Another Battle There Is, In His Eye-Socket
The problem with Hugo’s penthouse was, no matter the time of day, there was always someone in the fucking shower.
Normally, this didn’t bother Wes, but this morning – all right, it was past noon – he found himself more than usually irritated.
With his disconcerting visit to Fairwood and his cousin’s seizure still fresh in his mind, Wes was back in London, completing the purchase of the Blue Rose Club in Brixton. It was about time he had something to show for his life, and a nightclub with a sex dungeon was something he thought he could really make work. He hadn’t even asked Ricky about the omens, or whether the venture was doomed to failure or success. It was about time he trusted his gut and stepped out on his own.
Hungover and nauseated but still hallucinogen-free, he heated up breakfast Charlie had left for him and her note calmed him down, but when his little sister finally emerged, he still wasn’t in the right mood for anything friendly.
“Did you just use all the towels?”
Katy shot him a quizzical look, swaddled in fluffy white and grey. “These are mine.” She looked him up and down. “Is that Charlie’s?”
Wes looked down. He was what he considered decent, in designer boxers and a robe of peach satin tied around the waist. “No?”
Katy raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”
He clenched his jaw and turned back to his breakfast. Brunch. If it was brunch, it ought to have some mimosas with it, or at the very least a Bloody Mary. Hugo had left him a smoothie, hand blended, and a post-it he didn’t deserve telling him what a great boyfriend he was.
Wes crumpled it into his fist and poured the smoothie from the blender jug into a glass. He was paying for the penthouse and Hugo’s teaching course, but that didn’t make him a ‘great boyfriend’, it made him a bit less useless.
“What are you doing today?”
Katy was padding back to her room. She paused, half-hidden from the open plan living area around the corner of the corridor. “I don’t know.”
Wes forced a deep inhale-exhale and steeled himself for the smoothie. “Anywhere you want to go?”
She turned back, hugging the wall and peering around the corner at him. “Like where?”
“I don’t fucking know. Aquarium. Zoo. Cinema, shopping, it’s London, there’s always somewhere to go.” He paused. “The Dungeon?”
“I’m not a tourist.”
“You’ve lived here for three months.” Wes caught her wide-eyed stare, the hunch of her shoulders, and realised he was being an arsehole. He modified his tone with effort. “You want to do something together?”
“Not really.”
Wes slammed the jug down, losing patience. “Give me something, here.”
Katy flinched, which was both exactly what he wanted and made him feel worse. She looked close to tears.
“I want to move out.”
Something loosened in his chest that he didn’t even know was there, so tight and knotted that he’d been carrying it around without thinking about it, an old, familiar friend. She must have seen the relaxation in his face or his whole body because the look she gave him would have melted glass.
“Where would you go, babe?”
“Don’t… don’t get pissy about it, but.” Katy chewed the inside of her cheek and squinted at him behind her strip of wet hair. “I want my own place. Gran’s cottage, maybe, to start with. I was thinking I could sell it and get somewhere else.”
“You could’ve had that from the start,” Wes said, voice tight, “If you hadn’t killed our fucking family first. You could’ve saved them to last, or at least until you weren’t a bloody minor anymore. You could be in college right now, with all your mates, living your double life, staying with Carrie until you turned eighteen, but no. No. You had to go and kill Mum and Dad, leave your skin behind, and become a fucking murder victim so nobody comes looking for you as Suspect Number One.”
Katy was trembling all over. “You don’t know what it was like.”
“I don’t know what it was like?” Wes whacked the glass into the sink, where it shattered, his chest on fire. “I don’t know? I got out when I was sixteen because I knew exactly what it was fucking like! I was the only one of us who’d babysit you, Katherine, I was the only one of us who ever looked out for you, even when I didn’t live there anymore! I had our parents for longer than you’ve been alive. Don’t you fucking dare tell me I don’t know what they were fucking like.”
Katy stood her ground, her tail sprouting out of her back, the wicked tip poised over her head.
Wes didn’t move, either.
They stared each other down in furious, thick silence, until she slowly retracted the scorpion appendage again.
“I’ll clean this up,” Wes said, gesturing vaguely at the glass in the sink. “I’m sorry. Let’s – let’s focus on getting you into Charlie’s old alma mater, hey? Nice posh girl’s college, do your exams there, get you into a nice uni. You can make new friends. Not the end of the world.”
He winced at the glib phrase as soon as he said it.
We hope.
Katy just nodded, backing down the hall to her room.
Wes leaned over the sink with his eyes closed, and she slammed her bedroom door.
Perfect. Well done. Excellent work.
He needed something more than the smoothie.
