The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (10 page)

I didn’t turn around, and continued to toy with the sausages whilst I waited for a response. Nothing … but I knew they were looking at each other. I thought I might as well continue.

“I’d be willing to wager that if you called some more people—and I’d recommend that you do—you’d get a few more reports of other people freaking out in some way. In fact, I reckon there’s probably going to be so many people experiencing it together that it’ll be news in itself pretty soon. And then you’ve got to look at the odds of one incredible thing, previously unseen in human history, happening on the same day as these other, previously unrecorded, simultaneous physical episodes being unrelated? Not likely. And you have to think that one is causing the other … and the statue came first. It’s sending something out, and whether it’s deliberate or not, it’s causing people problems.” I found myself sitting through another lengthy pause from the two of them, so much so I got a little annoyed
. Fucking work with me here, will you? What the hell do YOU think?

I turned off the stove and turned to them, surprised to see their heads turning up from the floor in order to look up at me. They’d been staring at the lino, lost in thought. I held up my hands, and looked from Laura to Shaun, waiting. Shaun spoke first.

“Hang on, though … that doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Well … I mean … imagine being in a pub when something like that happened to everyone at once? Or a bus? Or a beer garden, today of all days, when they would have been rammed ’cos of all this sun? And that’s happening everywhere, up and down the country? You think that wouldn’t be all over Twitter immediately, or Facebook? This would have been national news after the first time, and loads of people would have drawn the same conclusion as you. I mean, I’d kind of started to wonder about a similar thing myself once we knew Laura's sister had gone off at the same time, but you, y’know, you just fleshed it out a bit quicker. Anyway, you’re thinking like an old-school newspaper guy. Social media gets the news out faster,” he finished with a grin, probably thinking he’d made a charming joke but not knowing he’d actually just put my back up slightly. I was beginning to see how someone as nice as Shaun might get on your bad side after a while ... and maybe Laura’s in particular. Either way, he had a point. This would have been all over the place if everyone was getting it at once.

“Okay, fair point,” I said, holding up a loaf of bread that someone had left on the sideboard, and raising my eyebrows at Laura. She nodded, and gave a thumbs-up. I pulled out two slices from the packet, and gingerly fished the hot sausages out of the pan as I spoke to Shaun. “In that case, not
everyone’s
getting it then. Not enough to set ‘social media’ buzzing,” I said, hoping that Shaun had noticed the scorn I’d put in my voice on that last bit. He didn’t seem to.

“Ketchup’s in the fridge,” he said, helpfully.

“Thanks,” I said, annoyed further now by Shaun but not showing it. “Plus, that even makes sense when you look at us. People are obviously getting it in different degrees, different ways. So it makes perfect sense that a lot of people won’t get it at all.” I felt that was a good riposte, but now it was Laura’s turn to poke holes in my theory.

“Okay,” she said, “but isn’t it a bit of a coincidence that three people who were affected by it were all in the same room at once? If this is to be taken as an example of a small, random selection of the population, this would still be enough to get people talking if you scaled that up across the country.” She crossed to the table and pulled out a chair herself, and as she did so I realised that she was the brains of this outfit. Not that Shaun was stupid; he wasn’t. But Laura had the edge in intelligence, I thought. “Okay, you could say that my sister and me having an ‘incident’ together makes sense as we have the same, you know, genes or whatever,” she continued, “but Shaun doesn’t. And you don’t.”

“Well who knows?” I said, realising that she had a point and trying to think of a way to counter it. “Maybe … maybe it’s because we’ve been closest to it? I mean, as in, in this city where it started? And if Shaun hadn’t been in Coventry, maybe he would have been in the unaffected pack. But you work in the city centre, don’t you?” I said, addressing Shaun.

“Yep.”

“Well, there you go.”

“No,” said Laura, shaking her head in a slightly patronising manner, giving me a mild urge to slap her, “because everyone in a town centre all having some kind of physical fit at once is still major news. Doesn’t work.”

“Fine,” I said, gritting my teeth ever so slightly, “maybe it’s something else. Any suggestions?” Her silence was deeply satisfying.

“I’ve got one,” said Shaun, leaning back in his chair so he could reach the fridge door. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of wine. “One way or the other, this is all some crazy shit, and it’s been a fair old headfuck of a day. Darling?” he asked, grinning at Laura. She smiled back, and with that, everything was all right between them for the time being.

“Hell yes,” she said, and he laughed and went to get some glasses out of the cupboard.

“Andy?” he said, holding one out to me. “Top up?”

“No thanks,” I said shaking my head and forcing a smile for Shaun’s benefit. Inside, my mind was racing, trying to make sense of it, and turning over that image of the blonde-haired man’s blurry face. I wanted to sober up. I also wanted to eat, as I realised that I’d forgotten my sandwich. “I think it’s this sausage sandwich, then bed.”

“Nah, come on, sit and have a drink with us,” said Laura, cocking her head and tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You can talk more bullshit about weird stuff.” Shaun spilled half of the wine he was pouring as he burst out laughing, and Laura joined in. I smirked at the dig, but was distracted by the way she’d tossed her hair. That seemed a bit … theatrical, to my eyes. I told myself that I was reading into it, that it was the remaining booze talking, but that hadn’t been a casual gesture. That was forced. Trying to get a little ego boost out of the visitor, maybe, but subtle enough for Shaun not to notice? I mentally brushed it off and bit into my sandwich. It was hot, greasy, and wonderful.

