Shiver the Whole Night Through (20 page)

‘Deserved. And this decided by you.'

Sláine folded her arms in a defensive posture, the crystals glowing brighter, matching the rising passion in her voice. ‘Do you disagree with my choices? Is there someone on that list who didn't make your life a misery? Have I made a mistake?'

I didn't answer. She went on, ‘I wouldn't harm someone innocent, or decent or kind. Someone who'd never done anything really bad to a person I cared about. I'd never hurt your family, or mine. Anyone, really, your friend Padraig, anyone  …  I'm like Michael Corleone: I only kill my enemies. “Kill” used figuratively, don't worry.'

‘Who's Michael Corleone?'

‘Never seen
The Godfather
?'

‘What's that, some Mafia thing?'

‘Doesn't matter. Look, it was just those few. The names on my list.' She smiled. ‘
Our
list. Be honest.'

I winced. ‘Please don't say that. Even jokingly  …  What was with all that other stuff, anyhow? The way you hit some kids in a different way. Clara Kinnane, the Callaghan girl  …  that numpty McGuinness – it was you who torched his car, correct?'

Sláine nodded and shrugged, saying lazily, ‘A bit of variety, nothing more than that. To be honest, I'd have been happy just beating them all up. But  …  life after death gets boring sometimes. I wanted to spice it up. And it amused me, I must confess. Driving that girl Clara half-insane, little by little – I'm sorry, that
was
funny.'

‘Fully insane, by all accounts.'

‘Fully, then. Even funnier.'

Was she pulling my leg? I couldn't tell any more.

‘Those kids were the lucky ones,' Sláine added. ‘They got away lightly.'

I thought of gouged-out eyes and amputated limbs, deep wounds to faces and abdomens, brain injury, drooling vegetables being fed by tubes, and felt queasy. I wanted this sickening montage of images to get the hell out of my brain but it wouldn't.

Sláine looked towards the horizon – blue-black in the moonlight, no sign of dawn inching its way towards us. She said bitterly, ‘That idiot whose car I burned out  …  tch. He should count his blessings he wasn't tied to the bonnet.'

There went the crystal lights again, pulsing in tune with her anger. I yelped, ‘Jesus Christ, are you
serious
? Will you stop saying things like that,
please
.'

‘Those bullies didn't suffer,' she said quietly. ‘Not like they caused
you
to suffer. It was right they be made to pay. I know it was – so do you. Like I said: it was your deepest desire. You just didn't want to admit that.'

I put my head in my hands, pulled at my hair – I could feel it lifting at the roots but kept pulling. ‘Was it? God help me if that's the case.'

Sláine whipped her arms around me and guided us to the cliff edge. I braced myself for transit. She smiled and touched her cold lips to my forehead. Then she mumbled into my hair, my hands, ‘God can't help you now, sweetheart. But I can. I'll take care of everything, don't worry.'

It was impossible not to worry. She must have known that. By this stage, I was nothing
but
worry. Then Sláine did something I couldn't even begin to imagine, and the universe shifted and we –

My home, my bedroom. I was lying on the bed, coat zipped up fully, hood over my head, a blanket covering my legs. The room was very cold although I could hear the clicking of a storage heater somewhere. I looked around in surprise.

‘How  …  ? This is my house. Is it safe for you to be here?'

‘Yes. We're safe for now. Close your eyes. You need to rest.'

‘No, I mean what if my parents come in? Or someone hears us.' I automatically lowered my voice.

‘Nobody will hear us.'

I whispered, ‘What if you're wrong?'

‘I'm not. Rest.'

‘I need a smoke.'

I fumbled for my tobacco but it wasn't where I usually kept it. It was in Sláine's hands and she was rolling a cigarette at bewildering speed, white fingers a blur of movement. She passed it to me and placed an ashtray on the floor nearby.

I rolled onto my side, lit the fag and spoke at a normal volume – guess I'd have to trust that her voodoo was working and we couldn't be heard by anyone else. ‘Since when have you been able to roll cigarettes?'

‘You'd be amazed what I'm capable of, pumpkin.'

I shuddered and didn't try to hide it. ‘I don't think I would.'

I took a long drag – it hit like a punch of pure relaxation, if that makes sense, to my throat. ‘Man. That's good.'

Sláine tutted. ‘You shouldn't smoke. Those things will kill you.'

I smiled wryly. ‘You're never more alive than when you're on the edge of death, that's my motto.' It was a joke but, I was realising, that line sounded a note of truth too.

