It Knows Where You Live (18 page)

Surely, he thought, the software memory wasn’t large enough to hold so many messages. He hadn’t paid for any upgrades, so the free email account came with only a small amount of storage space.

He clicked on the folder, and the page popped open to display all of those junked emails.
 

Weirdly, they all had the same words in the subject header: TROG BOY RAN.

Suddenly panicked, Niles ticked the faint little box above the long list of emails, and then hit the delete tag. The messages vanished, and he felt physically relieved. The tension went out of his shoulders and his hand relaxed on the computer mouse.

It’s just one of those viral campaigns
, he thought.
For a new film or a video game. Something like that
. He didn’t know much about computers, but he knew enough to realise those who
did
know a lot about this stuff could work wonders. He’d been receiving a lot of spam messages lately, and they seemed to get more sophisticated with each new wave.

Yes, that was it: viral advertising. He felt better now he could pin a name on what was happening. If things could be named, then they were real; and if they were real you could explain them. Maybe that’s why he’d been so damaged by Abby’s leaving—because it was, on the face of it, inexplicable.
 

He got dressed and left the house, a heavy sense of foreboding following him along the path and out into the street. He unlocked his car and set off towards town. Today, he promised himself, he would not go straight to Abby’s place. This habit was beginning to scare him; he really was turning into a stalker, and the thought made him anxious. This wasn’t him, what he was all about. He was not a sad weirdo who sat outside women’s homes, followed them to work, and wrote them lengthy letters and emails which would never be sent. Before all this, he had been a normal guy, the kind of bloke other blokes liked to have a drink with, and who was comfortable in his sense of self.

Niles barely recognised the man he had become. That was why he no longer looked in the mirror, and why he had let his beard grow so it would hide his suddenly unfamiliar features.

He parked the car in a multi-storey and walked down the concrete stairwell, trying not to smell the odour of old urine. Then, feeling ill at ease, he walked towards the main shopping area and thought he might buy a book or a CD, just to fill up his time. He felt pleased about managing to avoid going to Abby’s place, and this new sense of self-control empowered him. Perhaps he could forget about her after all, and even meet someone new. Yes, that would be good: getting back out there and dating again.

“Niles?”

 
She stood before him, clutching two shopping bags, one in each hand.
 

“Hello, Abby.” He was stunned for a moment, and didn’t know what to feel, but then the loss rushed back in to fill the emptiness and he felt like crying. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

She frowned, the smooth skin of her forehead puckering like a row of small mouths. Her blonde hair was loose, falling about the shoulders of her black leather jacket, and she was not wearing any make-up. He realised, painfully, that she was wearing an outfit she always kept for going out—which meant, of course, she’d not been home all night. “I think I should be asking you that. Are you following me again?” She stared at him, adjusting her weight to rest on one hip, and waited for a response.

“I...I haven’t been following you.” How the hell did she know? “I’m just doing a bit of shopping.”

“You hate shopping. You always have. I used to have to drag you out of the house on a Saturday morning.” She glowered at him, her blue eyes like chips of ice set in her exquisite face. Her recollection of their Saturday mornings was directly opposed to the one he enjoyed. His sense of reality was betraying him. Was she right? Had he actually hated going out with her on a weekend, trailing around the clothes shops and pretending not to be bored?
 

“Really. I’m just...you know, mooching about. Window shopping.”

Abby shook her head. Her eyes were now sad, and their colour had lightened. “This has to stop, Niles. You’ve been seen hanging around my flat and sitting in your car at the end of the street. It’s creepy. Really creepy. A bit like that beard.”

His hands flexed at his sides, making fists and then letting them open again. He was confused, frightened. She wasn’t meant to find out about this, not ever. If she realised how pathetic he’d been acting she would never take him back. “No. No, that’s not right. I haven’t been following you. I’ve been round a couple of times to see you, but bottled it at the last minute. Maybe that’s when your friends saw me?” Yes, that was it. That was a good one.

