Breakdown (8 page)

“How did you find out about those links? How did all of the trouble with Vince first start?”

“Jan, Gray, my mother, they were sent links to the porn sites through the post, in books, in a CD case, a DVD.”

“Amongst the books and CDs you mention, there was a DVD that was sent through the post.”

“I just fucking said that.”

“Why do you think they sent you those items in particular?”

“To fucking taunt, to tease, to unsettle everyone around me.”

“So their MO was to hurt the people around you, and they sent... gifts through the post. Books... DVDs.... Jack, what did you say Gray had had in his office a few days ago?”

I went still. “DVD. But he’s damn smart: he’d make sure he sent something to himself to shade things.”

“Think back. Try and remember the morning you saw that DVD in Gray’s office. What was there that made you watch the TV? Picture his study desk, or around the TV unit itself, was there anything that—”

...you think I’d hurt you – like that? You—

“
—
wouldn’t usually be there
?”

“Stop.” I rubbed at my head. “Fucking stop.” The TV in Gray’s study had been locked. I’d been so pissed he’d said he’d rather take Jan to sort out whatever shit was tearing up his head, but—
only real men get fucking dirty, right
—he’d said he was taking Jan, an untrained soft-hearted civvy who’d already been damaged enough. Gray took no-one with him to sort out his MI5 shit. If it wasn’t fucking bad enough Gray knew I’d been raped, that Jan had gotten his ass out of there where I’d failed to, now he was pissing all over my training.

“Jack, your hip. Would you like to drop your photo casually on the table?”

I couldn’t help it now. Scratching. I’d fucking been scratching back then too. In the study, something had pissed me off; something had blacked things out for a while, and after that? The TV unit was ripped off its hinges, and images then played out on screen because of it. The branding. Gray had been watching the branding scene—

“Go back to before you blacked out, Jack,” said Halliday, and I didn’t realise I’d been talking out loud. “What was your trigger? Can you see what triggered your blackout?”

Bile hit the back of my throat and I fought it down. “Packaging,” I mumbled quietly, and I saw it sitting there. “Brown paper packaging was on the table. But he would have it sent to himself via the post.”

“Can you see anything else?”

I frowned. Gloves. The sort Gray used when he’s handled evidence—“Fucking gloves... why would he be using gloves to handle the package afterwards? He’d need them to post it, yeah. But to handle it afterwards... he’d need to show evidence of his prints, to keep up the bullshi—” Life became very heavy. “He...” I looked at Halliday. “But he would have said he’d been sent more. He would have fucking
told
me. He—”

“Go back a little further, just before Gray left with Jan. Did it look like he could tell you at that moment? Who had made an appearance the night before, Jack? What was Gray risking if he told you?”

Martin.

“No.” I shook my head, hands now running through, then gripping into my hair. “I asked him afterwards, when he came back with Jan.” Christ, he’d looked so fucking broken. “I asked him to tell me why... to tell me who, but his—”

Do you think I’d hurt you—like that
?

“What were the exact words you said to him, Jack? Can you remember?”

In amongst all the shouts, cries, broken glass....
Why didn’t you just let me go?
I screwed my face.
Do you hate me that much?
“I said that I should be flattered that he’d go to the effort of hiring Vince to rape the fuck out of me.”

“And Gray’s reaction?”

Do you think I’d hurt
you
—like that
? “He didn’t do it, did he? It wasn’t him?” A soft groan came, but it was my own. “Fuck. But he knows who did. I need... need—” Gray. I needed “—out.” I’d fucked up. I’d seriously fucked up. Gray... Life had blacked out back there, and I missed who had pushed Humpty Dumpty off the wall. Head fuck, just one huge head fuck, just—Jan. I gave another groan:
please see it, baby
. “Fucking out.”

I reached the door but Halliday stopped me with a soft “stay”.

“Tell me about the whispers, Jack.”

Hand on the door handle, I glanced over my shoulder. “Huh?”

Halliday got to his feet, stretching his abnormally long body. “Those whispers that make you stand still and lose time, Jack.” He came a little closer. “In the hospital after you woke, after the rape, you shouted at the nurse for whispering. You did exactly the same with Craig after your first night here. You said ‘
Shut the fucking whispering up
’.” He came closer still, and time must have slipped, because I never saw him until he was up close, just felt the vibrations, like a fly and his kicking at a web, only this one knew exactly what came out with the struggles. “Who’s been whispering to you, Jack? Why are you scared to listen to them?”

The door handle was slippery under touch, and Halliday looked as though he was standing in a pool of light at the end of a very long tunnel, tall in body and arms, almost alien. His features were gone, lost to the shadows so only his outline said that he was there. Distant, so fucking distant, and whispers. Closing my eyes, I tilted my ear to try and catch it. There. Just a gentle breeze against my ear, slight brush of air against my lips. Black eyes smiling, but the lack of feeling making it as alien as Halliday’s look as... Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall—“Time out.”

My voice cracked, breath now short, sharp; hands clawing at the door.

“Jack—”

“Mercedes.
Mercedes fucking Benz. Mercedes fucking Out
—”

The door finally gave, and someone behind it was pushed aside as I bolted. Shouts followed me, but I didn’t know whether they were mine just trying to catch up with me. Two male orderlies were knocked out of the way as I made it to the fire exit. Twice I nearly broke the bar off that was stopping me from getting out, but twice it didn’t work, and I cried out, needing something to stop the slipping. I could feel life fucking slipping away.

