The Mariner (50 page)

McConnell easily recognised the child.

“Grace?” he asked, his mind in turmoil. “Am I dreaming? Grace is that you?”

He staggered away from the wheel, allowing it to turn gently with the currents. Walking to the bow of the ship, he leaned out, unable to shift his eyes.

Was she an angel? A ghost? Had the Mariner led them to the gates of heaven?

Grace smiled, though her eyes were closed. McConnell found himself smiling too, she had found peace. Whatever horrors she had lived through, in death she had peace. Perhaps there was a God after all?

But then her hand was travelling down between her legs, crumpling in the skirt she wore.

“What are you doing?” he cried, alarmed at the behaviour, but his words were ignored and the girl continued to hike up her garment. She wasn’t within reach, some twenty feet from the boat, but he could see her clearly enough as she exposed herself. Bruises and blood caked her legs. Semen stains fresh from the rape.

McConnell waved his hands in front of his eyes to ward off the vision. “Please no more! I failed, I let that monster near you, I know this! So why have you returned? Why?” He looked once more at her face and saw it now bloody and bruised, though still her arms moved in a glacial dance of seduction. Tiny fingers danced around her blouse and, as if peeling a banana, curled it open.

He looked away, not wanting to witness one he’d cared for debasing herself so. Weeping, he averted his eyes, and saw a flash of silver and brown. Some sort of eel zipped through the waters, following their boat like a dolphin.

And he remembered the Mariner’s story.

Was this horrible illusion supposed to tempt him in some way? Lure him to the seas below? How could it possibly do that? Unless the aim was to drive him to suicide with sorrow?

Grace, her body covered with cuts and bruises, revealed her chest, an area somehow remaining free from wounds. Bloody lips mouthed an invite to spoil the virgin flesh.

Bite.

He vomited, spilling thin bile down his chin. This wasn’t right. What was going on? This couldn’t be for him. It couldn’t be.

Behind him, he heard a moan.

McConnell turned his head to look.

“Harris?”

Rumbling of the 67 bus gave a pleasant tingle to Aiden Harris’ anus as the vehicle pulled away, continuing its jaunt through central London with a familiar sluggish determination. The midday warmth, pleasant whilst in the open air, transformed for those within, creating a stifling closeness, instantly turning all those present into ripe sources of stink. Fortunately for Harris there were few others on the upper deck of the 67 that afternoon; an old lady sat by the front windows, her hair thin and backlit, creating the illusion of her head being a planet with silvery aurora. A snoring drunk dozed a few rows behind, stinking of body odour. Harris wondered if the man was schizophrenic. Weren’t eighty percent of London’s homeless schizo? Where had he heard that? True or not, he suspected this man was schizoid, only a mad fucker would allow himself to fester like that.

Just the four of them: old lady interstellar, a schizo, himself, and the customer.

“How much is on this one?” his customer asked, stiff frame looking cramped despite having the whole back row to himself. Harris sat in the penultimate chair, tuned sideways with a leg stretched out into the aisle. “You said last time there would be three gigabyte, but there was only two and a half.”

“You serious?” For a moment Harris thought the man was joking, but his stern and cold demeanour but a stop to that. “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe you’re kicking up a fuss over a few hundred meg!”

“I’m paying, aren’t I?”

“Yeah you are,” Harris spat, his hackles raised by his customer’s business-like manner. Just where the fuck did he think he was? Starbucks? This wasn’t a ‘customer’s always right’ situation. Shit! It wasn’t even as if Harris needed the money, he just... liked to share the videos. “Listen, if you don’t want to see what I’ve brought you...”

“I didn’t say that!” the stiff man snapped, gripping Harris’ back-rest with bony fingers. “I just don’t want to get ripped off, that’s all.”

“Listen, I’m not ripping you off, but let’s face it, where else are you gonna get this stuff other than the internet and me?”