Silence hung between us. I broke it by saying, ‘Hey. This is the first time you've been in my room.'

‘First time
you
were aware of.'

‘God, what a joke. Something like that is supposed to be romantic  …  '

‘It
is
romantic. Come on. We're together, aren't we? Sláine and Aidan, the two of us together. We can take on the world, can't we?'

She didn't sound that sure of it herself and I didn't respond. Further silence, as heavy and impenetrable as a shroud. Sláine wanted to say more, I could tell – I could always tell. In some ways she was a deeper mystery now than during those insane, is-this-really-happening early days. But I still knew when she had something on her mind and was steeling herself to voice it.

Finally she said, ‘Snap decision.'

Nothing more was added. I said, ‘Are you going to explain what that means, or will I guess?'

‘That's why I attacked the first one. A snap decision.'

‘Chris Harrington.'

‘Yes. Him. I went for a wander that night and passed Mr Harrington, stumbling along the river walk. Some gut instinct told me he was one of them, that he'd hurt you  …  His handsome face. I think that's what pushed me over the edge. He had this arrogant sneer. The kind of self-regarding asshole who treats girls badly because he knows he can. And I thought, fuck you, Chris Harrington. This is where all that ends.'

I shuddered again. ‘So you'd torn Harrington to bits. But there was a gap then, a few weeks.'

‘After that first attack,' Sláine said, ‘I got tired, if you can believe it. Not immediately, but when you left on the Monday, I suddenly felt exhausted. I needed to rest. Not sleep – I never sleep – but lie down, rest.'

‘I remember that. I didn't believe you. Thought you were blowing me off or something, ha.'

‘It was true. I was
wrecked
. Sort of zonked out for a few days. Absolutely drained of energy.' She thought. ‘I guess it takes it out of you. Tearing another body apart. There's actually a lot of resistance to flesh and bone, you know. It's not like in movies where everything happens easily. You really have to
work
at—'

‘Sláine, stop! For God's sake will you stop right there. I don't want to know the details. Bad enough what I
do
know.'

She smiled, embarrassed. ‘Sorry. Anyway, next time I recovered much more quickly. Now I'm fairly confident I could do it whenever I wanted and it wouldn't take anything out of me.'

I laughed, a faintly hysterical edge to it. ‘Well, feck it. That's good to know, isn't it?'

‘Not really.'

I stubbed out my smoke, got up and walked to the shelf by the window. I couldn't look at Sláine right then. Instead I gazed over the trinkets arrayed there: bits and pieces I'd accumulated over the years. Junk mostly, but each held some enduring attraction for me, spoke to my sentimental side. A lighter shaped like a Chinese warrior. An ashtray with the London Underground logo. Two metallic stones my sister brought me as a gift from somewhere. A resin gargoyle sitting cross-legged, tongue out, a malevolent raspberry at the world.

Was this a life, I wondered? A collection of knick-knacks, their provenance long-forgotten and their meaning non-existent, and little more than that. But were they meaningless? They had some meaning to me. And I guess I had meaning to others, if not always to myself. Didn't I?

Finally I said, ‘So the Harrington thing was spur of the moment. Why the others?'

Sláine said, ‘I started thinking about everyone else who'd wronged you and it hit me: why should they get away with it, when Harrington didn't?'

I rubbed my eyes, tiredness making them scratchy, uncomfortable in their sockets. I thought I heard someone approaching and stiffened, then remembered it was the middle of the night and it was only the house shifting. Forty years old, and this piece of crap was still settling into its foundations.

‘The supernatural vigilante,' I said. ‘Justice from beyond the grave. I should sell this stuff to Hollywood  …  You did all this just with your hands, or your mind? What I mean is, you don't do this bloody –
freezing
thing? Like  …  like he does.'

‘No. A normal attack, for a want of a better word. I don't even know if I
can
freeze someone. I don't want to. That's a terrible death. It kills the soul as well as the body. I don't go that far. Didn't. Past tense. Won't be going anywhere from now on, scout's honour.'

‘But you didn't lose your soul? When you froze to death.'

‘I don't think so. Still
feels
like I've got a soul.'

I turned to Sláine, reached for her hands and stared deep into her eyes. ‘You
really
don't feel guilty about it? Be honest. I need to know the truth, for good and all.'

She shook her head.

‘Okay,' I said. ‘Oh, shit. Sláine, I think I'm going to hell.'

