Chapter Seventeen

Mike storms out of the lounge, abruptly spinning on his toes and marching back the way he came.

“I just don’t like it!” he screams, yelling a little too much for their close proximity.

“You don’t like it because you don’t understand it.” Sera replies, calmer and more composed than her boyfriend.

“I do understand it, thank you!” Mike bellows. “How would you feel if you woke up in the morning to find me merrily chatting to a dead person, invisible no less, sat at the end of our bed? It freaks me out, knowing that they’re always watching us!” he yells.

“Oh nonsense!” she retorts, her voice now raised. “They come to me when they need help, and they certainly don’t hang around whilst we’re sleeping, or eating, or emptying one’s bowels!” she adds, her voice calming again.

“Fuck’s SAKE!” Mike grunts, booting an empty plastic bin, the nearest kickable item he could find. “I would prefer it if we could sometimes have time to ourselves, and not be interrupted by some dead fucker showing up in the middle of Pandora’s Twins!”

“Jees, we can pause it you know!” Sera snaps.

“That’s not the point.” Mike huffs, folding his arms and stopping with the shouting. “It’s bad enough that my best mate has to deal with all this shit all day; having you piss about with it as well drives me nuts!”

“We’ve been together seven years, you’ve known about this for six and half years of that, and now you’re getting pissy?”

“YES!” Mike shouts, huffing once more as he turns away from her. Sera sighs, and walks across to him, hitching up the front of her flowing black skirt as she does.

“You’re so silly.” she tells him, trying not to giggle.

“Fuck off.” Sera reaches out to him, cuddling him close even though he doesn’t react to it. Stroking the side of his face, she turns his head to face her, and kisses him softly. He kisses her back, and they suddenly both respond passionately, Mike squeezing the first breast he finds. Sera tugs at his shirt, popping open the buttons without touching them, letting him reach up to fumble with her bra. But, almost as quickly as it began, Sera peels away and retreats to the other side of the living room, reattaching the one loose hook across her back. Mike stands there, perplexed.

“What?” she scowls.

“Er, what’s up?” he demands, still stood with arms outstretched.

“You know I can’t.” she replies, rearranging her skirt. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

“Fine.” Mike resigns, grabbing his keys. “I’ll see you later.” He slams the door behind him.

***

Aimee checks her watch, looking around her once more, wondering where Jenny is. “I’m so sorry, she said she’d be here about ten minutes ago.” she says, finally relenting and crouching down to place the flowers at the mound, a simple wooden cross a substitute for a delayed headstone. “It was her initial idea, so it’s not like she was trying to get out of it.”

She quickly wipes away a tear, annoyed at herself for getting so emotional. “There was a fire the other day, at the Plasma Dome. Jenny and her... well, that guy named Stu, we were all there when it happened. I don’t remember any of it, but it must have been terrifying.” she quakes.

“Matt and I had a massive argument too, earlier that night. I know you always felt he was a strange one, and probably not someone I should have bothered with, but he turned out okay. Well, until Saturday night. He became a total dick for no reason. Yea, I was flirting with a guy, but it was just flirting, it was nothing serious - you know it never is with me. And I was drunk. You know how bad I get with this when I’ve been drinking.”

Aimee smiles, almost finding herself laughing. “He turned so unexpectedly though. Like something just clicked, pushing him over the edge. I’ve never seen anyone that angry before, and he didn’t seem to care that he’d hurt anyone. He attacked this guy, the one I was dancing with, and he could have broken his arm. May have broken it actually, I haven’t checked the local news. But the way he did it, and the way he stared at me afterwards, it was like it just wasn’t Matt. I don’t get what changed - we had this one big argument when... well, when you... when... we just had this big argument, and it all changed from then. Just turned into a total tosser.”

She looks to one side, sort of smirking to herself. “Perhaps he secretly fancied you, Erica. You leaving us was the game changer.” She shakes her head a little, annoyed that she came up with something so ludicrous. “Sorry babe. I didn’t mean it.”

