Chapter Four

The long, arrow-like main road that leads into the city centre is as busy as it’ll get for a Saturday morning; just a handful of cars shuttling their owners about on whatever business they have. One of them, a dirty and dusty black, drones with a clattering growl, humming incessantly. Although cruising just under the 20mph speed limit, the broken exhaust emits a dull roar more akin to a rally car being nursed gently round a circuit.

Stu is at the wheel of his 1983 Opel Monza. Some of the bodywork is rusted and beaten, paint scratched and scuffed. The car is in serious need of a wash and polish, more so than the odd general repair. As the car jolts over a bump or pothole, the loose exhaust rattles noisily, acting as a perpetual reminder.

With the front windows rolled down and the cool breeze tickling their faces, Stu and Mike sit in silence, observing the people walking by amidst an early warm spell. Stu checks out many a short skirt walking by, whilst Mike is more interested in their chests.

Inside, the Recaro seats are in much better condition than the rest of the car - only a faded stain here or there. The foot wells are dirty, littered with tiny stones or clumps of mud; the dash thick with dust. The stereo is missing, instead an open letterbox spewing an ensemble of multicoloured wires with glowing copper ends.

“Oooo...” Mike murmurs as they pass one woman. Stu turns and peers into the passenger wing mirror, unable to make out Mike’s spot. “How did you fare with that lass, last night mate? I’m pretty sure you told me, but buggered if I can remember.”

Stu smiles as he thinks back to the brunette and their brief encounter at the club. “Quite well - it felt like I was with Anna. Seems she hits the right spots, this girl.”

“Jenny, is it?” Mike adds.

“Yea. She’s lovely, and really good to talk to. We seem to get on very well, which is something I haven’t found since Sam.” He pauses. “Oh, and a nice arse, too.” Mike nods in approval.

“She was lovely too. Shame.” Mike mutters to himself. Stu pulls over to the kerb, watching a trailing car pass by in his wing mirror. Mike sits there for a moment, seemingly unwilling to get out.

“You alright?”

“Yea...just hate going to work after a heavy night of drinking.”

“You didn’t drink that much, plus you downed two pints of water before falling asleep.”

“Did I?” Mike replies in shock. “I never drink water!”

“You must have been very drunk then.” Stu laughs.

“I did wonder why I had my hand in an empty pint glass when I woke up.”

Stu smiles at him before continuing. “Are you sure you don’t need a lift further down the road?” he asks, looking at the turning that leads to the city’s smallest industrial estate. Deep within is Mike’s workplace - a tyre warehouse.

“No of course not, mate. I like the fresh air, sometimes.” He laughs. Stu joins in with the mirth. “Time to stock up on black bogeys!” he tells Stu, almost too seriously. As Mike opens the passenger door, he extends a hand and shakes Stu’s in return.

“Cheers for the lift.”

Slamming the door, Mike shouts once more as he walks off. “See you later, mate. Take it easy.”

“See you.” Stu calls back, checking his blind spot before pulling back out onto the quiet road, the banging exhaust growling in temper.

***

The black Monza squeaks to a halt, glowing red brake lights illuminating the chipped brick wall directly behind the car. Stu kills the engine, the dull reverb of the exhaust banging to a hush. He steps out, chunky boots clomping as they pass over the smooth concrete floor. He flips the boot open, tugging his worn black t-shirt off and tossing it into the depths. His chest is finely chiseled, abs prominently rippled and in eight blocks. A twisting, circular scar juts across his chest, just off centre. Scrabbling around the boot, he produces a near-empty can of deodorant and sprays until it fizzes pathetically. Tossing it back, he firmly shakes a creased white t-shirt with both hands and pulls it over his head, running his fingers back through his short hair. Lowering the boot lid and tugging the shirt down, he realises someone is watching, stood quietly about seventy to eighty metres to his right. As she’s at the far end of this level of the car park, he can barely make out her face, but he knows it’s her - the shoulder-length blonde hair gives it away. With her soft gaze locked on him, he stares back, unperturbed after this many years.

He looks down to check the door pins descend as he locks the car, looking back up to see that she is already gone.

One of these days he’ll come to terms with it.

***

Stu saunters through the large Redberry store in town, casually checking the shelves around him. As he looks to the right, someone appears from an aisle and their baskets clatter noisily. They both apologise profusely, before they suddenly recognise one another.

“Jenny?” he queries, speaking the first name that comes to him.

