He closed the fridge and moved back into the living room. Spane was still in the bathroom. Maybe he’s puking up, Drake thought, and the idea made him smile. He dropped into one of the chairs and checked his phone. A few emails from friends. If it didn’t go well tonight, at least he could keep them entertained with the gory details. Before he’d gone into relationship exile, his tales of dating disasters had always amused his mates.
Suddenly Drake had a thought, got up and headed back into the kitchen. He didn’t bother flicking on the lights this time; just opened the fridge and slid out the bottle of wine he’d been looking at a moment before. Sauvignon Blanc. What happens if he doesn’t like white wine? He cursed himself silently. Should have got a bottle of red as well, just in case. Then, across the top of the fridge door, he noticed something.
The bathroom door was open.
He pushed the fridge door shut – an automatic reaction – and for a moment the flat was plunged into darkness. All the lights were off.
A second before, they’d all been on.
He felt his heart shift and he moved forward slowly in the dark, to the light switch in the kitchen. He flicked it on. Above him, a strip light hummed and then broke out into a stark white glow. Through the serving hatch, he could see out into the living room – but only about halfway. Around the edges of the room were thick blankets of shadow, like curtains pinned from ceiling to floor. He looked left, out to where the bathroom was, and then right, into the living room. The kitchen light made it even harder to see into the dark.
‘Leon?’ he said.
No reply.
He moved left, towards the bathroom. ‘Leon?’
This time his voice betrayed him, and a ripple passed through it. He cleared his throat, as quietly as he could, coming around the edge of the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. He flicked a look into the empty bathroom, and then fixed his eyes back to the living room, trying to will them to see more. He knew where everything was placed in the flat – he knew the layout, he knew where the light switches were – and yet, as he moved further in, it was like being in a place he’d never been before. He was disorientated.
‘Leon?’ he said again, scanning the flat.
Nothing.
Gradually, though, his eyes were starting to adjust to the light, and in front of him shapes were forming. Furniture. The TV. The music system. His PC on an old stand his parents had given him. Spane wasn’t there.
Which meant he was in the bedroom.
Then, something twinged in Drake’s neck.
A short, sharp pain, there and gone again. He reached up and touched the area just below the curve of his jaw and, when he brought his fingers back, in the shadow of the room he could see something even darker on them. He rubbed them together. Blood.
What the hell …?
He felt a shiver pass through him. Quick and sharp. And a split second later he knew why: Spane was behind him.
He turned.
‘Fuck!’
Drake stumbled back, tripping against one of the sofas and falling to the ground. Spane had been on his shoulder the whole time, his face contorted by shadows, his body twisted and wrapped in them. He seemed bigger in the darkness – taller, wider, more threatening – but as Drake desperately tried to get to his feet again, his legs gave way. Spane stepped forward, out of the dark, towering over Drake as he looked up from the floor. He was wearing pale latex gloves and, in his left hand, holding a syringe.
‘Whatthefuckareyoudoin …’ Drake said, but as the words came out of his mouth, they didn’t sound quite right. And then he realized something else: he was starting to feel woozy. His muscles were relaxing. His head kept rolling left to right. When his vision cleared a little Spane leaned down, pulled him up, dropped him into one of the armchairs and turned on the lights.
‘Whatsssssoingon?’ he asked again, his speech slurred.
Spane didn’t respond. He carefully placed the syringe he’d used into the satchel and then brought out a small leather pouch. Drake tried to haul himself up, but his arms had no strength. He couldn’t support himself. Every muscle in his body had liquified. When he tried to use his legs, place them down flat to the floor and manoeuvre himself forward, nothing happened. The whole time Spane calmly unzipped the leather pouch.
‘Whatssssssssssssoingon?’ Drake asked again.
His speech was getting worse by the second.
Spane opened the leather pouch, holding it in the middle like a book. With his left hand he adjusted something, and then looked back at Drake. ‘I’m really glad we have this chance to be alone,’ he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible. He laid the leather pouch down on the sofa as carefully as if it were made from glass, and then parted Drake’s legs. Drake couldn’t do anything about it. He had no reaction. No fight.
Spane moved in closer, positioning himself level with the knees. ‘This is how it’s going to be from now on,’ Spane continued, his voice gentle, almost affectionate. And then he looked up from beneath his brow, his eyes so big and dark they were just holes in his head. A whimper passed up through Drake’s throat; a reflex, like a noise from a cornered animal.
Spane smiled, stood up and went back to his satchel. He rummaged around inside and brought out a wooden bowl about a foot in diameter. He moved back to Drake, pulled him forward so he was doubled over, his head between his legs, and placed the bowl on the floor at his feet. Drake tried to sit up, but nothing happened. He had no power. No muscle. No bone.
‘Leon,’ Drake said, his words blunted and dulled. ‘Leon, pleeeeashe.’
No response.
Then a buzz.
‘My name’s not Leon, you fucking queer.’
Suddenly, Drake felt cold metal at the nape of his neck, travelling up through the centre of his head to the crown. A second later, his hair cascaded past his ears and landed, feather-like, in the bowl.
‘Whaaaaatareyoudooooin?’ Drake slurred.
A pause.
‘I’m shaving your hair, Daddy.’
PART THREE
29
There were a series of empty warehouses three miles away that I’d once used as a place to meet sources. Since leaving the paper, I’d only been back once. That time, I’d brought the person here under cover of darkness. This time, I had two men in the boot of my car and the sun was carving down out of a clear blue sky.
The road leading in was built in a T-shape, the neck barely big enough for two cars to pass. At the end, it opened up: ten warehouses, all in a line, all facing back down the way I’d come. At one end was a disused railway bridge, arches carved into it like big, dark holes bored straight into the earth. As I swung the car around and backed it in against one of the buildings, a smell came in on the breeze. The arches were dumping grounds: metal shells, so rust-covered it was impossible to tell what they’d once been; kitchen appliances stripped to their bones; old cars and machinery reduced to debris.