Kaleidoscope (16 page)
As Hellam drove the car down the dirt road towards the farm, he could see that Hal and Tyler had already arrived. Hal's car was parked at the rear of the building and a sliver of light could be seen through the barn door. Hellam parked then he and Kelser walked towards the large wooden building.
"I have used the two men you are about to meet for private contracts over the past few years," Hellam said. "They are more-or-less trustworthy, but more than that, they are greedy. They're used to getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner, which isn't necessarily the correct approach when making the kind of films we have in mind. I need someone like you to put on a show for the camera."
Kelser remained silent but Hellam almost thought he saw the smallest hint of a smile, toying around the edges of his mouth. But then it was gone. Hellam opened the door to the barn and they both stepped inside.
Two of the floodlights were illuminated and bathing the concrete floor in a yellow glow.
Tyler
was leaning against one of the heavy duty stands that held the lights and Hal was sitting in a chair which was positioned in front of the camera. He turned and stood as he heard the door open.
"Hal, Tyler, this is Sebastian Kelser," Hellam said, waving a hand in Kelser's direction as an introduction.
Hal and Tyler nodded suspiciously and eyed Kelser up and down as he approached the floodlit area. His hands were pushed into his jacket pocket and he was glancing past the two men, looking around the barn.
"What's he doing here?" Hal asked, staring at Hellam, annoyance wrinkling the contours of his face.
"This is the man who will be running things here," Hellam replied, smiling and ignoring the disgruntled expression on Hal's face. "He has the relevant qualifications to see that the task is performed to an acceptable quality."
"Is this a joke? I thought this was our gig,"
Tyler
chipped in as he shuffled forward.
"It was, but Kelser here can..." Hellam began but was interrupted.
"I'll do the job right, that's why I'm here," Kelser said, gazing intensely at Hal.
Hal slowly approached him and stared. Kelser stood perfectly still and absorbed Hal's gaze with indifference as the two remained inches apart. Hal sneered then circled around him and over to Hellam.
"I told you last time, we don't need help, we know how to do our fucking jobs," Hal said, ignoring Kelser now and speaking directly to Hellam.
"Your duties won't change. You are still in charge of acquiring the subjects and setting up the operations here. Kelser will be the one who performs the kill," Hellam reasoned. "Your pay will remain the same and you will still report directly to me, not to Kelser."
Hal glanced back to the scarred man, who was wandering around the rear of the floodlights and scrutinising a dented steel table beside the camera, then he turned back to Hellam.
"I'm not happy about this. Tyler and I work alone, you know that. This wasn't the deal we discussed."
"I know and for that I apologise, but this is the way it is now and you and
Tyler
need to live with it if you want your money," Hellam relaxed slightly as he sensed that the mention of money had quelled the anger in the two men. He stared at Hal and Tyler for a few moments until finally they looked at each other and shrugged with reluctant acceptance.
"As long as the money don't change okay?" Hal forced the words out with a low guttural tone as if to highlight his displeasure.
Hellam nodded and smiled again. "Now that we have the awkwardness out of the way, where are we on filming times? How soon can we begin?"
Tyler
shuffled his hunched frame forward. "I think we're all set. The subject has been acquired." He motioned towards the rear of the barn in the direction of the sectioned off partition.
"I want to see the victim," said Kelser suddenly and began to walk towards the partition.
Hal and Tyler glanced over to Hellam who shrugged and they all followed him to the far side of the building.
***
Sarah Price could barely see through her swollen red eyes. They had been tormented by tears for almost twenty-four hours. She had awoken with an agonising pressure in her skull, remembering the attack in her home immediately. The terrifying images of the hunched man who had been waiting for her in the bedroom sparked a fresh wave of panic and she flinched herself out of the grogginess. She moved back, but hit something behind her.
It was dark, but her pupils had already been dilated from unknown hours of unconsciousness so she could make out several shapes in the gloom. There was a doorway to her right with a small amount of light creeping through, but directly in front of her were several thin vertical shapes. She squinted and reached forward slowly and...
"No," she said quietly to herself, panic forcing a crack in her voice.
She placed her hands around the steel bars before her and followed them round, rotating her body in a complete circle. She moved her hands over the bars which were each separated by about three inches and she began to make a high pitched whimper - not quite a scream - as she realised they surrounded her. The floor was hard and she tilted her head back to see more silhouetted bars above her. She was in a cage!
"No," she screamed and pulled at the bars in desperation.
Then the tears had arrived and hadn't left her as she spent hours screaming for help and hysterically clawing at her tiny prison. But no one had come to her rescue and she heard no sounds except her own trembling breath and pounding heart.
As the hours passed, they beat down her attempts to break out of the cage and she curled herself up into one corner where she began to sob quietly.
