As soon as Yuki left, Brian headed inside to scoff food, glug water, get a proper shower, and clean himself up. In the shower, he removed the IV. It stung like hell and there was a not insubstantial amount of blood. The crook of his elbow and forearm were severely bruised, splotches of yellow in the purple and black. Brian bandaged up the wound and popped back a couple of paracetamols to ease the pain. After everything he’d endured, he’d need something much stronger than paracetamol to straighten himself out in the long run. Brian intended to make good on his promise to Helen to check into A&E and even looked up the nearest hospital on his now partially-charged mobile phone. But before A&E, before anything else, he was heading back to the house where he’d first encountered Ted. The fact Ted hadn’t wanted him to go inside, made Brian reckon there was something worth seeing and before any of this bullshit, Lexie had urged him to check it out, too. Brian was going there and there wasn’t a damn thing anybody could do or say to stop him.
By the time Brian made it to the old house, the skies were dark, and the moon was just as striking as the previous time he’d visited. There was no car parked outside the place or around the corner and no discernible movement from within the building either. As far as Brian could tell he hadn’t been followed and there were no signs he was being watched. Brian reckoned Ted had discovered he’d escaped, which left him paranoid and extra cautious. He’d grabbed a knife before leaving, this time vowing to exercise a little more caution so as not to wind up stabbing some innocent. Not that Ted had turned out to be a textbook definition of innocence, but still. Brian felt for the knife in his back pocket, though honestly, the thought of having to use it scared more than comforted him. He waited a good twenty minutes before approaching via the back garden. This time when his arm stretched through the jagged glass and his fingers found the latch, nobody stopped him from opening the door and stepping inside.
The air smelt of mildew. Brian recognised it instantly, he’d had a mould problem in his previous place. The moonlight afforded Brian a limited view of the room, an L-shaped kitchen surface to the left and a breakfast bar to the right that separated the kitchen from the dining room. No door, just a gap between the breakfast bar and wall. He felt for a light switch and found one eventually, but it did nothing. What Brian could make out was grim, not that the place was a mess or even dirty—aside from the broken glass it was in reasonable order—it was just that everything looked so outdated and neglected. There was an old brass kettle with flame-like rust engulfing the exterior, a seventies-style electric whisk, faded turquoise, with a long cord and its own stand, there was even a meat grinder—screwed onto the side of the counter, looking more like a weapon than a kitchen appliance.
Through the next door lay a narrow corridor that offered three options: the front door ahead, the stairs to the left, or the door on the right. Brian opened the door to the right and fumbled for a light switch which he quickly found. This time it worked. Blueish white light illuminated what should have been a living room but was set up more like an office.
What the hell?
No sofa, no coffee table, no television, no bookcase, no cabinets, no house plants, no photographs, no framed artwork. There weren’t even curtains, just a thin sheet of white netting which explained why the light had shone through so easily once the man had turned the lights on the last time Brian had been here. And, in turn, others would be able to see Brian.
Trespassing.
Snooping where he shouldn’t.
And why? Because Lexie had insisted? Because Yuki could be in danger or, worse, still involved? Because Ted’s actions and inactions had left Brian paranoid? He shook his head. Brian was here of his own volition. Because he needed to uncover the truth for himself. This had been his decision, and he had to take responsibility. Whatever happened, whatever he found, it was on him and no one else.
Brian felt uneasy in the white light.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
He could have turned the lights off, to ensure he brought no attention to himself and the house. But he couldn’t, at least not yet. He had to take a closer look at things.
In the centre of the room, on a long oak table, sat six computers—old school tower desktops with bulky CRT monitors. On the faded yellow wallpaper were strange aquatic drawings in red ink. A style that seemed to take influence from both Ancient Egyptian and Greek art. Brian peered at the computer nearest to him—no distinguishing marks or logos to suggest a manufacturer, so it was likely custom-built. He moved the mouse, a loud fan whirred, and the screen glowed to life. The display was grainy and showed a bedroom, an unmade bed, and a bedside table with a lamp—behind it lay a clothes horse, overflowing with t-shirts. In the left-hand corner was a timestamp: 15-06-2017 Thursday 22:18. Brian checked his watch, 10:18 p.m.
It was live.
A click of the mouse and the camera displayed a small bathroom: a shower-bath combination, a sink, and basic toiletries. Nothing unusual. Another click displayed a living room, much like Brian’s. Sprawled back on the sofa sat a man with a receding hairline, a can of beer in his hand, watching television.
Brian shifted his attention to the next computer—a quick shuffle of the mouse brought the display to life, revealing a similar picture. Though this time the apartment in question looked more like a show house with only white goods for furniture. The place was unoccupied.
The adjacent computer’s images were almost identical. Brian would have thought it an exact copy, if not for the difference in bathroom layout—the bath on the right and sink on the left in one, and the reverse in the other.
As Brian was moving over to the fourth computer, he noticed a flicker of movement on the sixth and final monitor. He shifted his attention to it. The timestamp was different here: 15-06-2017 Thursday 19:02. Today but three hours ago. He clicked the mouse, the video paused, revealing a basic media player and options to rewind and fast-forward the footage. Archival footage, playing on a loop perhaps? On-screen, a guy with a bald head slouched in front of the television, swigging from a can of something Brian couldn’t quite identify. Three figures in black hooded robes entered the living room from the right, they snaked behind the guy who sat oblivious on the sofa. Could he not see them, or did he simply not care? Perhaps this was some sort of live action role-playing game, though Brian had never heard of one involving almost all the players in costume and one dude in jeans and a t-shirt. So then, could it be a sex thing? The hooded figures were standing still as statues which didn’t seem particularly erotic, but everybody has their kinks—maybe the three of them were just watching, getting off on the guy’s ignorance. His innocence. Brian shook his head, seemed far-fetched. Definitely not a sex thing. The hooded figures raised their hands, their fingers wiggling in perfect unison as if choreographed. The guy swigged back his drink. Another hooded figure appeared in the doorway, this time from the left. The figure differed from the rest, his robe was blood red and he was much taller.
Holy shit, was this the Red Robe? The guy who’d paraded the streets, shaking hands and cheered on by the masses?
This time the guy on the sofa saw. He went to get up, but Red Robe raced forward, pushing him down. The three figures in the black robes lowered their arms and joined Red Robe, boxing the guy in. Red Robe gestured for the guy to rise but he stayed put which seemed to agitate Red Robe. He pointed to the robed figure to the far right, who promptly grabbed the guy’s can and flung it across the room. Now the guy rose, meeting with a straight right from Red Robe, then hitting the floor. The figures in black robes picked the guy up and to his feet, escorting him out of the living room.
Brian fast-forwarded, but the room remained empty until the present moment. He clicked again to see if he could access other rooms’ archival footage, but if he could the necessary commands and controls were eluding him. He rewound the video, to see if he’d missed anything—perhaps a smile or knowing wink to prove this was a game—but the more he viewed it, the more sinister this appeared. Had he witnessed an abduction? Should he dial 999? He wasn’t sure if it would do much good. For one, he had no address. For two, this had happened hours ago. Plus, if he told the police how he’d come to see the crime, he’d wind up admitting to his own guilt for trespassing. On top of all this, Brian wasn’t sure there was evidence of an actual crime. For all he knew, it really was role-playing. Better to leave it for now.
When Brian turned his attention back to the fourth computer, his heart rate sped up. The on-screen image triggered a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he knew the place—but how?
Then she entered the room.
Her.