Die Tryin' (15 page)

Charlie spun round, but was faced with nothing, just his empty bedroom.

That crow like cackle reverberated in his mind again.
‘In no time, you’ll waste away like those rows and rows of disease victims we’ve got down here. You should see them, Charlie, lined up like battery chickens, their pathetic souls ebbing away into nothing, pleading for the doctors to stem the pain. It’s a sight to behold…

Why don’t you join them for a bit of fun, Charlie…’

Charlie clasped his ears, trying his best to block her out, but the sound was
in
his head, not outside it.

‘We’ve got them all down here, Charlie. Skulking around the wards. Like that pretty little thing from ’28. Found out her husband was unfaithful to her, and did she ever get her revenge… Slit his throat from ear to ear while he slept, and cut off his pride and joy. Made him swallow it to see how much
he
liked the taste of it.

Heh-heh-heh.’

That cackle went off again and Charlie stared at the ceiling, feeling the bile in the pit of his stomach stirring. ‘28? 19-
1928
?’ he stammered. ‘Exactly how old are you?’

‘I’m old, boy.

Old enough to have been forced into the death chamber along with girls and boys no older than ten. Forced to watch them choke on those poison fumes, tears of blood streaming down their cheeks moments before their eyeballs burst right out of their skulls. I tasted that poison at the back of my throat, and breathed it in deeply till it corrupted every cell in my wretched body.

Old enough to have been lost in the trenches with the boy soldiers, bombs erupting all around them, shattering their eardrums to bloody pieces. I watched them all fall to the ground, writhing in agony, unable to hear their own screams of pain.

Old enough to have seen the whores lined up along the banks of the Thames looking for business, Scold’s Bridles strapped to their pretty little faces by corrupt politicians and perverted priests, ready to torture their tongues if they dared stir the secrets of their liaisons, their forced silence keeping esteemed reputations safely intact…

That’s how old. Boy.’

Charlie rubbed his tearful eyes. ‘I wish you would leave me alone,’ he said in an anguished voice.

‘No, I won’t leave you alone. Even if you gouge your own eyes out, pop your own eardrums, or cut your own tongue right out of your mouth, you’ll still be able to hear me, and you know why? It’s because I am inside you. And by the time I’m done with you, boy, you’ll see and hear and feel all the things I suffered when I was alive. You’ll see them, hear them, and taste them all!’

‘Re, Charalambo!’
Charlie’s mum suddenly called from downstairs.
‘Ela na fais!’

Charlie’s head snapped to the side, and he began frantically scratching the back of his head. ‘I’ll come and eat later, mum!’ he shouted back.

He waited for an answer, but there was none. And that silence made him feel bad inside. He knew he wasn’t going to eat tonight or tomorrow night or probably even the night after that. He couldn’t eat with all this shit on his mind and the drugs in his body. All he wanted to do was shut the dreams, the images, and the voices down.

Especially the Dark Bitch.

‘Tsk tsk. Lying to mummy are we?’
she goaded.
‘Bad boy. Another strike on your record, murderer. Oh, you think I don’t know about that, hmm? You killed that little scrote Marco, and he’s angry. He’s down here on one of the wards… enjoying… the afterlife, and he’s tetchy, Charlie. Oh, yes…

He’s looking for you, and he’s a vengeful little so and so let me tell you…’

‘I
didn’t kill anyone,’ Charlie responded.

‘No, but you helped hide his body, didn’t you, scum? And you’ll carry that around with you forever! Take my word for it when I say it will eat your mind away like a worm. Chomp, chomp, CHOMP until there’s nothing left. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count. Seen it happen to much stronger souls than yours, Charlie.

It’ll eat you from the inside out…’
The Old Witch let out a small cackle as if she were looking forward to seeing her prophecy come to fruition.

‘Inside. (Slurp!) Out…’

Charlie tore himself away from the mirror, and threw open the drawer next to it. He rummaged through his socks and pants until he found what he was looking for. His stash was almost gone. He had one more speed bomb that would hardly be enough to see him through the night.

He went and grabbed his mobile phone, and dialled.

Come on, come on, come on…
his mind gibbered crazily, anxiety having consumed him.