The only family member who was still replying to his texts was his cousin Jem, who had always been a steady, reasonable sort of guy, if a bit intense on times. Wes had always thought of him as one of the world’s natural middle-managers. Wes had left him on read after the last message; he recalled the stupid video he’d sent telling the family to kill themselves, and shuddered. It was a coincidence that people were doing exactly what he’d told them to do, but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t troubled him. Ricky’s off-hand dismissal hadn’t helped.
He texted Jem out of desperation to talk to a relative he didn’t have complex feelings about, just to feel connected to the life Katy had made him throw away.
About half an hour later, Jem rang him back.
“Come for a pint,” Jem said.
“When?” Wes asked, not really relishing the prospect, but clutching at any kind of interaction.
“This afternoon, if you’re around my way? King’s Head. Opposite the chippy.”
Wes wondered why Jem was being so friendly. “You don’t mind being seen with me, then?” he asked, half-joking. “I thought, when you texted me about what was going on, you… you might blame me for it.”
There was a short pause.
“Blame you for what? It’s my honour,” Jem said.
Wes didn’t like the sound of that. “Oh yeah? That’s – uh. Why?”
“You’re in service to the Death God; I’ve made my peace with that. I don’t blame you. I think you’re on the right side, for what it’s worth.”
Wes sucked air through his teeth, thinking about what Ricky had said about him starting a cult unintentionally. The vision of people tearing themselves apart in orgiastic ecstasy in front of posters of a forgettable face spiralled into his mind.
Yeah, ‘my honour’ doesn’t sound culty at all.
He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “You feeling all right, Jem?”
“Is anybody?” Jem returned.
That was fair. They made arrangements, and Wes had a family date to look forward to.
He was so relieved to get out of the atmosphere of Katy’s sulk that he left as soon as he could, and got there early.
It was quiet in the King’s Head. The hoppy smell of the ale on tap soaked into the floorboards and the polished bar. Everything was oak brown and bottle green, from the stained glass above the bevelled windows that let in the minimum of light, to the upholstery of the booths and the beer mats on the tables.
It wasn’t the kind of place that did pornstar martinis, so Wes ordered a pint of bitter and nursed it while he waited.
He perused the Order of Service he carried around in his jacket pocket while he waited and the small booklet of obituaries that accompanied it, flicking through from the start.
CHARLOTTE (“LOTTIE”) and IAN PORTER and their children, ALEX, ASHLEY, JADE, NICOLE, LIAM, ADAM, and KIERAN – beloved family of Kimberley, David, Lucy and Kirsty Porter.
Wes stared at his brothers’ names for a solid minute, and at the deliberate absence of his own, chest empty.
He had been told in no uncertain terms that Kimmy and the triplets considered him as dead to them as the others, erasing him from their lives and minds as if he’d never existed. He hadn’t made it through the church doors for the funeral; Dave wouldn’t have it. The last words his younger brother said to him were laden with quiet grief and anger.
“Go back to your London parties. We’ll mourn our own.”
Wes had left for his own private wake, recorded his last, spiteful, vicious message to the group chats, and sent it in a haze of booze and pills.
Kill yourselves. Do the job for her, why don’t you.
And then Jem told him they were actually doing it.
He didn’t notice Jem come in until he’d taken the seat opposite him. Wes put the booklet away, pocketing it with a strained smile.
Jem was thick-set and soft, clammy with the ooze that dripped from various places, and although he was only a couple of years older than Wes, he dressed like a much older man. Back in the day he’d wanted to be a power lifter, but his Changes had other ideas.
He nodded at Wes’s glass and stood to go to the bar. “Same again?”
Wes shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Jem wasn’t Wes’s type personality-wise insofar as he had one, but he’d never let that bother him before. He’d take brown corduroys and a beer belly right now, no problem, and the gelatinous ooze was a bonus. The man was basically self-lubricating.
Jem came back with a pale ale.
“You all right, are you?”
Wes forced himself to focus. “Oh, you know. Can’t complain.” He snorted. “Still alive, at least. You seeing anyone these days?”
Jem shrugged, setting the glass down on a coaster, and eased back into the chair. “Nothing serious.”
That tracked; Jem was notoriously lukewarm in most areas of his life. That sort of thing had its place, but an evening of tepid sex and a takeaway wasn’t what Wes needed right now. He contented himself with the chat and a beer.
They sat for a while in companiable silence, sipping their respective pints while the big TV murmured sports news at them at a low volume. Wes zoned out for a while.
When they were done, Wes got the next round in.
“I’m glad you texted me,” Jem said finally, not touching the fresh one. “When you didn’t reply, I thought I’d been ghosted.”