She sighs, checking her phone to see that Jenny still hasn’t replied. It’s so annoying - she’s supposed to be here. But Aimee is here for Erica, not to bitch about absent friends. “You didn’t get to know Stu at all, did you? He’s properly fit, I’m telling you. Built like a steam train.” Her mind wanders ever so slightly. “I kissed him that night. He’d done so much for me - getting rid of Matt to save me the trouble, saving my life in the club. I had to, I knew I had to kiss him. But you know what sucks? He didn’t kiss me back. That’s Jenny’s fault. She had him first, left me hung out to dry. I could, should have had him - you know that - I told you as much. All he had to do was figure it out, use that brain of his. Fucking relationships. Fucking men.”

She checks her phone once more, more pronounced with her head shaking this time. “She’s clearly not going to answer her phone anytime soon. At least she’s not screening my calls now, like she was on Sunday. Jesus, she arranged this today, for fuck’s sake. Real early too, woke me up. Something else more important? Surely! Fuck.” Aimee plants a kiss on her fingers and presses it into the dirt covering Erica’s resting place. “I’ll see you later, hun.” she smiles.

***

Stu paces outside the city’s main Police Station, located just a short walk from the main shopping district. Although irritated by Jenny this morning, the shoemaker that implicated him at the boutique on Saturday troubles him more. His palms are postbox red again, flesh charged so violently that blood is slowly boiling under the skin.

A place such as this, however, is not a good showcase for his temper, and the feverish pacing is supposed to be calming him. Merrick needs to know that he has injured an innocent woman and left her irrevocably scarred. His feelings for her are too strong to ignore, and by admitting to what happened to her, the DI shouldn’t blame him at all. Then Jenny can get the treatment she needs to help her move on.

Taking a long, deep breath, he walks in just behind a woman in her mid forties. Letting her dither her way to the counter first, he uses the extra time to further compose himself.

“Good afternoon ma’am. How can I help?” a constable asks as the woman steps up to the desk. PC Wicket is slightly older than her, with a curved moustache and beady glasses. He is a very tall man, towering over the visitor from his plinth, hands pressed against the desk in anticipation of her query.

“I’d like to report a missing person.” she quivers, hands shaking like a centenarian as she places a wallet on the desk. “This is his - someone found it and returned it to our home.” Wicket flips open the wallet and the first thing he sees is a portrait of two people in love. Looking across at the drivers licence, he notices that both pictures had probably been snapped at the same time.

“I presume this gentleman is your son?” he asks. She nods back at him. “Does he usually go on unexpected trips?”

“No not at all.” She says, voice starting to strengthen. “He lives with me. He does have a floozy of a girlfriend who lives over on Crippen, but I’m not sure on the number. I’ve tried to contact him, but his phone never rings. I don’t have her number. I spoke to his old friends from school, but they hadn’t seen him for a number of years.” she sighs.

“Could they have gone on an impromptu holiday, somewhere, ma’am?”

“Not at all - he always joins us for Sunday roast, and he’s never missed one since he started getting jobs. I fear that she may have lead him astray.” She begins to tremble again, bringing a hand to her mouth as the realisation starts to set.

“Let’s not get too carried away.” Wicket reassures. Stu is still patiently waiting, checking out the missing person’s board. “If you fill out this form, Mrs. Reynolds, we’ll make some checks.” The woman weakly smiles as she takes the clipboard, clicking a pen and beginning to scribble.

“How can I help, sir?” Wicket then asks Stu, who approaches the desk. Just as he goes to speak, Merrick appears at the door behind Wicket, and as they spot one another, an air of uneasy tension unfolds.

“It’s alright Will, I’ll take care of this.” He orders, brushing the officer to one side. “In fact...” he muses, suddenly realising something. “Before I get into what I need you for, you have to understand something. There’s obviously an active investigation into a series of mysterious deaths, and you’re a material witness to one of them. I know you help out on a lot of my cases, but just remember that at the moment, I have to be a professional first, and a friend second. So you can continue to aid me, but be aware, I will be coming for you if I have to.”