“Come off it, Niles, you sad little twat. Just stop stalking me...or I’ll call the police.”

Maybe not. Not such a good one, after all.

“I...” But it was too late: she was gone. He stood in an awful stunned silence as she walked away, hoisting her bags and crossing the road, where she ducked into a narrow gap between two shops and disappeared from view, leaving him with only the memory of her narrow back.

Niles turned away and walked to the kerb. The cars and buses were moving slowly, stuck in the midday city-centre traffic, and as he stared at the spaces between the vehicles he thought he saw a small, hunched figure running towards him on the opposite side of the road. The figure was dressed in rags and approaching at speed along a dirty alleyway, past empty cardboard boxes and torn black bin bags piled outside the rear entrances of cheap cafes and charity shops. A wide truck blocked his view for a few seconds, and once it had moved past he saw the alley along which he’d been looking was now empty. There was no one there; certainly not a short, squat individual with a squashed nose, a too-prominent lower jaw, and a shark-like smile that seemed to take up half its face...

Feeling crestfallen and oddly disturbed, Niles made his way back towards the multi-storey car park. He climbed the stairwell slowly, this time breathing deeply of the aroma of stale piss—it was what he deserved, for being such a fool.
 

When he stepped out onto the level where he’d left the car, for a moment he was unable to remember in which direction he should go. Had he parked by the lift, or at the opposite end of the building? He scanned the area, willing the memory of the exact spot to come back to him, and his eyes alighted upon something that made him question if he had even woken up at all that morning.
 

Three words were daubed in white paint across the grubby concrete bulkhead above the downward ramp: TROG BOY RAN.

“What the fuck?” He walked slowly to the ramp, his insides churning. Quite why these three words were suddenly able to chill him like this he wasn’t sure. But it
was
scary, the fact that they had appeared to him so many times in the past twenty-four hours. Was it a new film release, or some kind of independent record label? He’d never seen the words prior to receiving that email and the very meaninglessness of them was part of their inherent ability to scare.

Remembering now where he’d parked the car, he rushed off to the area at the back of the building. Then he unlocked the car, started the engine, and reversed quickly out of the space. He kept his eyes locked dead ahead during the journey home, unwilling to risk seeing the words again. There was no reason why he should, of course, but there was always the chance he might.

Back home, he locked the doors and prepared a light meal. He couldn’t eat it, and instead scraped it directly off the plate and into the bin. He felt sick and light-headed, as if he were coming down with something. Maybe it was that swine flu he’d been hearing about? The wife of one of his work colleagues had taken a hit from it, and she’d been laid up in bed for weeks. He felt his brow; yes, it was hot. Blinking, he stood and went to the kitchen, where he made a hot drink. Then he returned to the living room and watched bad television until it was time for bed.

He kept away from the computer. The feeling of dread was so intense he even climbed into the double bed, feeling strange now he was back in the bedroom where he and Abby had slept and made love and watched DVDs late into the night. He turned on the TV and watched Match of the Day, unable to keep his eye on the ball. After that, there was a late film—something starring Tom Cruise. He tried to keep his eyes open but the film didn’t hold his interest. Within half an hour he was asleep.

The sound of his mobile phone woke him. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was still dark inside the room. The phone unit was vibrating, making that annoying little buzzing noise he hated. He always kept the mobile by his bed, in case of emergencies, but preferred to switch the ring tone to a silent profile. He flailed about, reaching for the phone but unable to locate it in the dark. Finally he felt its cool plastic solidity, and flipped open the front.

Sickly green light crept from the display screen, illuminating a small patch of the bed. The tiny envelope indicating the presence of a new text message flashed in the top right corner of the screen.

Niles was suddenly wide awake. His heart seemed to be beating too fast and far too loudly. Could this be Abby, drunk and unable to sleep...Abby contacting him with a final declaration of love? This was when it happened, wasn’t it? When people had consumed too much alcohol and couldn’t get to sleep...when their minds started drifting back to better times, and the drink smoothed off the hard edges, giving the illusion things had not been as bad as they thought.

