Where the Birds Hide at Night (13 page)

Alex was alone for the first time in a long while. He looked alone, and he felt alone. He washed his hands and looked in the bathroom mirror. Still he couldn't see himself. There was absolute space ahead – endless and never beginning all at once. He decided that if Reaping Icon would go away, he'd be able to see himself again. Did he want to see himself? It didn't matter, because Reaping Icon wasn't going anywhere. They were one now.

He thought about Emma – he should have just been a man and gone off with her instead of marrying Katie. What a fool. Never mind, it was done now and Katie would pay for her crimes. Alex had allowed hate to flood in; hatred in its most basic form. Katie found sexual fulfilment with other women. ‘A perversion,' Alex said to himself. He stared longingly at the mirror. It would not reflect his image. It was not playing ball. ‘Perversion must be stamped out.'

* * *

‘Prime Minister,' Newsman Richard Hart addressed Alex.

‘Leader – please, Richard, address me as Leader,' Alex interrupted.

‘Very well, Leader-'

‘Because we as a country need a leader, a guiding force for good. Ill health has crept in to our society. It must be cured,' Alex again interrupted, feeling no need to smile as he turned to face the camera with a vexed crease to his otherwise line-free face.

Richard cleared his throat, shuffling some paper props on the sofa between them as he gauged whether or not Alex was going to continue talking. He did not. Instead, he kept his glare focused on the camera. ‘Surely, if we as a nation are sick, then an alias such as Doctor would be more fitting?'

‘I will guide the nation towards the doctors and nurses who will aid in my cure.'

‘And what specifically are these illnesses, and indeed cures?'

‘Oh Richard,' Alex groaned, turning to face his interviewer, ‘knowing is the first step. If you don't know, you cannot help in the recuperation.'

‘That's why I asked.'

Their eyes met, and at once Richard was fully immersed in Alex's ocean. There was no flapping, no clamouring to get out; he had no possible idea he had been taken in. Alex was simply too good at what he was doing.

* * *

It was the first time he'd been out in a while. He didn't know exactly how long it had been and, furthermore, didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Once he'd reached the end of the street, it suddenly dawned on him that he
was
outside. He wasn't even fully aware of where he'd been staying, or how he'd been eating and drinking. He was still physically alive, so he must have been eating something. His weight had dropped significantly, however, and he was literally a shadow of his prior self. Grey-skinned, gaunt and hunched; the pathetic thing shuffled along with no particular reason to do so only that he hadn't done so for a while. This shadow would have had its own shadow too, but for the fact the sun was as far away from this place as it could get. He passed a billboard with the headline “HOMOSEXUALITY OUTLAWED” written on it, but he'd either not seen it or it hadn't gone in because he kept on unperturbed. People walked by in silence, nobody seeming to take the blind bit of notice of the billboard or Noose – like neither were worth bothering with. There seemed to be enough going on for them without having to take either of these two things on as well. Only one person seemed interested in Noose, and only momentarily, as they whipped their smartphone out and made a quick recording of the stooped wreck as he hobbled along. ‘I'm sure it's him,' were their only words, before they moved on, flicking through their other photos and videos. One video on the phone showed a man being kicked and punched in the middle of the street as passers-by stood and watched, most of them holding up their phones to take pictures and record the event as well. ‘Dirty queer fucker,' one of the attackers yelled, before the viewer swiped to his next video.

Noose couldn't look up to the sky, though the dull day could have told him it was full of clouds. Even so, he couldn't look up because of his bent neck. The tragedy of his life had not only destroyed him mentally but taken an irreversible toll physically too. He also knew not to look up to the sky – it was one less place to find the face with the smirk looking at him. He knew who's face it was now. Well, he thought he knew. He'd decided it was his own face, the face of the man who he should have been. The Henry Noose who he could have been had he done the right things in his life was constantly watching him and smirking, appearing first on the carpet at the police station and since then as far as behind his own eyelids. Or as close. He couldn't escape the vision of the man he could have been had he not done wrong to his wife and child. That child had become such a vile monster, and it was all Noose's fault. That's what he believed, anyway, and everybody had given up trying to convince him otherwise. In fact, a great number of people hadn't even bothered to try to convince him at all. It was both easier to believe that Noose had actually contributed to his son's crimes and ignore him altogether. It certainly looked like Father was to blame for both Nurture
and
Nature.

He wanted to play things over in his mind to try to make sense of them, but the memories just weren't there. He couldn't even fully recall the brief altercation he and Gary had at the police station just after Barbara's murder. He knew the lad had blamed him for the state Sam was in, but that was about it. That wasn't enough to go on; enough to create a whirlwind of pain in his brain. He was just fully burnt out now. To think that Gary had killed Barbara less than an hour before dashing down to the station and putting on that performance… terrible.

