Twisted Little Things and Other Stories (32 page)

Not hearing me, the man makes his way past the wheel and stops again, still looking around as if he doesn't know that I'm here. It's as if he can't see me at all.

“Sophie!” he calls out. “Where are you?”

“Here,” I whisper again, trying to be a little louder this time. “Mark,” I add, finally remembering his name. We were on the lifeboat together, just before it was destroyed by the ferry, and then...

I don't remember what happened next. How I got here, how I got into the seat next to the wheel...

Nothing.

“What have you done with her?” Mark continues, taking a step toward me. As he leans closer, I can finally see his face as a hint of moonlight catches his profile. “Where -”

He stops suddenly, his eyes widening as he stares straight at me.

“Sophie?” he asks, his voice filled with shock as if he can't believe what he's seeing. Reaching out, he puts a hand on the side of my face, but his touch is cold. “What are you doing here? How did you...” He looks down, as if he's suddenly noticed the bones on the floor. “Sophie,” he continues, turning back to me, “how did you end up in the chair? Sophie, talk to me! What the hell are you doing?”

I open my mouth to say something, but I still feel too weak.

A moment later, without even thinking about it, I reach past him and adjust the wheel. We were starting to drift off course, and I can't let that happen. For a moment I feel a tug of panic in my gut, but it quickly passes when I hear another reassuring creak from the ferry's hull.

“Sophie,” Mark continues, with a hint of panic now, “for God's sake, say something! We need to get off this boat!”

I open my mouth, but again no words emerge. I have to find the strength from somewhere, I have to talk to him. I try to take a deep breath, but there's a sharp pain in my chest and all I can manage is a faint gasp.

“There's no lifeboat,” he tells me. “We used the only one last time, so I don't know how we're going to get away. Maybe I can make something, maybe I can find a way, but right now I need your help. Sophie, come back to me!” He nudges my shoulder. “Sophie, say something!”

I open my mouth, and this time I'm able to find just enough strength to get a few words out.

“Help me,” I whisper. “Get me out of this chair.”

“What?” he asks, leaning closer. “I couldn't make out what you said.”

“Help me,” I say again, mustering a little more volume this time. “You have to...
help me
...”

He stares at me for a moment. “Sophie,” he says cautiously, with fear in his eyes, “I don't know what you're trying to say, but your voice... It doesn't make any sense.”

“Help... me...”

Taking a step back, he seems confused. “You sound like... Sophie, what language are you speaking? You sound just like the...”

“Help,” I whisper again, starting to feel frustrated by his failure to hear me. “Mark, you have to help me, you have to -”

I try to lean forward, but the effort is too much. Sitting back, I feel a strange, loosening sensation on the side of my face, as if part of my skin is starting to fall away. A moment later, something soft lands on my lap, and I feel a cooler breeze against my left cheek and temple, as if the bone is exposed.

“No,” Mark whispers, stepping back as if he's horrified by what he's seeing. There are tears in his eyes and his whole body is trembling, as if he's finally losing his mind. “Sophie, please, no...”

I want to call out to him, to make him understand, but my mind is already sinking again and the sense of panic is passing. All I know is that I have to keep the ferry on course, and that I have to deliver the next batch of passengers to the shore. This is my duty now, it's my penance for interfering. The sickness will have ended on the shore, I feel certain of that, but someone had to take the old captain's place. One day someone else will do the same for me, and then I'll finally be able to go down to the shore myself, but for now I have a job to do. The ferry is already back in the canal that winds toward the jetty, and the cargo hold is full. The world will never run out of dead to be delivered.

Ignoring Mark as he lets out the cry of a madman, I lean back in my seat. Looking straight ahead, I see my reflection in the window at the front of the bridge. Most of my face is gone, with just my skull staring back at me.

In the distance, a bell tolls. My arm creaks as I reach out to adjust the wheel.

The Towpath

One

On a moonless night, with the barge's engine having just been cut, I can see absolutely nothing. Just pure, uninterrupted darkness all around. But I can feel the drift of the boat beneath my feet, and a moment later there's a gentle bump as the bow nudges against the riverbank. That's my cue to jump off into the darkness, with a rope coiled in my hands, and a moment later I land on the muddy towpath.

Damn my old knees.

“This'll do for the night, Baxter!” I call out, already turning and pulling on the rope to bring the barge's stern closer. I used to have no trouble with this part of the job, not when I was a young man, but these days my arms ache and I'm almost out of breath by the time the stern bumps against the bank.

