Songs From Spider Street (8 page)

The bizarre
image disappeared when Mike moved just a few inches one way or the other,
breaking up into a meaningless collection of everyday objects. He suddenly felt
light-headed. What on earth was Jen up to? What could this mean?

He felt as if
somebody had dropped a weight into his heart, his innards struggling hard to
cope with the unexpected imposition. He had to sit down.

Mike
struggled over to his favourite chair. He realised it was part of Jen’s bizarre
design but he needed its familiarity and softness.

Almost as
soon as he was seated, relaxing into its welcoming comfort, Mike felt the
sensation begin. A scuttling or bubbling inside his head. Not a sound or a
colour but something in between. He held his breath, expecting to feel the
usual fear grasp him but he exhaled with relief after less than a minute.

It came over
him like a wave of relaxation and warmth. There was nothing in it that needed
to be feared, he now knew. It was familiar and ancient and perfect. He laughed
softly to himself.

He sat and
stared through half-closed eyes at the huge grey shape in front of him. The TV
remote lay abandoned, the screen in darkness. Somehow the surface of the
sculpture seemed suddenly to hold an odd fascination for him. Maybe Jen was
right after all, he thought, as he studied the endless pits and marks on the
surface of the stone.

A soft, dull
glow seemed to fill him from the centre of his head outwards, until his entire
body overflowed with it. He was aware that the light was changing, the sky
beyond the glass becoming dimmer, the day draining away slowly but it somehow
didn’t matter now.

He didn’t
even look round when Jen came home, clicking the door shut behind her.

A song of
nothingness filled his head, thrumming in the space between his ears and
filling his skull with an empty contentment. The nothingness at his core,
called to and nurtured by the giant object before him, had grown to fill his
entire being.

There was an
opening up, a lightness. Almost as if the weight of his body, his being, his
being
here
, was no longer a part of the equation, no longer even necessary.
He was only needed to finalise a design, to fit in as part of an aesthetic
arrangement. He was no body at all, just a balloon of thin flesh and skin.

He could hear
Jen saying, from the other side of this room as big as infinity, “That’s
perfect. Just as I’d always pictured it. You’ll get used to it in time.”

He’s been stalking his foe among this crumbling old building for two days
now. His eyes ache with the strain of staying awake and his brain rattles
around in his dried-up skull, making his ears ring.

The weight of
the gun has started to cut into his hand. He’s convinced it will sink straight
through his flesh and clatter to the floor at any second, betraying his
position to his adversary.

He has to go
up. He knows that. Because that’s where the one he’s following will be – it’s
the only place he could be. He doesn’t want to follow him but he knows he has
to. He puts his foot gently, gently on the rotten wood of the first stair. When
he’s sure it will hold his weight, he starts to climb, slowly.

The gloomy,
unlit stairway feels to him as though it is narrowing, conspiring to crush him
before he reaches the top. He grips the loose banister for illusory support and
steps quietly out onto the long landing, a corridor leading off to both left
and right. Crouching low, creeping forward, suddenly, from somewhere above, he
hears a piece of furniture being knocked over. He looks for more stairs.

His legs
begin to ache with the tension of two days of creeping around. He doesn’t want
to do this. He desperately wants to escape. But this is for his two sons, now
that their mother is gone. In his mind’s eye he sees their faces trapped behind
stone. And that voice: “If you don’t succeed, they’re gone. You’ll never see
them again, understand? So don’t fail!”

At the top of
the next set of stairs, he tenses and listens for the slightest betraying
breath. After seconds of silence, he relaxes and the exhaustion leans its full
weight on his shoulders.

Wiping the
sweat from his face, he puts out a hand to steady himself. The rain-soaked
plaster slides away under his fingers and he almost loses his balance. He jumps
away from the wall as something huge slams against the other side. Shying away
from the sound of the impact, he scuttles quickly away down the corridor,
imagining a rat the size of a bull, separated from him by just inches of rotten
brickwork.

In his flight
he rounds a corner and there, dashing with equal speed, he glimpses his
adversary’s legs fleeing up the stairs. Grabbing the banister to halt himself,
he swings around quickly and launches himself up two steps, hand outstretched.