Finally, a voice answered, and it brought with it the relief of a man stranded in the desert laying eyes on an oasis.

‘I need some more,’ was all he said. Then: ‘Okay. Usual place.’

He pushed ‘end call,’ and then grabbed his jeans, tee shirt and coat. He put them on as he ran downstairs and stormed out of the house, not bothering to say goodbye to his family who were at the dinner table. He didn’t want to answer any of their questions right then. All he wanted was more drugs.

He slammed the front door and then raced off to meet his dealer in their usual spot, the cruel voice of the Old Witch ringing in his mind like an air raid siren.

*****

Charlie got there before him.

He loitered in the alley behind the row of shops on the High Street like a true drug addict waiting for his fix, pacing left and right, biting his already chiselled nails. He mumbled stuff to himself, captured in the height of anxiety, just wanting it all to end. The whole Marco shit; the voices. Just wanted to shut them down.

The drugs would shut them down.

He checked his watch.
Bastard’s always late,
he thought bitterly to himself.
Always slow, always taking his time. Leaving me standing in this alley looking suspect, clucking for a fix, while the fat bastard takes his sweet time.
Charlie was surprised he hadn’t been nicked already for prowling, kerb crawling, or loitering with intent.

‘Only a matter of time though,’
he mumbled to himself.

Like the way the Old Witch had now gone back to wherever she came from, she would be back.

Only a matter of time.

A new voice had replaced her. Some vicious, foul-mouthed Greek bastard, ranting on about how the living are all pieces of shit, and should just die.
Must have been a very nice bloke when he was alive,
Charlie quickly realised. Probably one of those old Greeks that sit in the
cafines
up Green Lanes drinking Turkish coffee all day.
Zorba.
Yeah, that was a name that suited the old runt. Just came into his head like all the other monikers. Whatever and whoever he was, he didn’t want him around, wanted to shut
him
down as well.

He huffed impatiently. He went to get his phone out and call his dealer when a car horn beeped softly behind him. He spun round to see his man had finally arrived.

He pulled up next to where Charlie stood, and slowly stepped out of the car.

Charlie watched him with wide eyes, his arms outstretched. ‘You think I’ve got all day?’ he snapped.

‘I was busy when you rang,’ his dealer replied. He took a sly look round before he approached Charlie, his feet crunching on the grit beneath them.

‘When aren’t you fucking busy?’ Charlie asked, putting his hand out, folded up notes trapped between his middle and index fingers.

His dealer gave him a half smile. He took Charlie’s hand to shake it, replacing the folded up notes with a fat baggie of speed. Charlie looked down at the baggie. He nodded his head in appreciation. He pocketed the drugs before taking another sly look round him; his dealer glanced at the folded notes.

‘Amount of money I’ve given you over the years, I reckon I’ve more or less single-handedly paid for that thing,’ Charlie said, pointing at the souped up Ford XR2 in front of them. His dealer just stared back at him with that half smile still planted on his face, a knowing gleam in his eye. He turned away and headed back towards his car.

Just as he was about to get in, Charlie called him. ‘Hey, Nick!’

Nick XR2 glanced up.

Charlie stared at him for a few seconds with wide, frenzied eyes. ‘We’re all fucked, you know?’ he then said.

Nick XR2 ignored him, instead carrying on with that half smile. He got into his car, started up the engine, and drove away, leaving Charlie alone.

Charlie watched the XR2 disappear before he glanced up at the grey sky for a few seconds. He gave it an exasperated shrug.

He didn’t know what else he could do; felt helpless, totally lost and helpless.

He headed back home to get the drugs he had just purchased off one of his best friends into his body.

He couldn’t get back fast enough.

Nick XR2 couldn’t tolerate weakness of any kind. It repulsed him, made him angry.

He was driving through Tottenham on the way back from a delivery when Taki phoned. He pulled over and took the call, thinking it might be something important.

‘What’s up, Taki?’ he asked with an unenthusiastic tone.

‘Re, it’s no good, re, I’m…(sob)’

‘Taki? Are you
crying
?’