The man nodded grudgingly, leaning back, bodily relaxing, though his eyes continued to rove nervously. Harris could understand why. Buying child-porn on a public bus was bound to loosen the bowels. The first time he’d sold the man a data DVD they’d chosen Clapham Common for the swap. In retrospect that was about as dodgy a place to meet as it was possible to find. Second time round Harris had used his smarts: public place,
nonchalant
.

“Why don’t you use the internet? I just pulled all this off torrents anyway.”

“Internet’s not safe. Everything is permanent. They might not find you today, but they’ll come looking.”

“And buying it in person
is
safe? Giving your name to a stranger? Showing him your face?”

The technophobe looked at Harris with a mixture of disdain and pity. “The focus is always on the internet, not a street meet like this. Besides, it’s not as if I gave you my real name.”

“Tetrazzini’s not your real name?”

“Of course not!” the customer laughed. “You never read William Burrough’s Naked Lunch?”

Harris shook his head, feeling dumb.

“Don’t tell me Harris is your actual name?”

Fuck! Fuck fuck double fuck! He’d told the truth and this other bastard had lied! “Of course it is. It’s my alias. Rolf Harris.”

“Oh yeah?” Tetrazzini raised a cocky eyebrow, seeing through Harris’ lie in an instant. In that moment all the pleasure of the meet drained away. “Are you
trying
to arouse suspicion?”

“Fuck you,” Harris grumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm. “Let’s get this done, it’s too damn hot in here.”

“Here’s the money. We agreed eight gig this time, yeah?” Tetrazzini handed a small pink envelope to Harris. To anyone who looked it might appear a birthday card. “Inside you’ll find your pay and a brief note thanking you for landscaping. If you’re caught you’ll be charged with tax dodging, nothing more.”

Harris accepted the offering and in return handed the doctor a small USB stick. “Can’t get eight gig on a DVD.” Tetrazzini nodded, and put the small device in his breast pocket.

“Listen,” Harris began, voice trembling slightly and heart rate beginning to rise. “If there’s anything else you want, I can always... you know...”

Tetrazzini looked at him blankly, impatient to leave.

“What I mean to say is, these clips are rather... vanilla? Perhaps you’d like something more... exciting?”

How fast things change. A year or so ago, he’d have described the footage contained on the USB stick as anything but vanilla. But now? How many wanks had it taken to dull the image of a five year old abused by her father? How many ejaculations diminished the impact of an infant having his sphincter split wide? These days there were few pleasures to be had in such videos; if anything it was the appropriation that tickled the adrenal glands, that sight of the progress bar as it was fed by a thousand other torrents, a thousand other like-minded pariahs. No, these days the videos that gave him wood were rarer fare.

“I can get you videos that are a little rougher?” he persisted, though Tetrazzini still kept his thoughts locked away behind a granite face. The admission hang between them. Harris had taken a risk, for even amongst paedophiles there were degrees of severity and morality that could easily be breached. “They’re good. You won’t see anything like it anywhere else.”

“No. Thank you,” Tetrazzini said, rising from his seat to leave. “These will be suitable.”

Embarrassment made anger flare up inside. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, looking down on him like that? He wasn’t the Pope for Christ’s sake!

All of a sudden, Harris wanted rid of Tetrazzini, but he was the only other person with even vaguely similar appetites, and Harris had one question he wanted to ask first. He reached out and grabbed the doctor’s arm, preventing him from passing.

“Do you ever... you know?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re taking about,” Tetrazzini growled.

“Do you ever act out the videos? Do it for real, I mean?”

Tetrazzini smiled thinly, a smile that contained all Harris needed to know. It spoke of a secret satisfaction, an honour at experiencing what was forbidden to all. “What about you?”

“Yes,” whispered Harris. “Once.” It had occurred nine months ago, his sister’s kid. Jennie had left him alone with little Rachel for an hour whilst she popped out to buy credit for the gas meter. In that time he’d gotten... curious. He shivered at the recollection, the thrill of intrusion.

“Just once huh?”

