“Call an…ambulance,” Mr X croaked, blowing putrid little gasps of air in Julian’s face. When Julian glared incredulous hatred at him, he continued, “I didn’t want…to hurt your…father. He attacked-” He broke off, choking wetly. After a moment, trembling with the effort, he lifted his left arm a fraction to display a deep gash on his wrist.
“Where’s Eleanor?”
“Who?”
“Eleanor Hill. What have you done to her?”
“Nothing…Would never touch a girl like…her. Only nobodies nobody much will miss.” Mr X sucked in a tight, rasping breath, before continuing, “Besides, why would I need to when I’ve already got…you…where I want you?”
In a rush of relief and rage, Julian instinctively accepted these words as genuine. He’d never really believed Mr X would go near Eleanor, he realised with a sharp pang in his chest. He’d just needed an excuse to go after his dad, and try and save him from harm. He’d failed in that, though, like he’d failed to save Mia. He reached a trembling hand towards the knife, hissing, “Mia isn’t a nobody, she’s my sister. Where is she?”
Eyes bulging, Mr X gave a low moan as Julian’s fingers brushed the hilt. “Ambulance.”
“Not unless you tell me where Mia is?”
“Your film. If I…die…” Mr X’s eyes rolled as if he might lose consciousness, before refocusing on Julian. He forced his next words out in a gasp. “Your film will be sent to your mother, the newspapers, the police. And everything you love will be taken from you.”
“Who’ll do the sending if you’re dead?”
“Mr X.”
Julian’s face crumpled into lines of confusion. “But you’re Mr X.”
“No I’m…not.”
“Who the fuck are you then?”
“I’m nobody.”
Julian stared at the injured man as if trying to pierce his thoughts. “You’re lying.”
A repulsive sound that might’ve been laughter bubbled out of Mr X’s throat. “Am I?”
Julian grabbed the knife’s hilt, wiggled it, felt the blade scrape bone. “You’re going to tell me the truth,” he said grimly, as Mr X twitched and screamed, “about Mia, about yourself, about all of it, or I’m going to kill you.”
“Kill me and you kill yourself,” Mr X screeched, before his eyes rolled upward and he passed out. For a few seconds, his breathing continued to gurgle like a drain, then he fell silent. Julian felt for a pulse, and found it, weak and thready. Half-a-minute passed. Mr X’s eyes flickered open and looked at Julian with an expression of approval, even pride. He spoke quite clearly, as if buoyed by his feelings. “You’ve got even more potential than I thought.”
“Fuck you,” retorted Julian. He glanced warningly at the knife. “The truth.”
“Don’t be foolish. There’s no such thing as truth — at least, not the kind you’re after. There’s only perception. Now call me a fucking ambulance.”
Julian looked again at the shelves of videotapes and DVDs. His mind spoke in two voices. Your whole life, everything you hope for, everything you love will be lost, said one. Your whole life, everything you say, everything you hear will be a lie, said the other. There was a phone on the bottom shelf beside a video and DVD player. With these thoughts weighing on his breath like lead, he reached for it. “Good boy, I knew you’d see sense,” said Mr X.
Again, Mike Hill picked up on the first ring. “Have you found her?”
“No, but I don’t think you need worry, Mr Hill,” said Julian. “I think she’s okay.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was right, he wouldn’t dare go near her.”
“Who wouldn’t dare go near her?”
“What are you doing, Julian?” said Mr X.
“I’m proving you wrong. There is such a thing as truth. And I’m going to show you it.”
“Fool!” Mr X spat the word and a mouthful of blood into Julian’s face. “Stupid spoilt, rich-” He choked off into a croak. Veins popping on his throat and forehead, he forced out a hoarse whisper, “You’re finished. You might as well jump off the bridge.”
Julian wiped the back of his hand across his face. “Better that than live the life you’re offering.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Mike.
“Nobody. There’s something I need to show you.”
“For Christ’s sake! What’s going on, Julian?”
“I can’t explain over the phone, you need to come here and see it for yourself.”
“I can’t. Eleanor might return while I’m gone.”
“Leave a note. She knows how to contact you if she needs to. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this. It might be the biggest story you ever come across.”
“Where are you?”
Julian explained where he was.
“But that’s in the middle of the forest. What are you doing there?”
“I’m at a house.”
“I didn’t think anybody lived out there.”
“They don’t, not anymore. No more questions. Are you coming?”
Mike was silent a moment, doubt and unease vying with his professional curiosity. Curiosity won out. “Okay, Julian.”
Julian hung up and looked at Mr X, his hands slowly clenching and unclenching. He looked at his dad. Blood billowed like a dark red storm cloud around the corpse. His hands clenched harder and faster. Pale to his lips, he jerked his gaze back to Mr X.
Mr X’s pupils shrank with fear in their dirty-brown irises. Then he caught hold of himself, and his nostrils flared. “Go on. Do it. Do it!” His voice was defiant, almost goading.
As if someone had struck his elbow, Julian’s hand shot towards the knife’s hilt, but stopped just short of it. For several seconds, it wavered back and forth as if caught between two opposing forces. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he snatched it back. Mr X’s leering, contemptuous grin returned as Julian rose and approached the shelves. Names and dates were written on the spines of the videotapes and DVDs, which were seemingly arranged in no particular order. He searched fruitlessly for his disc and any discs dating to the day of Mia’s disappearance. “You won’t find your disc,” said Mr X, guessing in part what he was looking for. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t do you any good. I told you, it’s just a copy.”
“I think you’re lying. There was no time to make copies.”
“Maybe you’re right, but even if I am lying you still can’t leave me alive. Not unless you want that reporter to find out what’s behind your mask.”
“I’m not afraid of showing people the truth of myself.”
Mr X gurgled with harsh laughter, blowing bloody bubbles. “Who’s lying now?”
“I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I agree. All of us here do,” Mr X said softly, and with what seemed genuine sympathy, as if they were surrounded by phantoms with which he and Julian shared an intimate, sorrowful kinship. “We accept you for what you are, but no one else will. You’ll be an outcast, worse than dead. Is that really what you want?”
“I…” Julian’s voice faltered.
“It’s still not too late, Julian. Ring Mike Hill, stop him from coming here.”
“The truth…” Julian swayed as if he might fall over. “I’m going to show you…”
“How are you going to show me the truth?” Mr X’s voice grew stronger, as if feeding on Julian’s weakness. “By killing me? By destroying yourself? That’s not the truth, Julian, that’s just a different kind of lie.”
Julian clutched the shelves for support, his eyes moving back and forth along them. Most of the names were unfamiliar. Some he seemed to vaguely recognise. Two were all too familiar. The first of these didn’t surprise him. After everything Mr X had said, he’d guessed he’d find Tom Benson’s name. The second caused his breathing to stop momentarily. “Michael Ridgway,” he murmured. “The A1 Murderer.”
“One of our more illustrious members,” boasted Mr X.
Julian looked at him as if he doubted his sanity. “He was a serial killer.”