She may have slept, she wasn't sure, but after several more hours, she heard voices beyond the doorway. A light came on and shone onto the floor, illuminating the cage as she heard mumbling and cursing. She thought about screaming for help, but considered this for a moment and remained silent; halting her breathing for as long as possible so she could hear. She couldn't make out any words, just the subtle sound of distant voices before they eventually died down. After a few more minutes, she heard a door slam open and more voices, raised this time as if arguing.
Sarah shuffled closer to the bars and leaned forward to see if she could make out any words but it was no use. Then she heard footsteps approach the doorway and she retreated away from edge of the cage again.
A man entered the room and stared at her. He gazed at her with dark, unmoving eyes. Free of the restraints of emotional shackles, they burned her skin and she felt prickles on the back of her neck. He had a thick scar running the full length of his left cheek, beginning just below his eye and ending before reaching the bottom of his jaw.
"Please... I, please," Sarah said in a trembling panic, fresh tears stinging her sore eyes.
Three other men entered the room behind the first and all stared at her in a similar way; as if she were some kind of newly discovered species that they had captured and were now studying. But the first man was the one who escalated the fear inside her. His eyes never left hers as he approached the cage.
"Please," Sarah repeated, but wasn't sure which words should follow.
The man with the scar remained silent, continuing his macabre study of her.
Sarah tore her eyes from his and looked at the other three men. One was dressed in a pristine, black suit and smirked as he watched her. Then she saw the other two men and screamed involuntarily as she recognised the huge man who had followed her home; the tattooed butterfly clearly visible on his upper arm. The final man shuffled forward and she realised that he was the one who had attacked her in her flat. He was the one who had brought her here.
"What... what do you want from me?" she asked, wiping moisture from her cheek. "Please, let me go. I won't go to the police, I swear."
The man in the suit appeared to enjoy this but the one with the scar remained still, his expression stoic as he stared at her. He was next to the cage now, the other men behind him as he crouched down so his face was level with hers. The others began to whisper among themselves about something, but Sarah's wide eyes became fixated on the man before her. He placed his hands on the bars and she pushed her back up against the opposite side of the cage, barely three feet away. He remained there, motionless, for a few seconds before he suddenly whipped out his hand and grabbed her arm. He tried to pull her close, but Sarah resisted and pulled away, pleading softly. His hand remained on her arm and he continued to pull until their eyes met. Sarah wanted to see something as she stared into his face; some kind of humanity or empathy, but she saw nothing. It was as if any emotion he was once capable of feeling had long-since been evaporated.
He squeezed her arm and held it still then, very slowly, ran his thumb gently over her wrist. Sarah frowned, confused by this gesture but wanted nothing more than to remove herself from his presence. Finally he released her and stood up before returning to the others.
The four men continued to whisper, casting occasional glances in her direction until they finally left the room. She heard them shuffle around beyond the door for a while before the lights went out and the sound of car engines outside roared into life. They grew quiet before disappearing completely and she knew that, once again, she was alone.
Thousands of unanswered questions hurtled through her mind as she curled herself up and softly mumbled indecipherable words. The questions faded as her thoughts were overcome by the reappearance of the pounding in her head. She remembered her daughter, a million miles away, and focused on the image of her smiling face in a photo which she kept in a frame by her bed. But it was now only available from deep inside her mind, in a place where this nightmare could never reach. Hours passed in silence until the pain in her head faded and she slowly, and unexpectedly, drifted into sleep.
Chapter 17
Lewis finished the last of his fried egg with stale toast and pushed the plate across the table. Sitting in his flat, he leaned back on his chair. His stomach felt bloated; it had been the first proper meal he had finished in what felt like weeks and he sighed with satisfaction. He had been surviving on only bread, butter and alcohol so it felt good to have something to fill him up.
The face of Jonah had barely left his thoughts since waking and he had to constantly persuade himself that he hadn't imagined or dreamed the events of the previous night. He had been drinking and his mind had been foggy, but the moment he first laid eyes on the straggly haired man to the moment he disappeared behind the front door to the house, was clear in Lewis's mind. Craig Blaine had been telling the truth all along - at least that was the way it appeared.
The thought had occurred to Lewis that Craig could have just decided to pin the murder on someone he had seen frequent The Golden Anchor from time to time, but he didn't think so. Something hadn't felt
right
about Craig being the culprit; something unseen and something Lewis couldn't put his finger on. But when he saw Jonah,
that
made sense - he was certain that it was him, along with some unknown accomplice, who murdered Hannah.
The revelation that Jonah existed had brought with it a sensation of excitement; one that Lewis wasn't completely comfortable in feeling. He felt a tinge of guilt as the thrill of finding the man registered inside, because the thrill had been born from tragedy, and one that made him nauseous when he allowed it into his thoughts. But deep down, he knew better than that; the excitement he felt was one born from justice. He knew that Jonah was responsible and he wanted him to pay.