“Oh, hey... Stu, right?” she replies. He nods enthusiastically, hardly noticing a hazy shadow outlining her right side. Then drawn to it, he looks intently, to find it disappear as soon as his gaze shifts. When he looks back to see Jenny curling stray hair over her ear, the outline promptly returns. It’s as if his gaze is the light that controls the direction of her shadow. Stu quickly relinquishes his perplexed expression as Jenny looks up. “How’s it going?” she asks, voice softer and more serene than he remembers. He feels instantly drawn in by her, enticed by the same effervescent appeal that she had the night before, those engaging eyes reeling him back in. It is then that he notices how red they are.

“I’m... yes I’m... is everything okay?” he queries, intrigued to know more. She drops her head to look at her feet, leaving Stu to gaze back at the dark shape shadowing her. As his eyes focus, the shadow disappears yet again, until his eyes return to her. Jenny looks back up at him, lips quivering and about to explode into tears. “What is it?” he steps forward, gently taking her hand. She looks deep into his eyes, instantly feeling the connection. Then she looks to the side and squirms away from his grasp.

“I...” her fingers twitch. “I had some dreadful news last night.” Stu’s face drops. “Someone I know died very suddenly.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” he solaces, wanting to take her hand.

“She was Jimmy’s - my ex-boyfriend’s - mother. We were really, really close as well after he had died.” She pauses. Stu wonders what to say next, but she beats him to it. “Would you like to go for a coffee?” she quickly asks, locking eyes again. “It’d be really nice to talk to someone.”

He smiles back and nods.

***

“She was diagnosed with lung cancer only, what was it? Three weeks ago. The doctors said it had been found early. But in the last few days, she... she just deteriorated faster than they expected.” Jenny explains, a tear tumbling down her cheek. Her fingers fumble and fidget with the ribbed beaker, steam pluming through the small lip as her eyes stare off to one side. Stu unscrews the top to his water bottle and takes a quick swig.

“When did you last see her?” he asks.

“Just last weekend, she looked so happy, like she knew she could beat it and was going to enjoy life and not let it get her down. I can’t believe it’s come so quickly.” She takes a mouthful of her steaming coffee, hands trembling.

“How long ago did Jimmy die?” Stu asks. Jenny composes herself first before replying.

“November. I feel so sorry for them. They’ve not had a good run of luck at all since he died. His father passed away from a heart attack about four or five months after the accident, and now his mum.”

Stu’s attention is now properly caught, and he tightens his eyes with intrigue.

“Such bad luck, it’s not fair on that family. They were always so kind to me.” she adds, another tear racing after the first. The hustle and bustle of this busy indoor café fades away as they get caught up in their own little bubble. “I wish I could be with him right now, I miss him so much. He was my world, my everything. I can hardly remember a time when I wasn’t with him.”

“I’m sorry to hear about all this. Must be really difficult to deal with.” Stu says, sipping his water.

Jenny grinds her shoulders in an attempt to displace some of the tension. She scratches her neck closest to where the shadow is, causing it to momentarily flicker from view. “Thanks,” she mutters, thoughts awash with what happened to her ex. She coarsely rubs a thumb over the grooved cup, deep in her memories. Stu takes a moment to scratch part of his upper arm, sliding his hand under the sleeve to expose a hint of muscle. Jenny takes a quick glance, returning to reality. “I haven’t been this overwhelmed by him in a long time. I guess situations like this bring it all flooding back. It really hits home how lonely you can get.”

“I understand, I’ve lost loved ones unexpectedly as well. Whether it’s foreseeable or not, it’s never easy.” Stu places a hand on top of hers, gently rubbing her soft skin with his thumb. She shies away to dry her eyes, Stu reverting back to his bottled water. Jenny rifles through her handbag, hunching over to earnestly search for something. Stu notices that the shadow didn’t move with her, and stays vertical. It’s a warping, thick black shadow, not her own outline but that of a much broader person now. Stu can sense fury, oppression and torment pulsating from this shape, an invisible stare penetrating his own gaze. His hand twitches, and a series of overhead lights flicker. Then, quite suddenly, the shape slams backwards onto the floor, withering into the shadow of a man walking by. Jenny instantly lets out a protracted gasp, exhaling unexpectedly.

“Oh my...” she coughs, head swimming with disarray.

“Are you okay?”

“I feel like this massive weight has just lifted... wow.” she breathes, the colour already reignited in her face. “Wow, what a change.” she half smiles, breathlessly. Stu turns back to the cap on his bottle of water, keeping his creeping smirk at bay. “What were we talking about? I can’t remember...” her eyes wander, unsure of where her head truly is right now. “We’ve not talked about you much, tell me something.” she asks, bringing a tissue to her weeping eye as she continues to fruitlessly establish how they reached this point.

Stu smiles at the dramatic change in her demeanour, but doesn’t want her upset again.

“You might as well start with how old you are - I’m rubbish at guessing these things.”