‘Noose,' a voice called out ahead of the man. He hadn't heard it. ‘Noose,' came the call again. It was Peter. Suddenly Noose bumped into him and twisted his tilted head to look up. ‘You look a state,' Peter pointed out, nearly pleased with his honesty. Noose just stared at him. ‘Still not speaking?' Peter went on, a playful cadence in his speech. ‘You need to get a grip. Terrible things happen, that's life. I've realised that. Nothing we can do about it.'

‘We can kill ourselves and escape,' was the former inspector's husky words.

‘You could,' Peter laughed, ‘but it didn't work for me.'

‘I deserve to stay alive and suffer some more,' Noose mumbled, trying to push Peter out of the way to move on. He was weak, Peter would not let him by. ‘So Stuart murdered Lucy.' It was now Noose's turn to laugh. ‘And you just forgot about it until now?'

‘I don't know if there's any way back for us, Noose, I really don't,' Peter said with any trace of forced humour gone. ‘Certainly not me, anyway. I could have made something with Lauren, but it's just not to be.' He looked over at the billboard sign.

‘Well I'm finished with everyone, I just couldn't give a shit about anything anymore.'

‘That's too bad, because I need your help… one last time.'

‘What this time, Peter? Your botty need wiping, does it?'

‘Reaping Icon, Noose; I'm the only one who can stop Reaping Icon, but to do that I then need someone to stop me. Only you can stop me.'

‘And why should we stop Reaping Icon, exactly? I'm not a complete fool, I see what this is all about.' Noose straightened his back as much as he could to square up to Peter. ‘Let the human race burn, my boy. I'm done helping people. All it got me was hell. And why should you want to help people anymore?'

‘I don't know,' was Peter's honest response. Noose had a valid point. ‘I guess we should just wallow in self-pity.'

‘Go and have your life with Lauren, hide yourself away and forget about everyone else.'

‘If I do that I'll just keep coming back. If I stop Reaping Icon, at least I'll have a relatively normal life once. Then, all this can stop.'

‘And why do you need my help? How am I the only one who can stop you?'

‘You are the closest non-collective link I have. You have been like a father to me. Our emotional attachment will break through the tirade Reaping Icon will reign down on my mind.'

There was the first glimmer of an emotion other than tepid anger from Noose as he edged back from Peter. ‘Like a father? I couldn't even be a father to my own son,' he coughed, trying to hold back.

‘You couldn't help your son, Noose, but you can help me,' Peter pleaded, getting hold of the feeble man and pulling him closer. ‘Be the one to set me free from The Space's curse.'

Noose managed to shake away from Peter's grip and turned away. ‘I'll think about it,' he responded coldly, shuffling off back down the street. Peter didn't go after him. He knew that hassling Noose wouldn't solve anything. He turned and left the former inspector to wander on. Wander on he did – just going on and on until his feet could no longer carry him. He collapsed in a heap, famished and only semi-conscious as his vision caught a bright glow ahead. An angel – both a part of the light and emerging from it – swooped down and swept Noose off his feet, carrying him beyond all possible harm. Only vague features of hers formed in his sight: her melted brown eyes, her perfect bob of a haircut. The hair was pale, shiny, though could once have been dark. She was as old as Noose and yet timeless in her wrinkle-free features. She had lived and loved, fought and fretted. She was Nicola Williams.

* * *

Noose wakened one day to find himself feeling rather good. He was comfortable, he was relaxed. The room was warm and breezy at the same time, no stifle of airlessness or brightness of intense false lighting. Only the morning sun lit the room, though he couldn't see much of the room from within the four-poster bed. Soft silk netting surrounded him, and the duvet on top of him also had a rich silk feel. He felt itchy for a second, scratching his naked leg as it slipped out from beneath its covering. If this was death, it was pretty good. His last memory was of seeing an angel coming to take him away from that horrible, horrible planet full of horrible, horrible people and that felt like so long ago now.

‘Terrible things are happening,' a voice suddenly called out from beside him, ‘and I have to enforce them. They're the law.' Noose knew the voice. It was Nicola. He didn't want the comfort to end, so just carried on lying there next to her. She placed her hand on his chest and he couldn't recoil. He didn't want to recoil. ‘For God's sake Henry, when will you just be right again?' she sighed, kissing his chest. He felt her naked breast press against his side as she slipped a leg on top of his. He didn't want to be right, he just wanted to hide away from everything and be nursed by a beautiful woman. Nicola certainly was beautiful, and he'd never been able to resist her. That's what destroyed his marriage, turned his son into a psychotic maniac. He didn't care about that anymore. Everything was nothing to Noose now; it was just easier that way. ‘What do you think of this new gay law?' she asked him, but he would not be shaken from his inward fix. He just smiled as she lifted her head to study his face and push for a reply. She couldn't antagonise him, he was indestructible now he'd fallen so completely.