“Yeah. No. Sorry.” Wes hadn’t replied for two weeks. “It was just – when you said people were sacrificing themselves, on purpose, it, um. Freaked me out.”
“I don’t see why.” Jem’s eyes shone. “You know better than anyone that’s the point. Our Death God has Ascended. The wheels are turning. There’s no stopping it now.”
Here we go, Wes thought, sipping his bitter, why can’t we just have a quiet fucking drink?
“Listen. Don’t call her the Death God. She doesn’t need that kind of worship. She never asked for any of it.”
Jem smiled, cheeks glowing. “Giving the best of us and our households to the Beast is an honour. It still leaves a Remnant, and there will be a reward for everything we’re giving up. The more we give, the greater the reward.”
Wes caught his breath, blindsided. “Reward? No, no there isn’t a reward. Except life. Survival. That’s the reward. That’s enough, right?”
“There is so much more waiting for us than what we have now.” Jem shook his head. “People are sacrificing their kids to her. They’re waiting for their reward.”
Wes swallowed, suddenly light-headed. “Holy fucking shit, Jeremy. Why the kids? She doesn’t even go after kids.”
“They’re the best we have,” Jem said, as if explaining this to a simpleton. “There’s a long tradition of sacrificing the firstborn for the sake of the empire.”
“What empire?” Wes was desperate to claw some sanity into this conversation. “I – Look, you know a couple of months ago, when I said people should be sacrificing themselves to speed it all up a bit, I didn’t think they’d actually do it.”
Jem looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
Wes blinked, foot tapping violently on the floor. “I sent a video message to all the family group chats when I was wasted, you know, back in February when everyone started blocking me and throwing me out of them.”
“I don’t think you sent anything,” Jem said. “I remember you got kicked out of the ones I was in.”
Wes shook his head. “No, I’m positive—”
“It came from Him,” Jem said, his tone gentle. “Here.” He tapped his forehead. “We all heard it, we all had the same revelation. So it makes sense that you posted about it, or thought you did, but I genuinely don’t remember you doing that. But it makes sense that you heard Him too.”
Wes struggled to breathe more deeply, afraid he’d fall off his chair. “Jem.” He forced his foot into stillness, and started tapping his hand against his thigh. “Listen to me. You didn’t hear Grandad. I sent a video message. You heard me. There’s no divine mandate. There’s no reward.”
There was a glow to his cousin now, a wildness of something inside him burning him up. The spark was there in his eyes, cherry-red dots obscured by some smoke cloud that Wes thought he was imagining at first. There was something flickering there, something that shouldn’t exist.
“We’ll all – be – gods.” Jem’s voice was tight and quiet, charged with an intensity that was more than unsettling, piercing Wes with a thrill of real, raw fear. “That’s the reward. She’s pruning the tree, cutting away everything that’s holding this family back. And then He will come through, and we’ll reign with Him.”
Who talks like that? Wes thought, staring at his cousin. All of Jem’s familiar features had become like those of a stranger.
“That’s— No. That’s not going to happen,” Wes managed, blood rushing in his ears. “That’s not what’s going on at all.”
“Wes, if she spares you, then you’re one of the Remnant, and you’ll reign too.” Jem covered Wes’s clammy hand with his own, and the flesh moved against Wes’s like a slime mould. “I know a lot of the family are angry with you, but those of us who see things the way I do, we don’t hold any of it against you.”
“How many’s that?”
Jem gave his hand a brief pat and withdrew it. “Enough to be your allies. You’ve given up a lot to serve the Beast, to protect her. We see that, if nobody else does.”
“Nobody else thinks that’s a very good idea,” Wes snapped, and choked out a bitter laugh. “Can’t imagine why.” He couldn’t get the horrifying statement out of his head. “Kids. Holy shit. You can’t—”
“Think about it,” Jem said, as if he hadn’t heard. “It can’t be easy for you. I didn’t think you should have been kicked out of the chat, by the way.”
Wes nodded, covering his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, I can’t get past the, the, the kids thing.” He shook his head. “I never said that. How did… how did you get there? I never said anything about—”
“You didn’t say anything,” Jem said patiently. “We were all graced with the Voice, with knowledge in our heads. It was obviously a test. Sacrificing yourself can be too easy. Households decide who they want to give.”
“How organised is this?” Wes wanted to know, unable to touch his pint. He felt sick. “I made a stupid comment back in, shit, when even was it, a couple of months ago when I was trashed, how has this happened?”
