The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (47 page)

As you can imagine, this all went on for some time. I won’t bore you with it. I wouldn’t be able to do it justice anyway. If you were a cancer patient, and then found out you were terminal, you’d at least have had some inkling, even if it didn’t really prepare you. Or if you were waiting for test results, or had found a lump, or a badly misshapen and sore mark on your skin. But to find out you had mere days to live, with no prior warning ... I can’t put it into words. I can’t even try. Wait ... there is one, actually. Regret. There was a lot of that.

Eventually, after going through a million things in my head, I thought of Henry, and something snagged on that thought and wouldn’t let go, kept going back to it even when my thoughts tried to move on to the children I’d never had, the ones I’d never wanted but now seemed like the biggest opportunity lost. And as I kept going back to Henry, Henry, even in my worst moment of despair the edges of an idea began to form. I didn’t like it, and at first I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it—it was an idea no more frightening than knowing the Stone Man was coming for me—but as the hours passed, and my tears began to dry as practicality took over, I kept going back to it, knowing it to be right and letting it take hold.

I went downstairs. Made a cup of tea. As I drank it with shaking hands, the whole thing would hit me all over again and I would burst into tears once more, but they were brief. I was still beyond terrified, and I still desperately hoped that there might be another way, but I knew there wasn’t, and the determination that slowly grew in me made me functional if nothing else. I think ... if I’d been happy before ... it would have been harder, harder to move it aside and work ... but ... if I’m honest ... when I looked at my life ... I don’t know. I was tired. Always tired. But I still didn’t want
that.
Either way, the added pressure of time gave me no choice but to get on with things; and as I’ve said before, practicality has never been too much of a problem for me. If I couldn’t get my head around my own impending death, then I wouldn’t try. I would get on with things. I found that I could do that.

The first thing to do was to get hold of Paul. And that was not going to be a pleasant phone call.

***

Time’s nearly up, I reckon. D’you know, I think I’ve drunk myself sober. I never thought that was really possible, but then I think the current … situation might have more to do with it than anything else. I still haven’t even had long enough to truly get my head around it, but then, I’ve been doing my best to think about anything else. I mean … well … anyway … not yet. Not yet.

Just enough time to finish this version of events off, yes? Jesus, how long have I been here? All day, I think. I’ve lost track of time, and
that
will be the booze. I’m trying to think what time they arrived … the last two times there was about eight hours in between the arrival and the time they began to walk. Big stone motherfuckers. Bastards … you’d think I’d remember what time they turned up, as that was the moment that proved me right. As soon as the Blues came back again, they proved that I was right about the reason they were here.

***

I knew he wouldn’t answer at first. He hadn’t been doing so for weeks, but I was working on a hunch that, if he’d been going through the same as me—and I thought that he would have been—if I rang his phone enough, he’d have to at least pick it up to turn it off, as the sound would have driven his nerves crazy. I knew that from experience. The idea was that he’d see my number and maybe pick up. Unfortunately, his mobile was already off, going straight to answer phone. I had his home number as well, but no idea if he was still even living there, especially with an upcoming divorce. Still, I had no other options; after this it was a drive to Sheffield.

As the ringing sound came down the line, I was halfway relieved; if he was there, he at least hadn’t unplugged it from the wall. Seven back-to-back but unsuccessful calls later, I began to have severe doubts. I decided to try three more before setting off in the car, but he finally picked up on the next ring. It was immediately clear that the fear still had him, that he hadn't connected and broken its hold.

“
Leave me alone!
” hissed the voice on the other end. It was choked and hoarse, the desperate tone of a madman. I struggled to hear anything of the man I knew in there. “
You fucking bastard, leave me alone, I just want—
”

“Paul, Paul, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Andy,” I said, interrupting and trying to sound as calm as possible, even though inside I was anything but. It almost seemed pointless, calming him down to give him such awful news, but if I was going to tell him, I wanted him to be in his own mind. He deserved that much. “I know you’re freaking out, but I just need you to listen to me, okay? I know what’s wrong, and I can stop you feeling that way.”

“
Andy?
” said the stranger’s voice on the other end, cracking with emotion at the sound of a friend’s voice. I didn’t know how long I had until that temporary relief twisted into suspicion and fear, turning on me as if I were an intruder, so I knew I had to be quick. “
Andy, what’s happening? Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t … I can’t stop feeling …
”

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you,” I said in my best soothing voice, and trying not to lose my barely maintained self-control at hearing such a big man as Paul turned into a whimpering wreck. “I need you to stop for a moment for me and think, okay?”

There was no reply from the other end of the phone, except for the slightly distant sound of sobbing. It was awful to hear, but this was purely a courtesy call—no, more than that, a call made out of
respect …
and even friendship—and I couldn’t listen to that for too long or I would lose all my resolve.

“Paul, I need you to listen. Come on. Please. I’ll stop you shaking.” I said it as softly as I could, but I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my own voice. I could feel my own, real fear threatening to creep back in, and I pushed on, head and hands feeling cold and strangely light.

“
Help me …
” the voice on the other end of the line whispered, and I nodded even though there was no one in the room with me.

“All right, Paul, I will. I need you to try something for me. You remember what it felt like? In your head, do you remember what it felt like when you tried to lock in with the Stone Men?”

The was a brief pause, then a sniff and a whimpered sound that was in the affirmative.