Throwing a fist at the door, then staggering back, holding my wrist, I took the stairs two at a time and tried to hide away from the blackness that threatened to spit me out amongst the debris once it lifted. Whatever was threatening to shake loose, I didn’t want to know.

“Jack?”

Forehead pressed hard against the wall, fingers digging into soft padding, I cried out into the security of the seclusion room, needing quiet, needing control. Sweat pinned my T-shirt to my shoulders and back and I struggled to find the memories on how exactly I’d gotten here.

“Craig,” I murmured quietly, “you really need to fuck off now, mate.” That pull into blackness took any light from the padded room, leaving whispers scurrying in the corners that nearly had me jerking around and looking over my shoulder to try and find them. “Please. Just give me fucking time out. Time out. Mercedes. ’Cedes Benz...”

“Can you feel it coming, Jack?”

“Fuck.” I groaned and pressed my forehead harder into the wall. Halliday. He was there, behind me, not close, just... there, all long limbs, alien feel, strange whispe—“Time out.
Fucking stop
.”

“Who’s whispering, Jack?”

Twice I thumped the wall, twice it hurt like fuck, and twice I cried out hurt.

“If it wasn’t Gray behind sending those videos,” Halliday said quietly. “If it wasn’t Gray responsible for arranging all of the video equipment, the manpower, the money behind setting up a warehouse to make it look like your home setting—if it wasn’t Gray behind Vince’s rape, who does that leave? Who’s been whispering? What are they asking you to do? They’re telling you to—”

“Come and get the spaghetti for me, Jack?”

Jack. Age 18

I looked back towards the kitchen, not catching it at first, then it came again.

“Jack—you listening? Come and get the spaghetti for me.”

Standing next to me now that he’d finished tugging up his fly as he came out from the bathroom, Mase sniggered as he followed my look back to where my old lady had called from. Steve sat in my old man’s chair, seeming to age from twenty-three to fifty in those few moments of claiming it. He was five years older than me and Mase, although he didn’t look it: thinner, almost ghost-like with how pale and thin he was. Mase was the opposite; carrying more of the Italian look than I did, and damn better accent, soft, flute-like in fluidity, but getting close to being fucked over because the words that accent carried were never as sweet or tempting as that tone.

“Go on, then,” he snorted at me, finally managing to stop messing with his fly. “Let’s see what a sweet pussy you are around your old lady, Jacky boy.”

I flicked a look at Steve. It was Cutter’s idea that Mase hang around today. Something to do with Mase’s dad owning a warehouse full of alcohol that distributed to most off licences, and Cutter was all for getting easy access to a job like that, only good ol’ Mase couldn’t see it. Cutter thought it would be interesting to see him hang around with me, said I needed another pet, but as fuckable as Mase was looks-wise, he was nowt but a stepping-stone, and a mouthy shit at that. Steve gave a nervous smile back, flicking a look at Mase.

“Sure,” I called through to my old lady, and again Mase snorted a chuckle.

“Really didn’t put Cutter’s crew down to being so... so...” He looked at Steve, me. “Sweet and pussy-like—”

I crushed a hand into his bollocks, shutting him up. Giving a little smile, I kissed at his cheek, just real gentle like. “Nice mouth. Use it again like that around my folks, I’ll find a way to fuck it shut. Clear?”

Mase tried to double, or stand his ground, one of the two, and took several deep breaths as his hands covered mine, his face red. But he barely risked a look up, and I liked that look on him. Half cowering, averting my gaze, looking over to Steve for help.

“Shush, pet.” I stroked a hand along his cheek. Mase looked damn good like that. He stopped shaking for a moment and glanced up.

Oh, the little fucker. Breathing wasn’t just heavy because it hurt. His dick was semi-hard against my wrist, and Mase pushed his hips in, asking for more. He went to speak, then blushed his gaze to the door as it came open.

“Jack.” My old man came in, tool box automatically going on the table under the bay window. My old lady would give him shit for it later, but for now, it found its usual place. The smell of WD-40 and grease drifted over, and his garage coveralls mapped out his day, job by job. “You?” Blue eyes narrowed in Mase’s direction. He was still doubled even though I’d taken a step back hearing the door go. “You boys okay? You staying in tonight, out of any trouble? I can order a takeaway.”

“You’re already marked for spaghetti bollock—” The typical
spaghetti bollocksnaise
, or
spag bollocks
, nearly came out then, but I curbed the swearing seeing my old man raise a brow. Yeah, I didn’t do swearing around him anymore, not since getting out of juvy, not since hitting him. “Mom’s doing spaghetti Bolognese.”

“Ah.” I got a painful look. “I’m out with you guys tonight, then, okay?” He mumbled something else, then—“How come I pick the only Italian woman who burns spaghetti bollocksnaise?”

I chuckled softly as he finished, then stopped, catching Mase’s glance. I made sure he damn well looked away before I spoke to my old man. “We’re off out to Steve’s,” I said, ignoring the shit by me. He seemed to like that I stumbled around my old folks, always giving that little blush, a flicker of a smile of soft lips. It was going to get him fucked and left for waste by the time Cutter was done with his old man’s warehouse, and it might just be me with how he was fucking about now. He offered nothing in the fight department in my eyes, had no balls that made him worth the fucking. He was too busy being effeminate and not trying to deny his sexuality, but there was a kick to how those eyes pleaded more to pain that made me look twice.

“Jack, I can’t reach this spaghetti myself, love,” came a call from the kitchen, and it earned an eye roll from my old man as he sat down and started tugging off his work boots. “Go on, Jack, help your mother and put the kettle on. Bloody thing broke at work today.”