Reaching down, I drive a metal spike into the ground and then wrap the rope around several times, to secure the barge. Then I go and do the same at the other end, fumbling slightly in the darkness, until finally the barge is safely moored for the night. Sure, I'm getting on in years now, but I can still moor a goddamn boat without help. So long as I can do that, I don't need anybody else.

“Okay, then,” I mutter, taking a step back for a moment as I try to catch my breath. I can't see the barge, of course, but I can hear the water gently lapping at the riverbank, and I don't need moonlight to know my way about. Having lived on these canals all my life, I know every stretch by heart. Every turn, every jetty, every bridge, every towpath. Even now, glancing over my shoulder, I know there's a bridge about twenty feet further along to the west, and there's a water outlet too. I need to fill the barge up, but that can wait until morning.

Taking care not to lose my footing in the mud, I fumble back toward the barge and climb on-board.

“Baxter?” I call out, clambering down past the seats and then banging the window. “You gonna come out, boy? Time to go ashore and relieve the old bladder before bed!”

I wait, but there's no reply.

Sighing, I reach inside and search for the light switch. Finally the little light in the kitchen comes to life, and I lean down to look at the sofa. I fully expect to see Baxter sitting there, wagging his tail, but my heart sinks a little when instead I see nothing but empty cushions.

“Baxter?”

I pause for a moment.

“Oh, that's right...”

I guess I forgot.

Baxter's old rubber bone is on the floor, right where he left it several weeks ago. Or was it months? Sometimes it's hard to remember, but I know he's gone. How did I manage to let that slip my mind? I must be getting forgetful in my old age.

“Well,” I mutter, before realizing I probably shouldn't start talking to myself. “Okay. I guess that's that, then.”

Two

Dinner is a simple affair. Beans on toast, with some basil leaves sprinkled on top to make it healthier.

Ha!

Healthier
.

Like that matters anymore.

I used to be a good cook. If Lynn could see me now, she'd have kittens. Carrying a plate of beans to the little table in the corner of the barge's kitchen, I can't help thinking back to the huge roast dinners I used to rustle up for the family. Of course, that was back in the days when it was worth making a fuss, and when my hands weren't so swollen and wobbly. I dare say I couldn't even slice a carrot these days without taking a chunk off one of my fingers, but beans aren't so bad. A man can live off beans.

I used to let Baxter lick the tin out after I was done.

I miss that dog.

“This is no good,” I mutter, reaching across the table and flicking a switch on the side of the radio.

Some garbled pop music starts playing, tinged with static, but at least it's better than silence. I turn the dials a few times, dispatching the pop and searching for something that doesn't grate so much, and finally I hear the voices of some talk radio show. I don't much care what they're rambling on about, but it's good to be reminded that the rest of the world exists. Now that the silence is no longer pressing in from all around, I take a forkful of beans and shovel them into my mouth, although after a moment I accidentally tip the fork and let some beans drop to the floor.

“Alright, then,” I say with a sigh, and a faint smile. “Those are for you, Baxter. But that's all you're getting, 'cause you're on a diet.”

I take another forkful of beans and manage to get them into my mouth. After chewing carefully, I glance down at the beans on the floor and see that the dog still hasn't touched them.

“Baxter?” I call out. “Are you gonna clean those up, or not?”

I wait.

He should be coming by now. I should hear his paws scrabbling across the lino.

“Baxter?”

I turn and look back through to the seating area, and to the dark bedroom at the barge's far end.

“Are you on the bed, boy?” I ask. “Baxter! There are beans on the floor, just waiting for you to -”

Suddenly I remember.

Baxter's gone.

“Oh, well...”

My voice trails off for a moment. How did I not remember? Baxter's been gone for a few weeks, maybe a month or two. His red rubber bone is still down on the floor, right where he left it on the day he died. A faint shudder passes through my chest as I realize that I must be getting forgetful in my old age. I have to admit, though, that remembering his death is like experiencing it all over again. I never much needed human company over the past few years, but that little dog was my whole world. The barge was never silent, not with him around.

I miss him so much.

“Guess it's just me now,” I mumble, leaning closer to the bowl of beans so that I have a better chance of getting them into my mouth.

Even now, some of the juice dribbles down my chin.