“No more booze, and no more bullshit, but I will sit with mine hosts, cheeky as they may be,” I said, joining them at the table. “You’ll be laughing on the other side of your faces when I’m proved right,” I said, taking another bite and wagging my free finger.

“Oh, don’t sulk, Andy,” laughed Laura, leaning over and rubbing my hand. “You’re probably in the right ballpark, there’s just holes in it. The bottom line? Fuck it. There’s nothing we can do about it right now, the truth will come out sooner or later, and if it’s all giving us brain cancer then we can’t do anything except have a goddamn drink. It’s been a loooong week. Cheers, husband of mine,” she finished, taking her now full wineglass and holding it up to Shaun, who enthusiastically toasted it with his and tossed back a mouthful of booze. I held up my sandwich to acknowledge the toast.

“Can’t say I don’t see the logic in that statement,” I said, and then Shaun said something about the latest development in an ongoing saga down at the dealership where he worked, and they were away. I quietly sat and ate (half-listening to their conversation and nodding/laughing at the correct points) as my thoughts went between the face in my head, the Stone Man, and the way Laura’s fingers had brushed for too long against the back of my hand as she took hers away.

***

I woke up that night on their sofa to the smell of wine. I was still under the duvet that I’d been given, and had been surprisingly comfortable, passing out almost immediately after the couple—giggling and drunk after finishing the first bottle and moving on to the second—had said goodnight and disappeared upstairs to bed. But now I’d been woken up, and I realised straightaway that something was in the room with me. Whatever it was, it was close by. I shot upright—I’ve never been fully comfortable when alone in the dark, and I don’t understand how anyone can be—and immediately was greeted with a quiet
“Ssh!”

Both the sound and the rush of air that came with it, carrying the smell of wine towards me even more, told me that it was Laura. Her hand fumbled out of the dark and found my face, putting her finger clumsily across my lips.

“He sleeps like the dead,” she whispered, moving closer, “I even dropped a plate in the next room once, and he didn’t wake up. But just keep it down.”

“Laura? What the fuck?”

“Ssh, ssh. Just … just … don’t talk, okay?” I felt her weight settle onto the edge of the settee, her back to me for a moment, then felt her turn and swing a leg over my waist, straddling me. I was speechless. I could tell that she wasn’t wearing any kind of leggings, but not if she had underwear on or not. I could just about make out her silhouette in the dark; she still was wearing something on her top. Not naked, then.

“Laura … I … what the
fuck?
” I whispered, utterly stunned and only capable of repeating myself. There was a long silence, and I could hear her breathing. She didn’t move. I knew I should say something, right then, to stop this—she was drunk, and not just a little bit—but I could feel myself stiffening under the duvet, and my mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. I
wanted
this to happen. I am, and always have been, a realist. Perhaps a full minute passed, and then I heard her sigh slightly.

“You won’t be the first,” she said, sounding more assured. “He doesn’t …” She paused. “I saw the way you were looking at me.” She lay forward, pressing her breasts against my chest, and lifted her lower half up so she could move the duvet out from between us. Once she’d done so, she pressed her hips against mine, and let out a quiet breath. I just about lost it right there. It had been a while.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she said, breathing rapidly now, short breaths. “I’ll be gone early in the morning either way, and you don’t ever need to say anything. You don’t even really know him, do you? He’s not your friend.”

“He’s … he’s given me somewhere to stay …” It was feeble, it was pathetic, and it was no effort to stop it at all. I was trying to convince myself that I’d tried and was now being overcome by my own urges, but I think too much for that to be true. I knew exactly what I was doing.

You can judge me. I regret it, but if you gave me the chance to go back and make a different choice I’m not sure that I would change a thing. She kissed me, hesitantly at first, and then slipped her tongue deep into my mouth. When she spoke again, it was almost a whisper. She was scared.

“Tell me to stop. And I will.”

I didn’t.

***

The next morning, I awoke to find that she had been as good as her word; she’d left early. I have no idea if she was remorseful, or embarrassed over what she had done, as I never saw her again. I tell myself that if what she had said was true—that I wasn’t the first—then I doubt it. For my own part, I did feel guilty, terribly so, for I’d taken Shaun’s kindness and repaid it in the worst possible way, but what was done was done; there was no way in hell I was going to say anything to him about it. What would be the point? He would have been devastated, and to no good end. As far as I was concerned, I had to eat and get the hell out of there, leaving them to their lives and their sadly doomed marriage, and to make sure I never saw either of them again. I think of Shaun quite a lot lately. Though a little naïve, and often thoughtless, he was a good man, and possibly still is for all I know; it was a terrible, terrible thing that I did, and I comfort myself in these moments by thinking that if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else. At least I am self-aware (obsessed) enough to know that were I put in the same situation again, I would have done exactly the same thing. Why lie now? At the time, it had been a conscious decision.

Shaun was already up, though, in the kitchen. I assumed that he was oblivious to what had occurred, given that he hadn’t sliced my cock off as I slept. As I shuffled into the kitchen, buckling my belt and blinking my eyes to get them to wake up, I was dimly aware of a strange pulling sensation in my scalp. At the time, I was still half asleep enough to dismiss it as the remnants of a hangover. Shaun obviously wasn’t feeling too bright himself, hunched behind the paper—you can guess the headline—and raising a hand without looking up as I entered. I realised that it was Sunday, but was still mildly surprised to see him instead of a key and a note asking me to lock up. Shaun worked at a car dealership; Sunday could still be a workday. As if he’d been reading my mind, he spoke.