She smiled.

‘Because I think I can forgive you. I think I
have
.'

She smiled more broadly.

‘I think I've already put this nightmare behind me. In my head, and my heart. I think  …  '

Her by-now enormous smile told me she knew what I was trying to say, but I said it anyway.

‘I think I still love you and am willing to overlook basically anything you might have done. I know you're a good person, and why you did it. It was wrong, I'll never stop thinking that, but  …  it's done now. We can't undo the past. All we can do is move on. But
no
more attacks, no more revenge. Okay? No more.'

She kissed me. Frozen delight sending messages of thrill and desire from my lips to my heart to every tip of every limb.

We broke the kiss. I smiled back and continued to hold Sláine's hands. Man, I
was
going to hell. And I didn't really care.

Dawn was creeping over the horizon, which told me it was coming on for half-eight and we'd talked through the night. I must have dozed off once or twice, though I didn't specifically recall doing it. I was crashed out in my lumpy old armchair by the door, surfacing groggily into wakefulness. Fragments of dreams lingered in my mind like the crumbling ruins of an ancient civilisation. I must have fallen asleep, at least for a short while. And Sláine, well  …  as I knew, she never slept. She had watched over me instead, steadfast and immovable, my eternal guardian of the night.

Now I did hear people shuffling around outside. My parents, getting up and making brekkie for the smallies. A step, right outside my door. I tensed and sat bolt upright in the chair. I glanced at Sláine, then back at the door. The handle turned and it opened and my mother stepped in before I could stop her.

I spluttered, ‘Mam. Uh, listen. Uh, this is  …  this is  …  Okay, let's start again. D'you remember that girl  …  ?'

She regarded me with a cool look you might expect to see on a psychiatrist as they debated whether or not to have you committed for tragic and irreversible softening of the brain. ‘Are you all right, love?'

I looked behind me. Sláine was gone. Of course she was,
dumbkopf
. As if this powerful, immortal being was going to get caught unawares by your mam stumbling in to offer you a cup of tea. I laughed, letting the tension out. ‘Sorry. Just woke up, I'm still a bit  …  you know.' I twirled my finger around my temple. ‘What's happening?'

Mam took in my location, the deep bags under my eyes, the fact that I was still wearing an outdoor coat and my boots were fully laced up.

She said wearily, ‘Sleeping, right. I can see that  …  Aidan, do you want to –?'

She stopped herself. I knew what she was going to ask: did I need to talk about anything? Probably, yeah, I did – but I wasn't going to. Instead I said cheerily, ‘Do I want a cup of tea?
Love
one. I'll see you downstairs in five minutes, all right?'

My mother nodded slowly and backed out the door. I sighed and turned to my chest of drawers. I didn't know when I'd last changed these clothes – they were practically standing up by themselves at this stage. I jumped in surprise at Sláine standing there, leaning against the furniture, a sardonic smile on her beautiful face.

‘My heart,' I said. ‘Don't  …  How do you do that, anyway? That vanishing trick.'

‘I keep telling you, it's all magic.'

‘Actually, don't explain it, I don't want to know. That'd spoil the trick.' I moved to the drawers and stopped. ‘Um  …  could you, like  …  ?'

She laughed. ‘You're embarrassed! At changing in front of me. Oh my God, I can't believe you're embarrassed.'

‘Nuh-uh. Not embarrassed at all. I just, uh. Just, uh, I'm used to some  …  like, being on my own when I'm  …  you know. Getting dressed.'

‘Course, I haven't really seen you naked yet. Nor you me. Kind of weird, isn't it?'

I rummaged around for clean underwear and socks, a change of T-shirt. The jeans were fine – they'd do for another few days, and I especially liked this pair: I felt comfortable in them, felt secure, as if I could take on the whole goddamn world in these jeans. I said absentmindedly, ‘Well, ours is a pretty weird relationship, my dear.'

‘It certainly is that  …  What about the lovely Caitlin? Did she see you naked? Did she gaze adoringly on the Flood crown jewels?' Sláine giggled, putting a hand to her mouth. I laughed too, mostly out of surprise at this elegant, self-possessed girl coming out with silly naughtiness like that.

‘Caitlin? Yeah, I wish.'

‘Do you really wish?'

I stood and looked at her, clothes bunched in one fist. ‘Actually, no. It doesn't bother me now. Nothing bothers me now. Except for  …  heh.' I smiled ruefully. ‘Except for that one thing we talked about? That guy, you know yer man who controls a demon and wants to kill everyone and eat their souls and all that stuff? That's bothering me a teensy bit, I must admit.'