‘No! Yeah, no! Listen, I’m… I’m…’

‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘I’m trying to work it all out, re. I just can’t…’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake…’
Nick said, and rubbed his head. ‘Man up and get your shit together!’

‘I… I… I… just can’t cope…’

Nick huffed. ‘Where are you?’

‘St. Barnabas.’

‘All right. Wait there. I’m on my way.’ Nick pushed ‘end call.’

He didn’t like it.

Taki sounded shot to pieces. Obviously couldn’t handle what went down at the cemetery, and the subsequent burden they would all have to carry for the rest of their lives. But the compensation for that burden was a bulging wallet. Nick understood that, knew the rules of the game. Maybe he was more aware of that kind of thing than some others…

Nick knew he had to get these basic facts through to Taki, straighten him out, get his head together so that they could pull this thing off.
If any of them were weak, even a tiny bit…

The consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

He headed up the Seven Sisters reaching St Barnabas in good time. He pulled up outside. The large oak doors were open wide, the fluorescent lamps inside spilling light out onto the path leading up to them, the stain glass windows glowing lucid against the night sky. Nick gazed at them, and a shiver danced delicately up his spine. He killed the engine and stepped out of his car, a cold night breeze brushing against his skin, making it tighten. He folded up the collar of his three quarter coat and turned towards the church. It was imposing, looking down on him with the aura of a haunted house; the Amityville House of Horror. Taki was waiting inside, stressing out, probably pleading with God for forgiveness.
Well,
Nick reflected,
if anyone
was
innocent in all this shit, then it was Taki,
so to Nick’s mind, Taki had nothing to worry about. But Nick knew that the guilt, the fucking guilt that God and religion instilled in their followers was the killer, the controlling factor.

Some people just can’t live with the guilt…

And in Nick’s eyes, that made them weak.

He strode intrepidly up the small path to the church entrance, and crossed the threshold, suddenly feeling like he had just stepped back in time. The familiar intoxicating smell of old wood, dust, burnt wax, and vaporized incense that still lingered from who knew how long ago enveloped him, jogging his memory to times when he was a kid and was forced to church by his mum
,
and he realised at that moment just how much he hated being there. He wanted out ASAP.

He marched past the burning candles and the
ikones
plastered all around him like placards at a political Party convention, and looked down the aisle.

Taki was sitting near the front, his back facing him.

He was the only other person in the church and Nick was grateful for that; the conversation they were about to have wasn’t for prying ears. He walked down the aisle with a steady stride, his shoes clacking against the tiled floor and echoing around the hollow chamber. When that sound hit Taki’s ears, his head spun round; his eyes were wide and red, and Nick could see the prick was scared. Very fucking scared.

‘It’s you!’ Taki exclaimed.

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ Nick replied. ‘Who were you expecting, John the Baptist?’

Taki’s eyes turned dark and he squinted. ‘Don’t make jokes like that, Nick. Not here.’

Nick sighed and looked away. ‘Okay, okay. I take it back,’ he said, doing his
stavro
, and then holding his hands out to the side, seeking Taki’s approval.

‘Sit down. We’ve got to talk,’ Taki replied, turning back to face the front of the church.

Nick sat down on the bench behind Taki’s. He placed his interlocked fingers on the back of Taki’s bench, and waited for him to talk.

The silence that followed was excruciating, and Nick had to break it. ‘I didn’t see your car outside,’ he said.

‘It’s at the garage,’ Taki replied, still facing forwards. ‘Wouldn’t start this morning. Had to get the bus down here.’

Nick chuckled. ‘How ironic, eh?’

Taki didn’t respond and silence took over. And then Nick realised why. Taki’s jaw was moving, but no words were coming out of his mouth. He was praying. Nick noticed how his hands were trembling. He was wringing them over and over in his lap as if he were trying to wash invisible dirt from them.

‘…
or blood.’

The words startled Nick, and he found himself looking around.
‘What did you say?’
he asked Taki, a confused frown carved into his face.

‘We’ve got blood on our hands,
re,’
Taki said.

‘You and I don’t,’ Nick replied calmly. ‘Tony does.’

‘We’re in this together, Nick. That’s what you said, remember?’