Stu just nods at him, selling his best poker face.

“There’s a woman in the cells, brought her in a little while ago and she’s been manic since. Well, she was manic when they picked her up.” Merrick pauses before continuing, wondering if his next item might be better off heard away from other prying ears. Ushering Stu off to one side, he leads him down to the cells.

“What is it?” Stu asks, noticing the long corridor dotted with thick steel doors.

“She keeps screaming about her body being on fire, and doesn’t like any electrical stuff. She only calmed down once we turned her light off - I figured you might have some idea what’s up.” Stu looks back at him, instantly linking it to the final events of Saturday night, but unwilling to express any unexpected emotion. “Don’t be alarmed, but she’s in quite a state. Lots of cuts, bruises and burns. Refused any degree of medical attention, but doesn’t seem to be in any amount of pain. She attacked an officer, hence why we have her.” he adds. “Got everything?”

“Sure.” Stu responds. “Which door?”

“First on the left.” Merrick replies. As Stu motions to investigate, Merrick clamps a big hand around his bicep. “Don’t go too far when you’re done. We’ll have a chat afterwards.” Stu doesn’t respond, whipping his arm free. Glaring at the DI, and not helping his case at all, Stu steps up to the designated cell and peers through the chunky letterbox. Merrick waits initially, before retreating for a cup of water.

In the far corner of the small cell a woman is hunched over in a ball, clumps of her straggly hair scattered loosely on the floor. Her jeans and t-shirt are burnt in places, exposed skin scratched and bloody. She is facing the back wall, but her head twitches and flips round as she senses him. She points right at him, gaze stuck somewhere between awe and terror. Stu tightens his eyes, figuring that this poor woman was a survivor of the Plasma Dome fire. She’s in her early twenties, wrists adorned with an assortment of cloth and metal bands. Some are cracked and charred, just like parts of her skin. One eye is bloodied, the socket a light purple.

“Thrice you have caught thee - not once did you kill me!” she cackles, voice heightened in pitch. She bounces on her haunches, clacking her grimy teeth. As she moves, a humanoid shadow traces her movements, snapping out of sight once she settles again.

“What?” Stu mumbles, linking the words to the familiar sight. He gawps in disbelief, confused at still being unable to best the original schattengeist he encountered. The woman screeches excitedly. She jabs burnt fingers at him, taunting him with that wild stare and crooked mouth. Stu thuds the cell door in rage, sneering and storming off. As he does, the woman quietens, turns around and waddles back to her original corner, knees bent at painful angles.

Merrick spots Stu storm past as he returns down an adjacent corridor, apparently heading out of the building. His face of thunder says enough. Merrick tosses the plastic cup in a nearby bin, splashing water against the wall.

“That was worth it then.” he grunts, turning back toward his office. He finds Dawson lurking inside, a folded piece of paper in her hand.

She queries his irritated glower. “Baltazar again?”

“Yes, funnily enough. I was after his assistance with that nutter the boys brought in, to see what hand he would play.” Merrick replies. “Looks like I won.” Dawson nods eagerly.

“I have something interesting for you.” She says, watching him traverse his desk and sit down. She hands him a sheet which he promptly unfolds. His eyes clench as he tries to recognise the photo fit glancing back at him. “Don’t recognise this person?” she asks.

Merrick looks up, feeling that he should. “I don’t think I do. Who is it?”

“A member of the public was attacked yesterday by this man. He claims that this person smashed a window on his car, and, when confronted, choked him and electrocuted him. Without touching him.” Merrick’s eyes widen at the ridiculousness of the report. “You don’t recognise that face?” Merrick scans it again, and the first name that pops into his head is-

A thunderous bang suddenly rocks the building, startling them both amidst screams and yells from far away. They both run as fast as possible toward the front desk.

“What’s happened?” Merrick shouts, witnessing smoke pouring from the cell corridor. Flames creep out from beyond the haze, and Dawson quickly helps a limping officer to safety.

“Boss, was he just here, by any chance?” she calls as they pass.