Lewis had decided almost as soon as he had awoken that he would inform the police of Jonah and his whereabouts. He had to do it for the sake of the innocent man currently waiting behind bars for the inevitable conclusion to his trial. He didn't expect the police to immediately see the truth as it appeared to Lewis and automatically release Craig, but surely they would have to consider that line of enquiry, and that at least would be a start. Once they began to follow that path, they would have to follow it to its conclusion.
Lewis felt positive for the first time since returning from his travels and was optimistic that he could prevent an injustice from occurring. He didn't want an innocent man to be punished whilst the real killer continued his life; living with disregard for the devastation he had created.
Lewis got up from his chair, took his plate into the kitchen and rinsed it in the sink then walked back into the front room and picked up his phone. He double checked the number from the online directory on his laptop screen and then dialled. After five rings a gruff, female voice answered.
"Yeah?"
"Mrs Blaine? It's... John from the newspaper, do you remember me?"
There was a long pause on the other end and Lewis could hear the breath of the old woman moving slowly over the receiver. It was long and drawn and the gap lasted so long that, for a moment, Lewis thought she was going to hang up.
"I remember," came her flat reply finally, followed by a hoarse cough. "What do you want?"
"I'm calling with some good news Mrs Blaine... at least I hope so. The man who Craig said was outside Hannah's door that night, you know, the one with the missing finger? Well I think..."
"Save it," Mrs Blaine cut in, her voice plain and matter-of-fact. "He's dead."
This time it was Lewis who initiated the gap of silence. After a few seconds he blurted out a half-question.
"What? Who..."
"They called this morning. Craig killed himself last night an' they found him in his cell." She spoke in a monotone as if she felt nothing, but Lewis heard her voice falter on the final few words; a bitter resentment riding in their wake. "Put that in your paper. Tell them an innocent man is dead!"
Lewis heard a click and then silence as she hung up. He stood with the phone to his ear, staring vacantly ahead as the world continued around him. Finally he lowered the receiver and held it by his side as he slowly walked over to the window and looked out at the street below. His vision blurred momentarily as moisture gathered which surprised him for a brief moment, before it was blinked away.
An innocent man,
he thought to himself with repetition,
he was an innocent man.
But doubt grew and the words changed inside -
was he an innocent man?
The conviction Lewis felt had become a question without him even trying. The existence of Jonah proved nothing and Lewis couldn't deny this simple fact. But no matter how much he tried, he simply couldn't quash the notion that Craig didn't
feel
like the killer and Jonah did. It was true, he couldn't be sure of this fact but he suddenly became overwhelmed by the need to find an answer - to find the truth. All thoughts of informing the police about Jonah had suddenly been blown away by a hurricane of conviction.
He could go to the police and they
may
investigate Jonah, but there was no guarantee and even if they did then there was no guarantee they would find anything. It's easy to deny, deny, deny, especially when there is little hard evidence to the contrary. If he went to the police and they couldn't get anything on Jonah, then it would be too late; he would have played his hand too early and missed his chance. Lewis suddenly confessed something to himself that he was trying to keep buried somewhere - somewhere where all the ludicrous and insane ideas lived. The truth was, he didn't
want
to go to the police.
He turned away from the window and walked into his bedroom to the set of drawers. He opened the top one and saw the gun lying on top of several old bills; so out of place it almost appeared to be a toy. He reached down, placed his hand around the grip and picked it up, squeezing the handle tightly between his fingers. It felt more comfortable than it had before, as if it had moulded itself to Lewis's most outlandish ideas. He needed an answer to his question and the gun presented the only way that Lewis could realistically see himself getting one.
***
Later that day, Lewis drove to the street where he had seen Jonah enter the house. He parked a hundred yards away and waited. The minutes dragged by with frustrating lethargy and morphed into hours as Lewis sat patiently while the mid-day sun warmed the car. He took off his jacket and threw it on the back seat as he stared at a patch of shade, cast by a tree further along the road. He wished he had parked under that tree but he knew that he would have been too close to the house.
At
, Lewis saw a short, dumpy man in baggy jeans walk down the street and stop outside Jonah's house. He paused for a moment before walking up the short path and knocking on the door as he looked around nervously. Lewis leaned forward in his seat and rested his arms on the steering wheel as watched. Jonah eventually answered the door, spoke briefly to the man then they both disappeared inside.
A few minutes later - ten at the most - the dumpy man emerged from the door, pushing something into his pocket, and walked back down the street in the direction he had arrived.
Lewis sat back in his seat again and continued to watch and wait. His stomach groaned as hunger pangs came and went, but he refused to leave. He wanted to see what kind of man Jonah was, although he already had a reasonable idea. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected the short man who had visited earlier had bought something from Jonah and Lewis didn't consider himself jumping to conclusions when he decided it was probably drugs; the shifty demeanour of the short man as he arrived and left gave the impression that he was relatively unaccustomed to that kind of purchase.