“Okay. I need you to try to do that in your head for me now,” I said, as if talking to a child. I felt sick doing it. “Okay? I know there’s no pull, but I need you to try to feel for it, just like you did before. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

There was again silence on the phone. It went on for longer this time, almost to the point where I was no longer certain that Paul was still there. I began to wonder whether he was able to do it at all; he’d needed me, after all, to find Patrick’s signal, but I’d thought that he would lock in without trouble now that he was the target. Correction, now
we
were the targets. I was going to speak again, and then suddenly I heard a yelp on the other end followed by the sound of the receiver hitting the floor. I heard a series of cries, and what was possibly the sound of stumbling feet, followed by silence again. He’d done it. He’d been in and out, the fear effect had short-circuited the same way that it had with me. Now his mind was his own, and he knew that he was going to die.

I sat down on the floor, sighing and rubbing my temples, and waited. Now I knew that Paul was back in himself, I didn’t know how he’d react. He’d been hysterical before, but that had been inflicted by an outside influence. Now it was just him. A good two or three minutes must have passed, and still there’d been nothing from the other end. If he’d passed out, I thought, then I had no idea when I’d be able to speak to him. I couldn’t make the phone ring again to wake him up if it wasn’t on the hook.

Eventually though, his voice came back.

“Andy?” he asked, softly. His voice was calmer now, but still hoarse. And scared.

“Yeah.”

“Did you … have you …”

“Yep.” My lip trembled, but I would not let it give way.

“Oh
Andy
… oh fuck …”

“I know. I know.” I had to give a big, snorting breath inwards to hold it all in. If he wasn’t giving in to tears, then neither would I.

“What …” His voice was barely audible now. “
What are we gonna do?
”

“Well … probably not a good idea to book any holidays, eh?” I said, the words coming from nowhere, but had to bite back a giggle that threatened to turn into hysteria.

“What are we … what are we …” babbled Paul, and this was the worst part to hear. This was him. This was coming from the real Paul. “Straub. We … we’ll call Straub.” His voice had brightened slightly, his words coming out almost in a jumble as he clung to something that looked like hope.

“Probably the worst person to call, buddy,” I said with a deep, pained sigh, putting my fingers on my eyelids, and realised that maybe I wasn’t being fair. I’d had more time to get used to the idea than Paul had—not much, admittedly, but when time was against us like this, my adjustment had taken a comparatively long period—and I was wired differently than he was, after all. And he’d not been in the best way
before
any of this. “I think we both know what her solution would be.”

“
Jesus
…” said Paul, his voice muffled, and I thought he was talking with his hand over his mouth. There was silence for a minute or so, and then Paul spoke again. “We stayed in too long, didn’t we,” he said, his voice low and resigned. “They saw us.”

“Maybe, maybe,” I replied. “I think they probably would have spotted us anyway. We were on their frequency, after all.” I felt a burst of anger, and kicked at the nearest kitchen cupboard door. It came off its hinges with a bang, and I suddenly threw the mug I was still holding at the wall, where it exploded. It wasn’t fucking
fair
, and I wanted to destroy the whole place, but I couldn’t allow myself to do that. I had things to do. I took a deep breath and went back to the phone.

“What the fuck was that?” gasped Paul, startled.

“Sorry … me. Just … expressing my … distaste.”

“Don’t do that, I’m pretty fucking wired right now, you arsehole!”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No … no it’s okay. Jesus, if you don’t have an excuse now ... then when do you?” Then silence descended once more. I had no idea what to say. What could I tell him? What was I ringing to actually say? I hadn’t even thought about it, I just wanted to give him his dignity back and … what? Pay my respects? Then I realised that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to give Paul my respect.

“Look … I don’t know what you’re going to do, Paul,” I said, quietly, feeling a strange sense of calm and purpose settle into me, I had never experienced its like before. “But I’m going to … take care of things. Early. Do the right thing here, you know? Try to stop people getting hurt.”

“Uh-huh,” said Paul’s voice down the line. His voice was shaking again.

“Bit easier when you’re saving the day by giving up other people, eh?” I said, and then the tears came and I couldn’t stop them, and Paul joined me. This went on for some time, but there was no shame in either of us.

“Look, look,” I managed to say when we’d calmed down as much as could be expected, “I just … I wanted to say that, what you do is up to you, and I won’t judge you, or anything like that, okay? I just wanted to say that you’re a good bloke, and … none of the other stuff was your fault, all right? You were doing the right thing.” The words were clogged and barely audible, more like squeaks than the manly tone I would have liked, but he understood me.

“Yes, yes,” Paul gasped back. “You … too. You’re a good guy Andy, I-I like you and you’re a good guy.” I chuckled briefly, a grim, short bark then sent a small bit of spit flying across the room.

“I’m not, you know,” I said, shaking my head sadly, “I’ve not really tried too hard to be one, either. I don’t really like people, I’m think I’m pretty shallow, and all I’ve ever really thought about—not totally, I’m not Hitler, for fuck’s sake, but most of the time—is getting ahead. And …
ahh,
Jesus, some other stuff, and I’m sorry for all that, I really am …” I trailed off, trying to think of the best words to describe the intentions that I’d only recently found, the sense of … fucking
dignity
that came with it. “But this … this I think I can do.” That calm feeling embraced me, a melancholy but firm resignation that told me I could be, for the first time in my life, certain about a course of action. “This is a good thing. This last thing … this is a good thing. And I’m the one doing it. I’m not fucking happy about it, but … this is something
worthy.
I don’t know if that makes sense to you.”