He grabs the
man’s ankle and pulls hard, bringing him tumbling backwards down the stairs.
Rotten floorboards give slightly below him as his foe lands on top of him, throwing
him onto his back. He grabs him around the shoulders, gun hanging loose by just
two fingers, and rolls him over. Pinning him with his knees, he stares down
into the most familiar face of all. Even the look of confusion and terror is
identical.

Looking
suddenly into his own eyes, he gasps and a mirrored mouth joins him. His mind
flips over as he grabs hold of a passing thought – he must do this for his
children; otherwise they will die.

He can feel
the sweat spring, ice cold, from his exhausted body as he cocks the gun and
slides the barrel into his own mouth. He presses his eyes closed and listens
for the bang.

Carrie loved her car. Big, sleek and hard, it was the only thing in her
life that had never blown a tyre and veered off the road.

This baby was
a beauty and she was going to drive it hard. Stuck in cement-solid traffic,
Carrie tried to massage away her headache.

Reaching over
to the Buick’s big back seat she fished inside her bag for cigarettes. She
noticed there was still a slight semen stain there from a week back. She
chuckled as she remembered that arrogant bastard’s face – just because he hadn’t
come didn’t mean she was going to ride him forever! He’d had to finish himself
off. The shit had left his mess behind him; still, it’d been worth it to see
the humiliation on his face. Her latest conquest, thoroughly conquered.

She lit up,
sucked in the smoke. Flicking buttons impatiently, Carrie chose the best
driving music she had and dreamed about driving while staring at the rear light
of the car in front.

The city left behind, a few shabby buildings showing up here and there as
its only reminder, Carrie put her foot down. She savoured the silky vibrations
quickly smoothing out into a full body purr. She intended to enjoy the
three-hour drive.

Scrubby
fields flashed by. A series of bends forced her to slow slightly and Carrie
noticed three huge shapes off to her left. Slightly startled at first, she
slowed. Visible only as silhouettes, they appeared to be giant unmoving
figures. They had to be some sort of art project, she thought.

Despite her
suspicions over their ‘worthy’ origin, they still made a powerful impression on
her. Anything that big could destroy her within seconds, if they decided to
move in her direction.

As she sped
on the figures finally dropped out of sight in her rear view mirror. Shortly
afterwards the fields came to an end, replaced by a curious flat moorland.

She turned
the music up, then pressed the accelerator pedal, ready to do some hard
driving.

After an hour-and-a-half’s driving Carrie needed a break. But she hadn’t
seen anywhere to stop. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen anywhere at all:
just a long strip of black highway.

Needing some
air, she pulled over and stopped. She’d driven this way before and should have
passed through a town by now. She reached in the glove box for a map. Yes,
there it was; she should definitely have passed through Fordham. Where the hell
had she gone wrong? The road was straight – no turn-offs for about another 20
miles.

There was
nothing for it but to drive. She was bound to reach somewhere eventually, then
she could get her bearings before continuing.

She pushed
the pedal down hard, eager to get somewhere, anywhere. As the dial touched 100
the car complained loudly and rocked backwards. Carrie gripped the wheel, eyes
flicking across the dashboard dials. A scorching white light flooded the car,
surrounding the vehicle like an illuminated river.

It was over
in seconds, Carrie’s eyes stinging as she struggled to readjust them. She hit
the brakes as soon as she thought the car had slowed enough. She killed the
engine. “What the fuck …?!”

She forced
herself to take a couple of deep breaths. Had she been caught in a searchlight?
The cooling engine ticked to itself in the night air.

Turning the
key, she started the big car. Her eyes had just about returned to normal. About
to drive off, she noticed that someone was standing right in front of the car.
It was a man; probably a drifter, she thought.

She honked
her horn twice. Sliding the window down a notch, she yelled “Hey, get out of
the way!” She honked again. Still nothing. She’d had just about enough for the
one night - if he didn’t move she’d go over him. “OK! Have it your way.”

She pumped
her foot hard against the accelerator and the roar of the beast below the metal
suddenly died. She turned the key; it coughed pathetically a few times before
giving up.