Sláine said, ‘Mm-hm. About that. It's all going to be okay.'

‘And why is it going to be okay, oh she who knows all?'

‘Because, Aidan my lad, I told you before – I won't let anything bad happen to you.' She looked off. ‘I
won't
. I swear it.'

She left me with some instructions. I was to meet her on Sunday night, at Shook Woods, in our lodge, at nine o'clock; she needed time to think. Until then I should keep my head down. Sláine and me would both mull it all over, formulate some plan of attack when we got together again, then strike hard against the enemy that night, when he – hopefully – wouldn't be expecting it. She had a strong hunch that we couldn't leave it too long after deciding our course, because
he
might somehow pick up on it, be forewarned. On the other hand, we couldn't do anything too soon because, frankly, we didn't yet know what the hell to do. We needed the time to work it out but time was short, time was ticking down. It was a hellish conundrum, and meeting at nine tomorrow was a flawed compromise but the best solution we had.

Part of me was unsure about all this. What if our villain struck in the meantime, struck at her, or worse – I'm ashamed to say this – at me? What if another of those zombie-walker things tried to turn me into a human ice lolly again? I assumed they couldn't enter my home and wouldn't show themselves in the daytime, but still I was on edge about it. Scared. Sláine could handle herself. I was a wimp with skinny arms and the physical courage of a nervous rabbit.

But I trusted her, unreservedly, instinctively, completely. Whatever she reckoned was best, I'd go along with that. Even though I got the impression that she was kind of winging it herself, that she wasn't the all-knowing super-being I wanted her to be, and was troubled by her own doubts and confusion. Didn't matter: I trusted her. Perhaps my trust, like her love, could empower Sláine to know what to do when the time came. I prayed that this was so.

It was now Saturday morning, so that gave me less than two days to prepare, I guess. To wait. To worry, or try not to worry. To put my affairs in order, should the worst come to the worst. Should I not make it past tomorrow night.

Sláine vanished in a metaphorical puff of smoke and I forgot about putting my affairs in order and got back to worrying. I knew so little about what was happening that I wasn't even able to think, ‘This could all go horribly wrong.' Because I didn't know what ‘this' was. Didn't know the name of our enemy, where he lived, anything about him really, and neither did Sláine. We didn't know the nature of this – shudder – demon he'd raised, what it could do, what
he
could do now he controlled it. Didn't know what we hoped to achieve, or how we aimed to achieve it. The pair of us were in the dark. But I could sense
him
out there, sense them – this nameless, faceless menace to the entire planet.

Just before leaving my bedroom Sláine had hugged me tightly, wrapping me in that cold embrace, saying, ‘Listen. My powers are growing stronger – you've seen that. And, Aidan, it's you. You're enabling them, and me. Maybe it's my love for you, maybe it's coincidental. But whenever I think of you, or let my heart fill with good intentions towards you  …  I feel as if I can do anything. Defeat anyone. I feel I could change whole worlds if you asked me to.'

I don't know if this was true, or she had just said it to give me courage. Whichever, it worked. And it made me feel pretty goddamn good about myself.

Later that day I met Podsy. I wanted to leave instructions of my own with my best friend: what to do in the event of – well. That aforementioned worst coming to the worst. I said nothing over the phone, just asked if he was about for a bit of grub.

I walked through town in late afternoon, the sun thinking about setting, my nerves jangling, head swirling with emotions, a swarm of angry wasps. I checked my phone and saw I was in plenty of time, and looked up and half of John Rattigan's family was standing in front of me, blocking the pavement.

Crap.

I knew most by sight. They all looked the same anyway: cretinous expressions, Cro-Magnon faces, a brutal kind of simmer in how they held those hefty bodies. This was, I guessed, two of Rattigan's brothers, his father, an uncle and his mam – hard to know for sure, one generation didn't look much older than the next. I swallowed hard and kept walking. Don't show fear. You've every right to be here. Just ignore them. I recited these mantras and tried to convince myself they weren't here for me, that this was a coincidence.

Of course, it wasn't. Rattigan senior thumped me on the chest when I came within striking distance. He rasped, ‘Hold on there. Where d'you think you're going?'

‘To meet my friend,' I muttered. ‘Let me pass, please.'

They didn't move. Mama Rattigan hollered to one of the brothers, ‘Here, Martin, is this the fella? Is this him?'