* * *

There was always paperwork. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Even when you've swooped into power so quickly and efficiently as Alex – with all his peculiar airs and graces – there is still paperwork to be done. He didn't want to have to read and sign these things. He just wanted to breeze through the entire experience in a swoosh of destruction. And, he could easily achieve it that way. But, Alex was just Alex, from Reaping Icon's point of view. To be Peter Smith, with his near complete connection to The Space, would allow such smoother sliding into devastation. Not that humanity needed much sliding. A shave of gliding and be done.

Alex was sitting there at his desk with a big pile of stuff to go through, when one of his cabinet ministers knocked on the door. Alex knew who was knocking, and indeed why he was knocking. Calling him in casually, Alex yawned a little and stretched his arms into the space above his head. ‘Yes, Eddie?' he addressed the man with indifference as his arms fell back to the desk.

‘Leader,' Eddie opened, standing just inside the door as it sealed behind him. Alex pushed the papers away and stood up, walking over to the large mirror on the wall. He'd given up looking at, or indeed for, himself and simply bent down to the fireplace below. Turning the knob to release the gas, and pressing the ignition button, the fire came to life and started burning through the fake coals. Alex stood straight, looking down at the faux open fire with disappointment. There was even a sharp metal poker on a stand by the fire in which to stoke it. Stoke a pretend fire? It was perhaps this that annoyed Alex more than anything else right now. Ludicrous pomp was how he saw it, some kind of wannabe act lacking the effort to make that extra step necessary for a real open fire. ‘I must speak with you,' Eddie carried on.

‘Must you?' Alex replied, yet again yawning, as he fingered the poker momentarily.

‘Yes. It's about this homosexuality thing,' Eddie said nervously. Alex picked the poker up and held the tip over the searing flames of the fire below him.

‘You're gay, aren't you Eddie?'

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes.'

‘Drop your trousers and underpants, Eddie,' Alex instructed him calmly. Suddenly, Eddie was overcome with suffocating terror. He felt as though he was deep, deep down and bound so completely. In turn, he thought he could see Alex flailing in front of him, but he was still holding the poker over the fire. ‘I shan't ask again, Eddie.'

The tormented man could not fight the meld of Reaping Icon, and he dropped his trousers and underpants. They lay cumbersomely around his ankles as he found himself turning his back on Alex and bending over the desk. Then came the most unimaginable atrocity to humanity as a whole – the suffering of one single being – as Alex forced the red hot poker up Eddie's anus.

* * *

Alex was staring into the fire when Ruby and Arthur walked in. They stood near the door, Ruby looking over at the desk and the brown stain on the carpet beside it as Arthur fixed his sight on Ruby. He felt he couldn't look at Alex right now, though he didn't know why.

‘There's cleaning to do,' Alex uttered to the pair.

‘So I can see. I, we, heard the screams,' Ruby replied. ‘Is it true?'

‘Is what true?'

‘What we heard about Eddie,' Ruby clarified bravely. Now Arthur looked across at Alex.

‘What did you hear about Eddie?'

‘That he just died in here.'

Alex smiled and looked up into the mirror. All he could see was Ruby and Arthur – there was no sign of himself in the reflective surface. ‘It was a terrible accident.' Alex turned to face the pair. ‘He was gay, you see. He couldn't cope with being a criminal any longer.' He wanted the pair to step closer, and they did. Their bodily control was overruled as they lost all control and just had to get closer to Alex. He stayed perfectly rigid, though loose somehow, and spoke again once the pair were within an inch of him: ‘You're not a fan of gays, are you?' he asked them.

‘Of course not,' was Ruby's quick response, little thought behind it. She wasn't here to think. Was anybody?

‘Turns my stomach,' Arthur spoke.

‘I thought as much,' Alex enthused, instantly allowing the pair from his mental hold and instead embracing them physically. The three hugged, Ruby feeling truly whole. She was all too willing to sponge Eddie's blood up off the carpet now. ‘For the first time in my entire life, I'm truly happy,' Alex whispered in their ears.

‘What about when you married our daughter?' Ruby whispered back. Not really requiring an answer.

‘There was always something wrong with her.'

‘Yes. We know what you mean.'

* * *

Alex was alone, just standing there in his office with an empty mirror for company. He didn't need company – no human could provide what he wished for now. He was both Alex and Reaping Icon in one, and needed nothing from any mere human. Humanity as a whole, on the other hand, could provide just what he most desired – total destruction. That way, suffering could actually end. It was a means to an end.

He focused his mind on Peter; drawing him close, winding the cord up. He was fully prepared for the time when Peter
would
come for him, and it was all known to him. He was Reaping Icon, and he knew everything. Even if he was in such a weak-minded body as Alex, he was still more powerful than any other individual currently on this pathetic blue-green planet. More powerful, bar one: Peter Smith. And yet, Peter was not so much an individual as an amalgamation of dozens of past, present and future lives clutching precariously onto an undesirably endless timeline. Reaping Icon knew exactly how to deal with Peter Smith. It was going to be very easy.

* * *