For the next few minutes, I focus on eating as the radio continues to gabble away. I'm not really listening to any of the words, which is just as well since the static keeps flaring for a few seconds at a time. Hell, I'd turn the damn thing off if it wasn't for the fact that I'm not keen on the idea of sitting here in silence. Finally I manage to finish the last of the beans, and I grab a dishcloth so I can wipe my chin clean. Leaning back on the sofa, I toss the dishcloth aside and take a deep breath, and then I check my watch.

9.46pm.

I have nothing else to do tonight. I suppose I might as well go to bed, and that way I can get an early start in the morning.

After taking a moment to prepare for the inevitable twinges of pain, I grip the side of the table and slowly start easing myself up. My spine and legs are usually sons of bitches, but I'm pleasantly surprised to find that this time they don't hurt at all. I guess I should be grateful for small -

Suddenly I spot a flash of light in the distance. Looking toward the window, I'm shocked to see the beam from a flashlight twisting and turning as it swings through the darkness. I make my way to the window and peer out, and sure enough there's some damn fool on the towpath. I watch for a moment longer, just to make absolutely sure that my eyes aren't deceiving me, and then I head over to the door. I grab an old wrench at the last moment, just in case I need to protect myself, and then I climb out to the rear of the barge. Immediately, I have to hold up a hand to protect my eyes, as the flashlight's beam is aimed straight at my face.

“Sorry!” a voice calls out, and the beam dips down.

I have to blink the light spots away, but slowly I realize I can make out the silhouette of someone coming this way along the towpath. There's a rustling sound, and it looks like he's not only wearing a big, bulky coat but he's also weighed down by a huge backpack. I can also hear the sound of boots trampling through the wet, muddy grass.

“I didn't know anyone else was out here,” the person says, and I can tell now that it's actually a girl. “I usually have this stretch of the canal all to myself at night.”

“It's a public place,” I stammer, reaching out into the darkness and leaning against the steering arm. “I'm entitled to be here! I don't need any special permit to moor on this stretch, so don't you go trying to tell me any different! I know my rights!”

“Dude -”

“It's none of your business where I moor and what I do when I'm here,” I continue, a little breathlessly. The radio is still running inside the boat. “As long as I move on after three nights, there's nothing anyone can say to make me go!”

“I know,” she replies. She sounds young, maybe just a teenager. “Dude, I wasn't having a go at you. I know the rules too. It's just cool to see someone out here, that's all. I've been down here every night for the past two weeks, maybe even longer, and you're the first boat I've bumped into. Most people just motor on through during the day without stopping. It's not like there's much to do on this stretch.”

I wait for her to continue, but now she's fallen silent. I suppose she expects me to engage her in conversation, but I just want her to keep on moving. I'd rather listen to the radio some more, and besides, I'm an old man. I don't have anything to say to some dumb kid.

“It's a bit of a remote spot out here,” she continues finally. “I mean, the village is five miles back the way I just came, and the next town -”

“I know where we are,” I reply, interrupting her. I probably sound snappy and sore, but I don't care. “I've been on these waters since... Well, since long before you were born.”

“Huh.” Another pause. “That's really cool. You must've seen a lot of crazy stuff.”

“Not really,” I tell her. “The canals are pretty calm most of the time. It's the rest of the world that's all messed up and crazy.”

Again, I wait for her to say something, but I'm starting to feel tired and the last thing I want is to get dragged into some kind of discussion.

“Well,” I continue, turning to head back inside, “just keep going on your way. I've got things to do and -”

“Can I use your toilet?”

I freeze. Did I hear her right? Slowly I turn and look back at her, but I still can't make out any more than a faint silhouette as her flashlight dances across the muddy grass around her feet.

“I know I could just go in the canal,” she continues, “or in one of the hedges, but I actually have a moral problem with littering. Even biological littering. I'm not some kind of serial killer, I swear. I can even show you some I.D. if you want. Just to, like, put your mind at rest.”

“There's a public toilet about two miles back the way you came,” I tell her. “Go use that one.”

“I would, but I'm kinda bursting. Please, can I just use yours?”

I open my mouth to tell her to go to hell, but at the last moment something causes me to hold back. I know I'm probably overreacting, but she sounds like a nice girl, and she reminds me a little of my daughter. It seems wrong somehow to send her packing, off into the wild darkness, and I happen to remember that the nearest public toilet is a grotty mess that only gets cleaned about once a year. I guess I'm still just enough of a gentleman to think a lady oughta be given a few privileges here and there. Besides, if she turns out to be a thief or worse, I can defend myself.