“No, he left a few moments ago!” he yells back.

“Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Keep your eyes on our case, and leave whatever happened here alone.” Dawson accepts defeat, grabbing the nearest fire extinguisher and launching it at a waiting Wicket. She wafts at the smoke, offering a slight glimpse at the disaster. Part of the door is torn from the hinge, flames spitting out. PC Wicket squirts the extinguisher in bursts, swirling the smoke as the foam hits. Merrick forcibly thumps another extinguisher into the hands of an onlooking officer, charging forth into the wall of fog. The small fire is out already, the static corpse of the deceased twisted on the floor. Flames lick at her discarded limbs, strewn across the cell like dropped litter. The light fixing overhead swings as if propelled by a loaded noose.

Outside, a blackened hand print has scolded the wall, forcing untold energy into the cell but not displacing a single brick. No-one is around out here; the assailant is long gone.

***

Merrick strokes his chin longingly, stood close enough to the corpse to feel the heat still exude from it. Part of her chest was blown to smithereens, but the charred jigsaw is neatly reassembled back into position.

Sorensen is milling slowly behind him, considering his use of language in the official report. He keeps pushing his glasses back up his nose, distracting him long enough to remain undecided.

“I’ve never had to put down spontaneous human combustion before.” he half-grins.

“I thought that usually meant complete disintegration, rather than an exploding body.”

“Quite, Detective Inspector. The act typically leaves a limb, maybe two. I’ve just always wanted to record that as COD. I think after forty-five years, I might get just one.” Merrick doesn’t react, looking over each loose piece of what was once the young woman. “Such a poor way to go. At least she won’t have suffered. Much.”

Merrick stares into space, his mind feeding him the thought, the one thing he is trying so hard to ignore. Yes, Stu had been to see this woman, and yes, he was missing in the chaos following the explosion. And the fact that he was there, right at the time of...

Merrick shakes his head with a hint of anger, shedding loose such a preposterous notion. He’s never known Baltazar to perform such a grave act. He has only ever known him to help people. The unfortunate passing of Alice Thebos and his presence in her shop is coincidental.

“Thanks, Doc.” he finishes, exiting the morgue with his hands now rooted deep within his pockets.

“Well, that was quite a conversation.” Sorensen muses, looking over at the woman over the top of his glasses.

“You’re right.” she replies. “I don’t remember suffering.” Her half scorched face stares straight up, bright white eye struggling to focus.

***

Stu towels down his naked self as the gurgling cold water empties from the bath, feeling completely rejuvenated. He initially looks at his palm, content that the damage is repaired. Glancing at the mirror opposite, he studies the jagged scar that landed him this interesting job. Running a finger across the top and following the bobbled stitch-like reminder, he places an open palm across it and wonders what would happen if he fired something back.

Hearing a knock at the front door, he grabs a clean but crumpled pair of jeans and pulls them on, bounding over to the door and answering it in double time. Initially smiling, he looks on at his visitor, mildly perplexed at what he sees. Mike scowls back at him.

“So you are alive then.” He snorts, edging himself in. Stu gives way, scratching his head as he closes the door.

“I’m really sorry, mate.” He heads to the fridge for a pair of tins.

“Oh, good shout.” Mike gloats as he catches one, expecting it to be much colder. “I know you can sometimes disappear for periods and not let me know, but I was a really concerned after Saturday night.” he admits, sinking his first mouthful. “Four people died.” Stu plays with the ring pull, nibbling at the inside of his lip.

“What did you tell the Police?” Stu asks.

“Just that a speaker blew and it ignited all the booze behind the bar.” Mike puts his beer to one side. Stu ponders for a moment, before downing his can in one fell swoop.

“You know I hate to say this, but they’re all collateral - how many times have I reminded you of that? It’s work.” Stu pleads, wiping remnants from his mouth and tossing the can towards the bin.

“One with a shit wage. I don’t dispute any of that, mate, but surely some day you’re going to have to answer for this, especially as innocent people keep getting hurt.”