And Harris almost believed it, except there
had
been that other time, that exquisite afternoon, when he’d indulged the fantasy fuelled by the
other
videos. But he wouldn’t talk about that. He’d
never
talk about it. Not while the police investigation was still on-going. Not while that girl’s parents still showed their tearful blotchy faces on TV, pleading for news of their daughter’s whereabouts.

“Well, be careful, huh?” Tetrazzini said as if reading Harris’ thoughts. “Restraint goes a long way,” and with a wink added, “Loose lips sink ships.” The doctor looked up as the bus came to a halt outside a small park, nestled amongst tall office blocks. “I’m going to take full advantage of this splendid weather and enjoy my sandwich. Have a good day, Rolf.”

Harris watched the doctor leave, envious of the man’s choice of destination. The park did look nice, bathed in bright light, despite being next to several tall office blocks. Perhaps he’d get out and have a stroll himself? Have a think about what to ask Tetrazzini next time?

He never got a chance to meet the doctor again. The world broke mere minutes later.

Harris looked at Grace with a mixture of sickness and want written across his features. His face twisted and turned, sometimes pulling apart as if in horror, but then curling together in lust. One hand was placed against his cheek, idly scratching, whilst the other gently rubbed the front of his trousers.

“Harris?”

His attention broke to McConnell and eyes were freed from their mist. “Christopher,” he stammered, “I’m sorry.” But McConnell shook his head.

“Oh, Harris, what have you done?” The reverend groaned, realising his mistake.

Tears grew heavy in the captain’s eyes. “It’s something I do. It’s just something I do.”

“But...” McConnell’s head was spinning. And behind him he could hear the sound of a child being raped. “But... the Mariner? Arthur? I thought it was Arthur...”

“I did that for us, for all of us,” the man pleaded. “That lunatic is dangerous, you know it. If we’d followed him to the Pope, we’d all be dead. Like Barnett and the rest... All of us!” Harris jabbered whilst his eyes kept flicking over McConnell’s shoulder, dragged towards the sight played out behind. “If I’d been caught, we’d all be dead. So you see? I was right wasn’t I? I was right. I was right. No-one was supposed to know. Loose lips sink ships! Loose lips sink ships!”

There was a sickening snap of bone as whatever play that was being enacted behind him ended in its grim climax. Harris’ attention dragged to it fully and he gave an involuntary gasp of pleasure at the sight.

Screaming with fury, McConnell threw himself forward, open palms hitting the monster’s chest. His eyes widened in almost comical surprise at the fantasy’s interruption, and in a blur of flailing arms and legs tumbled backwards, somersaulting overboard.

For a brief moment, he hung on the edge by the fingertips of his right hand, face upturned and pleading, but with a faint squeak his fingers skidded, and Harris fell into the depths.

And then, as if the magic had been dispelled, the image of Grace dropped back into the ocean. There was no need for the eels to continue their ploy. The mind they’d been trying to tempt was with them. Now they could finally feed.

McConnell placed his hands to his face as Harris gave his final gurgling screams. There wasn’t much, the boat was still moving and his protests would soon be beyond ear shot.

He stayed in that pose, curled up and alone, praying that he could undo everything in his life that had gone so terribly wrong. But wishes are never answered. What’s done cannot be undone.

Eventually, he rose and took hold of the steering. They had drifted off course, and now the Neptune was to the left, horrendously close to the squat waterfall.

They had come to the final chapter. It was time to find an end.

46
THE WASP

L
IKE AN OLD NAG’S FINAL
jaunt about the field, the Neptune sailed with a speed and dignity previously unseen. It sliced through the waters gracefully, drawn towards the cocoon’s tear like a spirit’s ascent. He was close, so close he could almost feel the eye of the Wasp upon him. How would it react? How could any creature cope with the rebellion of a cell?

Ahead was the Waterfall, shrunk in height, as if whatever strange faucet dispensing the endless torrent had been brought closer to the surface.