“Twenty-three.” he replies. “This past July, in fact. You’re twenty-one, right?”

Jenny smiles sweetly. “Almost - I will be in two weeks.” she replies, the momentary spark in her beginning to ebb. “I’ll be partying in the city again if you fancied tagging along.”

Stu likes the sound of that and nods. “You must like me if you’re that keen on still knowing me in two weeks time!” he replies.

She smiles coyly and looks away, ashamed to be feeling happy. “We’ll have to see.” she says, keeping herself from playing. “I’m sorry if I dumped such bleak news on you, but you appeared at the right time, just when I needed to talk. My grandfather used to say that sometimes, someone not in the circle is the best audience.”

Stu motions to speak, but his phone vibrates and emits a futuristic ringing. He sighs, rolling his eyes and grabbing the phone. Looking down at the vivid display, he feels that he shouldn’t answer.

“You know what, I’ll leave you to it, looks important from your reaction. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll text you about my birthday. Thanks for being there today, and last night!”

With that, Jenny walks away, waving goodbye as she leaves the table. Stu goes to stand too, but her quick exit leaves him rooted. As he answers the call, Jenny pauses by the door to take a quick look back.

***

Just over twenty minutes later, under a clear sea of blue, Stu parks his car outside the four-storey block of flats he calls home, crunching gravel as he skids to a brisk stop. Instead of entering the concrete rectangle, he makes the short journey across the road and through Dead Man’s Alley. As this is the last unchanged portion of an historical route used by 17th century convicts on their way to Gallows Hill, the name is quite appropriate. These days though, it’s just a mud track used as a shortcut from one estate to another, its haunted past ignored by almost everyone today.

Once he emerges on the other side, he finds the entire road blocked by a score of police cars. They are preventing entry to a small cul-de-sac, a lone policeman in a fluorescent jacket guarding the tape. As Stu nears, he alerts his attention and the officer turns, holding a palm up to stop him from getting any further. Just as he does, a familiar ally emerges, phone clasped to his ear.

“Ah, there you are.” he calls, slapping the flip phone shut and returning it to his pocket. The DI nods at him.

“Morning, Merrick.” Stu answers.

“Baltazar.” his heavy voice replies. “Follow me for your Saturday morning surprise.”

Stu obliges, passing under the tape and following Merrick down the side of the first house they come to. Stood just ahead of him is Dawson, looking puzzled by Stu’s unexpected appearance. He fires back an equally disturbing look at her, walking straight past.

Stu then notices the buzz of nosy flies and the overwhelming stench of burnt flesh. “It’s amazing how you get used to this smell.” he remarks as he steps to the side of Merrick, visually processing the crime scene. Merrick doesn’t react, instead staring down at the corpse.

A woman in her mid twenties is propped up against a cracked wooden fence, head tilted off to one side and body lazily slouched. Her lower jaw is missing, savagely wrenched from her skull, one eye seared from top to bottom, loose blouse drenched in thick red blood. Her skin is pale yellow, the surrounding paving slabs awash with a sea of blood. Her palms are raised and fingers curled like the legs of a dead spider. A forensic investigator, clad in a shiny white boiler suit, scratches at the underside of her nails. Her facial wounds are difficult to stare at - the amount of pain she must have endured is unimaginable.

“Nicole Simmons, a twenty-two year old nurse from a few doors away. We believe she was returning from a hospital shift when she was attacked. A unit is on their way to intercept her ex-boyfriend, as they’re known to have quite a history.” Merrick says, checking his notes.

“Thanks.” Stu answers, wondering how she managed to lose so much blood from having her mandible torn off. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s not your guy.” Stu mumbles.

“I figured you’d say something like that.” Merrick answers.

Stu steps forward, avoiding the blood pool and leaning over a boiler-suited examiner.

“Anything coming to you?”

Stu stares blankly at the body. His mind sizzles with memories of the incident in which he saved Merrick’s life the day they first met. A woman, whose name he now forgets, died from an identical injury. He can remember the leathery wings of the Trumstrab barbed with razor-sharp spikes - the broken talons that clicked as they touched the tarmac - even the slavering snarl that seeped from the creature’s contorted mouth. There had been so much blood then, the once solid ground morphed into an oozing river.

“Baltazar!” Merrick quietly pushes, nudging Stu in the ribs.

“No... not at all. Nothing comes to mind.” replies Stu, switching back on. “Who’s the extra hand back there?” he asks.

Merrick looks back, realising he’s referring to Dawson. “Just someone on my side.”

“Let me know if you get anything else that I can help you with.” Stu adds, getting up and quickly leaving the scene.

Dawson stares at him as they cross each other again. Stu cold-shoulders her.