Martin nodded and glared at me, looking fit to tear my head off and drink blood from the spurting neck-hole. I noticed a van idling across the street, yet another Rattigan brooding behind the wheel. I ignored that and channelled a smidgeon of bravery from somewhere, saying, ‘Is this him what? What's the problem here?'

She didn't appear to be listening. Why would I expect a fair hearing from this band of inbred hooligans? Mrs Rattigan bellowed, ‘That's the boy, is it? The one who done it.'

Another nod from Martin. The dad moved towards me, the brothers in step just behind. To my amazement, I didn't budge, didn't retreat. I
wanted
to – I've never wanted so badly to skedaddle as fast as my legs could spin – but I couldn't. Something was stopping me.

And now this something was putting words in my mouth. I barely recognised my own voice as I said, quietly but firmly, ‘Back off. I didn't do anything and I'm not going anywhere with you.'

Rattigan
père
seemed dumbfounded. Rattigan
mère
screeched, ‘Go
on
, Martin, what're you waiting for!?'

A different guy reached for my jacket, grunting, ‘C'mere, ya little bastard. You'll answer for what you done to John.'

To my continued astonishment, I still didn't flee. I slapped his hands away and spat, ‘Get your ignorant paws off me, you ape. And
back off
. I told you, I didn't touch your precious John.'

By this stage even Queen Rat was gaping in disbelief. The something inside moved my right foot forward a step, then my left, then right again. Was it adrenaline? Fear? The realisation that humanity was in mortal peril and I didn't have time for these bullshit people and their bullshit antics? I don't know. I just did what I did.

I got right up in the face of Pops Rattigan, saying, ‘I wanted to, yeah. I wanted to
kill
him for what he did to me. Maybe I should have – he'd've been no loss. But I told you, I had nothing to do with your son being attacked.'

And then, and then  …  oh my God. I pushed him back, four feet, his soles sliding along the frosty pavement. My voice rising, whether through courage or panic, I yelled at the lot of them, ‘Now back
off
, motherfuckers! The Guards have been told about you. If you come within fifty yards of me again they'll sling your asses in jail until Easter. It's called a restraining order, dickheads.' I was making it up on the fly, extemporising, pulling this stuff out of God knows where. I said tightly, ‘Now
move
. Out of. My way.'

That something lifted the corners of my mouth and I smiled, and it lifted my hand and I patted Rattigan's dad on the cheek. ‘Please.'

And  …  they did. They shuffled off, confused, unhappy, scratching their heads literally and figuratively. A gang of cavemen wondering why this evolution thing seemed to be passing them by. I continued towards the cafe, actually shaking – seventy per cent adrenaline and thirty per cent relief. Or maybe the other way around.

Fiver and Dimes, again. The muddled decor looked even more ridiculous in daylight, but the booths were still comfortable and the food was decent. For the first time since I could remember, I was ravenous. I couldn't wait for Podsy so, rude as it was, went ahead and ordered a coleslaw burger and wedges with blue cheese sauce. Not too healthy – more or less a coronary on a plate – but it tasted
great
, particularly after that little dance with the Rattigan mob. Anyway, might not be around much longer to enjoy nice food, I reminded myself. None of us might.

I was two-thirds through my meal when he got there, flopping onto the seat opposite. His shirt was askew, coat half-hanging off one shoulder. Podsy looked as dishevelled and nerdish as ever, which made me so happy I wanted to lean across and give him a big kiss, smack on the lips.

Instead I gestured to the table and, impersonating this Arab camel driver I saw in some movie, said, ‘Sit, my friend, sit. You have travelled far and must be in need of sustenance.'

He misunderstood the reference. ‘Been reading those fantasy novels again, yeah? They're good, all right.'

Reading
fantasy? More like living inside one, Podsy.

‘You okay?' I asked.

‘Yeah, not too bad. Why'd you want to meet up again? I'd be seeing you at school anyway.'

The middle-aged waitress bustled in with a menu for Podsy. She gave a dirty look at his dishevelled state, a bitter, pursed-mouth expression on her bitter, pursed-mouth face. Podsy amused himself, and me, by taking ages to decide. When the waitress moved off he made a face at her retreating back.

I said, ‘Never mind her. Listen, I've something important to tell you.
Really
important. Your life could depend on it.'

‘Okaaaay  …  Okay. Sounds interesting. Terrifying, but interesting. Go on.'