“It's nothing fancy,” I mutter, climbing down the steps and making my way back into the kitchen. “It's clean, though.”

Hearing her coming in after me, I turn and get my first proper look at her face. I was right, she
is
young, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. She's got bags under her eyes, though, and a hint of darkness too, which makes me think she's seen some things in her life. She seems like a petite little thing, but she's lugging that huge backpack around so I guess there's some strength to her. For a moment, I can't help staring at her, and I'm briefly overcome by the feeling that a kid like this shouldn't be out all alone on a dark night.

“I won't be long,” she explains, although after a moment she looks down at my right hand. “Um...”

Realizing I'm still holding the wrench, I set it aside and force a smile.

“It's in here,” I tell her, tapping on the door to the bathroom. “Take your time. Like I said, it's clean.”

“Thank you so much,” she replies, hauling the backpack over her shoulder and setting it down on the sofa, before coming over to the bathroom door. “You're a life-saver. I love being out in the wild, but the one thing I really miss is a nice bathroom. The public loos are alright, but they tend to get left in a bad way. Sometimes I think people are pretty disgusting.”

I smile politely, before sliding the bathroom door open for her. As she goes inside, I turn and make my way back into the kitchen, and I set the kettle on to boil. I have no idea if kids these days even drink tea anymore, but I guess I could use a cup. As I grab two mugs and get everything set out, I hear the girl locking the bathroom door. Reaching over to the sofa, I turn the radio up a little, just so that I don't hear the sound of her doing her business on the other side of the thin wall.

There's not much privacy on these boats.

“Hey Baxter!” I call out. “You wanna come and meet our guest? I'm sure she'd like to say hi. She seems like the friendly sort and -”

Suddenly I freeze.

Baxter's gone.

How did I manage to forget that?

Shaking my head, I can't help muttering a few curse-words under my breath. I'm an old man, I'm in no denial about that, but I've always prided myself on keeping my goddamn sanity intact. The last thing I need is to start becoming one of those doddering old fools who start forgetting every bloody thing. Still, as I glance down at the floor and see Baxter's old red bone, I can't help feeling a wave of sadness. That dog was my true companion over the past few years, and now I'll never see him again. Reaching down, I pick the bone up and see his tooth-marks in the rubber. He used to love chewing this thing, out on the deck while I drove the barge along sunny canals. I guess he had a good life, but I wish he could have been around for a while longer.

As the radio continues to chatter away, the kettle finally starts whistling, so I set the bone on the sofa and head back to the counter. I pour two cups of tea, and then I glance at the bathroom door and realize that the girl has been in there for quite a while now.

Then again, women always take forever in the bathroom. I remember that from my married days.

“Tea's up,” I mutter, taking the two cups and carrying them to the table. Again, I prepare myself for pain as I sit down, but to my surprise I don't feel anything bad at all. I guess my body has decided to give me a night off from the arthritis and the joint problems.

Taking a deep breath, I watch the steam from the cups for a moment, and then I look over at the bathroom door. There's no sound from in there, but I guess she's okay. I mean, there's not much she could be getting up to, at least nothing that could be a problem.

Suddenly it strikes me that due to the way the boat is laid out, I'm basically sitting right outside the bathroom, almost like I'm trying to listen to the poor girl as she does her business. I could turn the radio up, but instead I decide to go back out onto the open deck. Getting to my feet, I grab my cup and make my way across the kitchen, and finally I sit next to the steering arm and feel the cool night air all around. I can hear water lapping against the riverbank, and against the barge too, but apart from that the world is entirely silent.

And dark.

There's not a star to be seen in the sky tonight, and only the very faintest smudge of light from the moon, and there's certainly no artificial light in any direction. Maybe a glow on the horizon, but that's about all.

Good.

This is how I like it.

The vast majority of the human race can go screw themselves. I'm seventy-five years old, dammit, and I'm sick of people. I just want to be left alone with my dog and my boat and...

Well, not my dog.

Looking down into the boat, I see his red bone resting on the sofa.

I miss Baxter so much.

I pause for a moment, before bending over and peering back toward the bathroom door. It must be ten minutes now since that girl went in there, and there hasn't been a peep from her since. I know women tend to have more complications in the bathroom, but ten minutes is a hell of a while and I can't shake a very faint murmur of concern in my gut. I should go knock on the door, just to make sure she's okay, but then she'd probably think I'm some kind of weirdo.