The man
reached forward and, strong and swift, yanked the badge from the front of the
car. He lifted it to chest level and slid it inside his clothes.

Carrie’s
anger now overcame any fear she might feel. “Hey! Hey, you bastard!! Stop
wrecking my fucking car!” She was out of the car, slamming the door, walking
towards him. Then she halted, stepped back a pace, unsure, as the man began to
walk towards her, one step at a time, stopping for a moment between each one as
if to prove he was in charge, completely unafraid.

Carrie backed
away, wishing she’d been smart enough to stay safely inside the car.

She ran
around to the back of the car, her mind racing. As he followed, she continued
to keep the car between them. Now she had drawn level with the rear door of the
big vehicle. She glanced through the window. ‘Of course,’ she thought. Now she
was back on familiar territory. She quickly opened the door and climbed into
the back seat.

If he was
thinking with his balls he wouldn’t be using his brain and that would give her
time to outmanoeuvre him. She sprawled back across the seat, hitching up her
skirt. She tore open her pantyhose to save him the trouble.

The man was
outside the door. She could see his ragged trousers and, for the first time,
she could smell him. She covered her mouth. He stank like a cross between a
junkyard and a butcher’s shop, the mingled stench of metal and flesh corroding.

He bent
lower, putting a scarred and pitted hand onto the seat to steady himself. He
eased himself forward. Now she could see that his clothes were mere rags.

The Buick
badge he had ripped from the front grille was embedded in the center of his
chest, becoming a bloody emblem of triumph. Everywhere his body was studded
with parts of cars, flesh melding with metal before returning to ruined human
meat.

Carrie held
her breath. Finally the man’s head dipped below the door arch and into the pool
cast by the interior light. She shook her head in disbelief.

His mouth was
the ragged-edged bullet hole in a vulnerable diplomat’s windscreen; the rest of
the face bore the craquelure pattern of broken glass, the fissures eating deep
into the flesh, held together by a flimsy inner membrane.

Carrie
whimpered, then screamed, then twisted to try and open the door behind her. The
creature was too quick for her and she felt the heaviness of his metal-enlaced
thighs bearing down on her own flesh, cutting into it. She yelped.

He had her
pinned on the back seat, unable to pull free. Carrie saw something fall out of
the torn garments around his crotch. It was a grotesque mechanical parody of a
penis, dripping a rare cocktail of engine lubricant, blood and semen. Her plan
to outwit him had gone badly wrong and she sobbed as she anticipated the pain
to come.

Now he was on
top of her. She gagged on the stench as she felt him inside her. The big Buick
bucked as the backseat ballet began.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, awake at last from her long slumber of
pointlessness, Carrie glanced over at her new lover.

He didn’t
move. He sat staring ahead through his shattered bulb eyes at the dark road
ahead. He flexed his hands, the bolts embedded in his knuckles making a gentle
noise as they knocked against each other.

The landscape
ahead looked the same in the dark yet she knew that it was a different place. A
place that ran alongside the place she had just left.

Carrie saw
again the giant figures that she had seen earlier in the day but now they
towered over the roadside.

The three
striding figures came closer, revealing themselves as a family group sculpted
from twisted metal and charred flesh, compacted bones making up their smiles,
still-sparking electrics lighting up their eyes, striding forever together
towards the horizon they would never reach.

She
understood the figures marked the signpost to a very different future. The sky
reflected the rainbow hues of a pool of engine oil, the stink of petroleum
filling the car like the relief of breathing fresh air after being stuck in a
fetid room.

Her
blood-bloated skin was as finely stitched as sumptuous automotive upholstery.
Staring out at the road from behind the smashed dials of her broken eyes, her
radiator mouth purred with joy, the sound of the bug-filled wind sighing
through the front grille at 90 mph.

The white
line down the centre of the road became a thread drawing her to infinity. She
pressed down on the pedal harder, eager to reach the destination she knew would
never appear. Incendiary synapses flickered to life through her oil-flooded
brain as the thought filled her with joy – ‘I’m home’.