?”

I grunted something, a “sure”, then—“Call,” I mumbled. “I’m just out with a few of the lads and I’ll call when I’m heading back.”

“No Steve?”

I stopped pulling on my jacket, just briefly. My old man went back to washing the crocks in the sink, the clink of cup on plate grating on my nerves a touch.

“He hasn’t been at work for a few weeks,” he said eventually.

Giving a sniff, a wipe at my nose after finishing getting my coat on, I looked back hearing a car horn. “He’s away for a while,” I mumbled. Although just exactly where was anyone’s business. Steve hadn’t called to let me know. Carole was close to giving birth now, or had done, it had been a few weeks since the warehouse job, and it pissed me off I’d missed Steve becoming a dad for the second time. Kids weren’t my thing, but get them into their teens, they were Cutter’s. Steve was safer out of it. “Said he’ll give you a call and that he was sorry for leaving you down a man.”

“Maybe best out of it, yeah? Him, Carole, and the kids,” mumbled my old man, but another blast of horn had me looking back for the window. “Tomorrow, yeah?” I said, going over and kissing the back of his head. He stiffened and I patted his arm, noticing he’d been doing that a lot lately. “Don’t stay up worrying, ’kay.” Leaving him there, I headed on out, almost crying yes to the feel of the front door closing behind me. Not the relief, just the drop of whatever family collar my old man strangled around my throat.

The car horn blared again as I got there and the side panel caught my boot, just a hint for the person inside to shut the fuck up. My old lady had gone to bed with another of her headaches.

“Drink?”

Jeff passed over some cider as I slumped inside and belted up. Saturday night... Jeff was driving because I was up for some serious fun, which would no doubt end up with me fucking him. Fucker seemed up for it with how the back seat was full of cider and beer, the odd packet of crisps floated around the back too.

“Thanks.” I offered a grin and a wink before taking a long swig.

“Some of the guys are over at Basements. Up for it?”

“Fucking peachy, mate.”

Basements was out of the main town, some rundown Ministry Of Defense grounds used to host rogue raves. A few hangars mourned the loss of aircraft life, and, with the rubble that fell in places, seemed to offer the odd tear of welcome for the mass of roaming partygoers tonight. Social. Fucking hated social. Good job Jeff had brought all that beer, because with beer, anything seemed possible.

Cider and beer bottles were piled over in the corner, and every now and again, I’d add to it, smashing Luke’s and Barry’s empty drinks up the wall as they’d finished, or during, depending on how much Cutter’s cutting lads were starting to piss me off lately.

The main rave crowd was in the next hangar down, having the sense to stick to one that had a sodding roof, unlike the one we were in. The place had been raided years ago by the scrap merchants, taking with them any valuable metal. With bits of masonry coughed up over the floor, making it downright leg-breaking territory just to walk in here without falling on your ass, the buggers might just have dug deep enough to see if there were any unexploded bombs that they could sell on too. Music thudded through from the next hangar, but it gave life that open-air performance scene, spoiled utterly by Luke and Barry as they carried on trying to have some really serious discussion over some finance shit. They’d been with Cutter as long as I had, but had the unfortunate mannerisms of University asses. Seems Cutter took this business serious, providing career opportunities for the young and up and coming who wanted to use those hard-earned uni degrees to fuck the system over. On their own, they weren’t too bad, but get them together and it was like listening to a Common’s debate between old farts.

Luke had caught me legging it out the back way within half an hour of arriving, and he’d pulled Barry out with him as he followed. Maybe Luke thought they’d both stand less of a beating if they were with me, but two hours later, and several shots of straight vodka laced with cider, I wasn’t up for fighting my way through the crowd to find a good piece of ass, let alone fight any dickhead that decided to try and piss on them. Again.

Going for another bout of hiccups and hating how Luke kept edging over into my personal space no matter where I shuffled to in the hangar, I finished the last mouthful of the cider vodka, threw the bottle up the corner, nodded hearing it shatter, then moved over to a broken down concrete wall that towered above me. Hitching my ass up there, I stood on top, loving how my head spun despite holding my arms out to keep life balanced. Well, mostly.

“Fuck.” It had rained a few hours back and the rubble on top was loose and damp. My foot found that out and it took a few laughs from Luke and Barry, plus a few more curses from me to stop me landing back on my ass. Didn’t help that the hood was still over my face, hiding from me most of the slicked-up shrapnel on the wall. The jacket had long since been discarded, and with the beer turning blood to alcohol in my system, even the cold biting into my bare shoulders and the dirt I came into contact with didn’t bother me.

“Laugh it up,” I said, flicking a look over in their direction. “I’m not the one in here hiding from a beating, you pussies.” They stopped laughing, and I nodded. Happy. Christ, I missed Steve tonight. He’d be up here with me, going beer bottle and drunken Can-Can at the top of his voice. And in honour of his memory, I started on my own rendition now, giving it all in time to the heavy beat.

Luke rolled his gaze as Barry went back to doubling with laughter. “Better watch your ass doesn’t fall, Jack,” shouted Luke. “I’m not explaining another absence of yours to Cutter.”

I grinned over. “Talk from one pussy to another, eh? And here was me thinking you only sucked cock.”

Barry went quiet again, blushing his look away, but quiet. “Oh,” I said, giving a more controlled flip onto my hands, then walking around upside down on the wall a bit. “Barry likes you sucking his cock, huh? Tell me, when you cup his balls, do you weigh up the full implications of no tax deductions for gay couples first, or just get straight to the fuck?”