‘Used to be prime rental property here but then the murder happened and suddenly no-one wanted to stay anymore.’ The agent was still focused on the lock and apparently blissfully unaware of the moment that had transpired between Ben and the lady. A fact Ben was immensely grateful for. He had to be much more careful. Dr Slavia had told him how difficult it was going to be. He’d said you have to want it to work. And he did want it to work… Didn’t he?
…But that was part of the problem wasn’t it? The fact he had to want it to work. Exactly what did that mean? Maybe Mandy had been right. Maybe the pills were nothing but placebos… No that was ridiculous; they never would have released him… Surely not…
…Of course not…
‘Only the really desperate folks stay here now…’ The estate agent looked up sharply from the lock. ‘Not that I’m saying you’re desperate or anything like that. Don’t take it the wrong way or anything.’
Ben dismissed his comment with a shake of the head that was more directed at the rapidly spreading stains that were dyeing the man’s voluminous and immaculately pressed white shirt yellow.
‘Are you having some trouble there?’ Ben coughed and muttered when he saw that the agent was expecting some sort of verbal response. His voice came out all cracked and croaky though as just briefly, flitting across the mental equivalent of his peripheral vision came a glimmer of red. It was only a hint. The briefest suggestion of a hue but it was enough to start Ben’s heart pounding. He needed his pills…
‘Nah, there’s just a bit of a knack to it you know.’ The agent paused and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky as he mopped up some of his brow-sweat with his sleeve. ‘Don’t worry,’ he continued, renewing his struggle, ‘nothing to worry about. It just sticks a little… Ah there we go.’
The agent sounded ridiculously triumphant as the tumblers clicked and the door swung open.
‘After you good sir.’
Ben took a last, lingering look at the closed door of the flat next door, focusing on the tarnished number seven screwed to its front, and then allowed the agent to usher him over the threshold.
The erection was still hot against his thigh.
* * * * *
‘As you can see, quite a bit of work has been done to fix the place up. The landlords sunk a fair wad of cash into it, getting it back up to scratch after the last tenant legged it,’ the agent called from the living room as Ben stood surveying the kitchen. Yeah right, Ben thought as he ran his finger over the bumpy laminate of the bench, his mind transforming its cool surface into the warm flesh of her body beneath his touch. He tried hard not to think of the flash of red and when he realised his touch had become a caress, he removed his hand and shook his head to clear the image. Looks more like a weekend’s work from a couple of mates.
He wished that the estate agent would just fuck off so he could take his pills. Although he’d only seen the lounge and kitchen so far, it was enough for him to know that a professional had not set foot in the flat. The revolting, lime-green walls were patchy and lumpy from shoddy plasterwork and the joins in the cornices were almost shapeless blobs, giving the impression they had melted. The paint must have been on sale because everything was lime-green: the walls, the trimmings, the doors, the light-switches. The only thing breaking it up was the off-white ceiling that sported a rather large water-stain across its middle.
Even the carpet – a deep, burgundy colour that clashed horribly with the walls – was thin and cheap-looking and, judging by the way it was lifting in the corners, poorly tacked down too.
‘Ah, admiring the kitchen I see.’ The agent poked his head around the door. ‘That oven’s brand new, so are the bench-tops.’ Although poorly fitted, the bench-tops did look new but judging by the grime encrusted on its front pane of glass, the oven had been in place for a good many years.
Why the fuck was the agent still giving him the spiel? Ben had already signed the lease back at the man’s dingy office. If anything the man’s continued rabbiting was just going to lead him to say fuck off, I don’t want it anymore. Ben rubbed at his temples as he watched the agent’s mouth flap. He’s probably just a lonely old guy. Doesn’t get much of a chance to talk to anyone. Wife’s probably dead, kids moved away, probably going home to an empty house…
No matter how much he tried to justify the man’s behaviour, Ben still wished he’d just leave him in peace. He needed time to relax. To take his pills; stop the thoughts before they could coalesce; before the glimmer of red could solidify and spread. Because the lady next door was not her. He forced the thought forward strongly, just as Slavia had taught him to. It’s not her.
‘So are you happy or what? Such a bargain too.’ The agent was now resting on the bench, balanced on the crook of one arm in a manner that suggested he was settling in for the long haul. ‘The only place you’ll find in Brunswick for under two hundred a week.’
Ben bit back his irritation and forced a smile as he thought about just abruptly punching the man. Feeling the gristle of his nose crunch beneath his fist. It was only the absurd image of the man crumbling then rebounding immediately like a bop bag, still chattering away, that stopped him. With some people it was just futile trying to stop them once they were in the swing.
‘Anyway,’ the agent made an exaggerated show of checking his chunky, plastic watch and hope bloomed in Ben’s chest. ‘I should be letting you settle in.’ He held out the keys for a moment but then gently placed them on the bench when Ben made no effort to take them.
‘I’m just so glad to finally rent this place out you know. The landlords are a nice old couple. Good people. Sort of got suckered into buying this place by another firm. Lot of bastards out there you know. Didn’t tell them the history. They had no idea how hard it would be to rent.’ The agent paused and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Also as a quiet aside, there was a bit of a bet back at the office. You my friend have just won me two hundred bucks. The boys thought it would be impossible to rent this place again after the last guy legged it. Been empty a couple of months now, even with the rental crisis…’
The agent beamed at Ben but then looked embarrassed when he merely stared back stone-faced.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Blathering away again. I’ll leave you to it. Just remember six-fifty a month. Cheque or money-order. None of that fancy bank-transfer stuff. Just drop it into the office.’
Ben nodded and gratefully trailed the agent to the door. It doesn’t matter, I won’t be here in a month anyway. The thought formed automatically and Ben had to remind himself that it wouldn’t be like that this time. That he would be settling down. Looking for work. He wouldn’t need to be gone this time, he thought as he watched the agent waddling down the driveway past the flickering light outside number three.
He tried his best not to glance at the strip of light visible through the chink in the curtains next door but his eyes drifted to it of their own accord.
* * * * *
Sam Tramontano glanced back over his shoulder as he shuffled across the road towards his immaculately polished Kingswood. The guilt was heavy in his stomach, making him feel all gassy and bloated. He knew his indigestion would be acting up again tonight.
Shit, almost spilt the beans a couple of times there, he thought as he unlocked the door and heaved himself into the seat. And maybe I should have…