“Like Jenny?” Stu replies, looking solemn.

“Is she hurt?”

“Yea, but I’m not sure on the circumstances. She skirted round it without explicitly stating what the actual injuries were. But she also dumped me this morning.”

Mike stops mid swig. “You were hardly a couple to start with, but I don’t blame her. I guess at least she’s one better than Sam.” He starts to sink some more beer. “What were you thinking?” he demands. Stu doesn’t register Mike’s dig at his previous ex.

“You know I had my concerns long before this happened.” Stu grunts.

“You could have tried a little harder then!”

“I know, I know. I should have stayed away. But there’s no point dwelling on what’s happened. I should have been more resolute to start with.”

Mike takes a final swig and pushes the empty can aside. “I guess it must always be hard to make decisions like these, especially in a split second.” Stu doesn’t respond, reflecting on the tragic events in the club. “I was going to sort out a takeaway.”

“What did you argue about this time?” Stu smirks.

“Very fucking funny. I’ve already made up with her, and we both thought it’d be nice if you came over. Certainly after hearing that news, you need it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Stu nods.

“Great, sort yourself out then, my car’s outside.” Mike points. “I’m not having your tits out in front of my missus.”

“She loves this scar.” Stu smirks, slapping his chest. As he walks off, Mike tuts and his anxiety slithers out.

***

“Is that your little secret?” Dawson asks. Merrick jumps, quickly slamming shut his journal and hastily throwing it back into his top drawer. She is leaning against the door frame, arms folded.

“For fuck’s sake.” he curses, staring her down.

“Sorry, was just asking.” She pleads, walking up to his desk. “You must have been writing in that thing for years. Is this what’s been troubling you, why you’ve become so withdrawn and lost so much weight? What is it about?”

“My memoirs.” he growls. “It reminds me how many pricks I work with, and working on it understandably gets me pissy.”

“Alright, I’ll wait for the paperback.” she grins.

Merrick continues to stare her down. “What do you want?”

“Just wondered if you had any thoughts about today’s incident. I don’t know if you heard but a woman in reception had a heart attack. It seems that her son going missing and the building blowing up was all too much...”

“Why would I have any thoughts? The initial diagnosis was a faulty light fitting. It was only replaced last Tuesday. Case solved.”

“Fine. In regards to our mystery mandible snatcher, I have some info that you might be interested in.” she says.

“Go on.”

“There’s a new victim.” Merrick instantly looks up. “Where?” Dawson stares at him for a moment, marvelling at his impatience. “Come on!” he growls.

“Same place as the boutique from this morning. Shoemaker this time, the same one that placed your outsider in a compromising position.” Dawson tries her best not to smirk. “His name is Marvin Morton.” Merrick strokes his forehead firmly, trying not to sink under this bombshell.

“Great. Get yourself home and I’ll go down there with the boys.”

“Boss?”

“You heard, go home. I don’t need you on this one.” Merrick snarls, getting his coat.

“But boss -”

“That is all, Angela.” He snaps.

Dawson relents, and swiftly exits his office. “I’ll see you tomorrow then!” she calls, disappearing from sight.

“That you will.” he murmurs, thumping a fist into a metal filing cabinet. “That you fucking well will.”

***

Merrick, hands burrowed deep in the pockets of his overcoat, looks across at the boutique, reminding himself of the altercation between Stu and the shoemaker the last time he was here. Turning back to the small shop entrance, the officer stood guard here has his face obscured in the fading light, the pithy single lamp in this courtyard not enough to illuminate the entire surroundings. Merrick steps up to him, passing through the door and into the tiny box.

There is nothing to speak of in regards to Mr. Morton anymore. His maroon apron, emblazoned with his embossed surname, is crumpled at the DI’s feet, a very faint dusting of ash surrounding it. At this angle, it’s nothing more than a faded shadow that collapses in the breeze.

“There ain’t anything here.” he tells the waiting officer. “Wait for forensics to turn up and pass the findings onto me.” The officer nods as Merrick turns, staring back at the closed boutique.