Niles pressed the button to summon the text. It opened quickly, without him seeing who it was from, but the words it contained told him immediately it wasn’t, after all, from Abby. Three words, ones he’d seen too often.

TROG BOY RAN

Niles felt as if he’d been nailed to the bed. His back was pressed against the mattress, not allowing him to sit up, and his arms and legs refused to move. He stared at the small screen, at the glowing words, and wished he had never opened that email in the first place. He knew for certain now, in the wee hours of night, this was no insidious advertising campaign. It was something else, something different. Something bad.

Was Abby behind it? Could she be trying to get her own back for him stalking her (yes, he admitted it now; he
had
been stalking her)? No, she wasn’t capable of such a calculated act. Part of the reason why he loved her so much was her ability to see the good in people, and that she could never be nasty, even if she tried. She was the nicest person he’d ever met—even when she was calling him creepy—and this type of thing was not her way at all.

What about a new boyfriend? Had she hooked up with someone who was the jealous type, and who had decided to teach Niles a lesson? This could be a way of marking territory, like a dog pissing against a post. And in that case, should Niles reply to the message? His finger hovered over the keys, but he couldn’t think of anything to type. Wasn’t that how this whole thing had started, anyway? Because he’d replied to that fucking email and signalled his was an active account.

An active account
.
 

It was amazing how, in times of stress, even the most prosaic phrases took on a whole new meaning and became unnerving.

Niles got up, got dressed, and went downstairs to make coffee. He sat there, at the kitchen table, until the sun began to stain the sky, thinking about what he should do.

He waited until mid-morning before calling her. He knew how she liked to lie in on a Sunday, and besides she’d been out partying (or shagging) all night Friday so probably needed the rest. He used the landline; he could no longer trust his mobile. His fingers didn’t hesitate when he dialled the number: his body recalled the digits even if his mind was trying hard to forget them.

“Hello?” It was nice to hear her voice minus the hate; it had been a long time since she’d spoken to him in such a neutral manner. “Hello? Who’s this?”

“It’s me. Niles. It’s Niles. I’m sorry for calling like this, but...well, I don’t even know what to say here.”

There was a long pause, a silence that felt as if it contained too many subtle sounds to be called a silence at all, and then Abby coughed.

“I need to ask you something.”

“I haven’t hung up yet, have I?” Her voice had changed; now it was tainted with negativity, and well on its way to becoming defensive.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“That’s none of your business, Niles. You know it isn’t. How dare you—”

“Please, I need to know. Something...something’s happening. Someone’s hassling me, and I wondered if it might be someone you were seeing. Or if you’d told them about me...well,
following you
.” He said the last two words quietly, ashamed of the spoken reality of his behaviour.

“At least you admit it now.” Her voice had altered, too; it was softer, less hateful. It hurt him to hear the pity in her words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. Really meaning it.

“Listen, Niles, I’m not seeing anyone right now. I’m having fun with my friends, going out and acting silly. There’s no one new on the scene, and that’s how it’s going to stay for a while. So if you’re being bugged by somebody, it’s nothing to do with me.” She coughed again. Was she coming down with a cold, too? Maybe he could go round there with some chicken soup? “I have to go now—I’m meeting the girls for lunch. Just...just take care of yourself, and please leave me alone. Stop following me, for your own good. Stop being so fucking creepy.” She put the phone down, and the sound of wind filled Niles’s ears.

Niles stood there for several minutes, the telephone receiver glued to his ear, and felt caught between moments, between actions. He stood there for a long time. The pre-recorded message telling callers to hang up the phone clicked into gear, and a high-pitched beeping noise started up. Niles, startled, took the phone from his ear, but then rapidly he replaced it, feeling giddy and shocked.

Instead of a recorded female voice telling him to hang up the phone, he heard a low, breathy, ragged tone—it was a croak, really, all dry and bristling—say the last three words in the world he wanted to hear.