“This isn’t you,” Jem assured him. “You didn’t say anything. We all had the same thought. Look, I have to head off, but I hate to go when you’re like this.” He gave Wes a look of pity that churned Wes’s stomach. “Are you on anything?”
“Not anymore.” Wes added this to his growing number of regrets. “No. Guess I’m not… not quite right, though, you know?” He rubbed his face. “Killing their own kids. Jesus Christ.”
Jem scraped his chair back a little way. “I can’t make you out. You’re closer to Her than anyone, and you’re too squeamish to take your rightful place?”
Wes’s stomach gave another, more urgent churn. “Need the gents. Don’t let me keep you.”
He didn’t wait to see Jem leave.
He just about made it to a cubicle, narrowly avoiding losing his pint and lunch in a urinal. Wes stayed over the toilet nursing his sore guts until he was sure it had passed.
Someone else came in, a cue for him to lever himself up off the floor. Wes hit the flush and unlatched the door.
“Knew it was you, fucking Judas,” the other man said, and Wes reacted too late.
A punch slammed into his jaw, and he staggered back against the sinks. He gripped the rim with one hand and held his head with the other.
“Fuck!” He blinked hard, squinting. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
The mystery attacker had an average voice, average pitch, and was around Wes’s age. He was softer-featured and rounder-chinned than a Porter or a Wend, bearded, his brown hair naturally curling, so possibly a Shaw.
That didn’t narrow it down.
“Did Jem set me up?” Wes wondered what he could arm himself with. There was nothing. He didn’t fancy his chances of ripping the dispensers off the wall, and paper towels weren’t going to achieve much.
“That bastard? No.” The man shook his head. “I was after him, but I found you instead.”
“You can still get him,” Wes said, pointing in the direction of the bar. “He literally just left.”
“I know. You’re better.”
The man smiled, and tendrils not unlike the things Ricky had at the back of his head came through the man’s parted lips, wriggling between his teeth.
“Oh, God.” Wes recognised that. “It’s, wait, it’s Archie, right? Archie Shaw? You used to play football with my brother Alex. Yeah. Yeah, I remember you.”
Archie advanced a couple of paces, fists balled by his sides. The tendrils hissed, words forming through them in a polyphony of registers.
I did more than play football with him, you self-centred fuck.
Wes had forgotten the ins and outs of his brother’s personal life. “Oh. Oh right. Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry about Alex, but – but I lost him too—”
Archie’s face contorted in a snarl, his lips peeling back and jaw unhinging. Tendrils vomited out in a tongue-pink stream.
YOU’RE the reason he’s dead!
The tendrils whipped out. Wes ducked and twisted away as the tiles above him cracked and shattered on impact.
“No, no I’m not, I didn’t know she’d—”
You chose the Beast over your own brother!
Wes collided with the cubicle door and bounded away as the tendrils thrashed by his head. “Jesus, fuck, wait! She’s my sister! My baby sister! It was an impossible choice!”
You chose YOURSELF!
Wes couldn’t argue with that. He dodged around the stalls and the tendrils shot out again, blocking the door.
“Why Jem?” he asked, hoping to delay things until he could make a proper dash for it.
Archie Shaw snarled, tendrils sucking back into his throat. “He’s brainwashed my little brother. All this Death God shit. Theo’s lapped it up. I want him back.”
Wes swallowed, raising his hands. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“You voted ‘yes’, same as me. I was there. You voted to have her killed, then you did fuck all about it.” Archie’s lip curled in disgust. “You helped her. You betrayed us. That’s why all this is happening, because of you.”
Archie ducked his head and charged, cannoning into Wes and driving the wind out of him. Pain exploded across Wes’s back as they hit the urinals, and he smacked the back of his head on the wall.
“Je-sus,” Wes spat, adrenaline surging. He hadn’t felt this good since he quit coke. His face vibrated with energy. Instinct took over. He grabbed Archie by his hair and gripped hard, bringing them nose to nose.
His face buzzed and pulsed, worse than when Ricky had wound him up in the car.
Archie’s eyes glazed, filmy curtains drawn across them. They started flickering rapidly from side to side, until he fully relaxed.
“Get off me,” Wes said.
Archie let him go.
Wes slid out from underneath him and stumbled upright, limping to the door as quickly as he could. He leaned on the wall and went for the handle. He heard Archie standing up, and turned to face him.
“Don’t come after me.”
Archie stood like a zombie, arms hanging by his sides, head down.
Wes wondered how long it would last. He decided he didn’t want to be there to find out, and slipped out of the gents, along the corridor and back into the bar, straightening his shirt. He was out of the door and down the street as fast as his bruised ribs would let him, and he didn’t look back.