Lewis had decided to follow Jonah for a few days in order to see if that could provide any information which would help him come to a conclusion about the man. He had already decided that he would confront him and get the answers he wanted anyway, but he thought it prudent to get to know a little more about him first.
As the hours passed and the car continued to warm, Lewis's eyelids began to feel heavy. He leaned back onto the head rest and allowed them to close.
Sleep came quickly and he dreamed of being back in his flat. Hannah was still alive in his dreams and he could pick up the phone and call her if he so chose. He was reading something but didn't know what it was. The words were familiar to him, but he couldn't quite place them, so he flicked the book over and looked at the cover but it had faded. The text and picture on the front were almost completely white, as if washed away; bleached into an indecipherable smudge of white and grey. Lewis turned back and continued to read until he finally came across a passage that he recognised. He had read this book before and this particular passage was well known; it was a famous. It was spoken by a character called Atticus to his daughter:
‘
I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.
’
In his dream, Lewis read and re-read the passage several times before slowly placing the book down, realising now that it was
To Kill a Mockingbird
. He looked again at the cover and this time could make out a small pattern in the picture. It looked like it was a picture of a face, smiling and staring at him. He narrowed his eyes as if this would clarify the picture somehow and saw that it was a photo of a woman he knew very well.
He got up and walked over to the drawers by his bed and opened the top one. He couldn't remember where he had found the gun originally, but picked it up anyway and stared at it with curiosity.
"Courage isn't a man with a gun in his hand..." he said quietly to himself as he gazed on.
Suddenly there was a loud bang at the door; a single thump and Lewis stared at it with wide eyes, suddenly feeling a sense of overwhelming dread. He stood, staring at the dark, wooden panels until a second knock shook the frame. He walked over, still carrying the gun, and slowly turned the handle. As he pulled the door open, he grimaced as the face of Jonah came into view. Lewis took a step back and squeezed the gun in his hand then noticed a second man standing behind Jonah. The second man's face was unclear, but on one of his arms Lewis saw the tattoo of something... a bird? He wasn't sure and didn't particularly care. He raised the gun and saw a crooked, snake-like grin overwhelm Jonah's features. The gun shook in Lewis's hand as he aimed at his forehead, between two strands of straggly blonde hair, and then gently squeezed the trigger.
Lewis woke with sweat falling down his face. The car was hot and he wiped a sleeve over his head and then lowered the window. His heart was beating rapidly and he took in a deep lungful of air as he rubbed his eyes. He glanced down at his watch and saw it was almost
now. He had been in the car for close to five hours and he suddenly realised he was desperate to relieve himself.
He got out of the car, glancing briefly at the house, and walked down the street in the opposite direction. The owner of the corner shop was reluctant, but allowed Lewis to use the lavatory if he purchased enough, so Lewis returned to his car carrying a bagful of groceries he didn't need. He threw them on the back seat and settled back into his chair.
Just before
, Lewis saw the door to the house open and Jonah stepped out. He was wearing the same clothes as the previous night and made the now familiar gesture of running a hand through his thick hair, before walking down the road and away from the car.
Lewis hurried out and began to follow him on foot, trying to keep a distance that he felt comfortable with. The sun was lower in the sky now but still powerful and long shadows covered the pavement while a rolling breeze curled the fine branches of the trees.
Jonah walked quickly, but adrenaline aided Lewis and he had no trouble in keeping pace. Jonah turned the bend and Lewis saw him stop at an ATM further along. People wandered by and Lewis crossed to road to look in the window of a book shop while he waited for Jonah to finish. Lewis was no spy, but he was confident that Jonah hadn't noticed he was being followed.
Jonah stuffed a wad of cash into his back pocket before turning and continuing along the street. Still on the opposite side of the road, Lewis followed, barely taking his eyes off the man as they strode down several more streets, each lined with shops and places of business. More people filled the streets as they finished work, and Lewis almost lost sight of Jonah a couple of times, before noticing his incessant habit of continually combing back his hair as he walked along.
Around a mile away from where they had started their journey, Jonah walked into a bar called Jannson's. Lewis considered following him in but wasn't sure if he would be pushing his luck and decided not to risk being noticed before he had enough time to get more of an idea of who this man was.
He noticed a small caf
é
on the opposite side of the road and bought a coffee before returning to the street and sitting at one of the metallic tables provided outside. He sipped as he waited and watched the door. He was surprised when Jonah returned a few moments later carrying a bottle of beer and sitting at one of the small tables outside Jannson's. Jonah gulped his beer as he thumbed his phone and continually checked his watch.
