“He’s really into all this, isn’t he?”
“It’s more than part of the job to him, it’s his hobby too. It’s all he ever thinks about.”
“We have to get him and my grandmother talking. I think between them, they might come up with some interesting ideas on what we’re dealing with here.”
Anne wiped the wet streak from her face.
“I’ll keep an eye on things out there,” said Joe. “Go to him. The man looks rough. I think he could do with some comforting.”
Anne shook her head.
“Better he be left alone a while, to gather his thoughts. It’s not just the weirdness of the situation, it’s the situation
itself
. He likes being in control, and gets upset when he feels challenged by some outside influence. It’s why he’s been a bit snappy tonight, for which I apologise again.”
“Forget about it, we’re all tense, it’s understandable.”
“Yes, but with him, it’s much more. He’s tried to stay in control, but it’s all slipping away so fast.
I
even thought it was all nonsense when Jenny and Jake came bursting in, babbling something about a machine that walked, but I’ve seen other things since then, touched the impossible. I’m coming to terms with it.” She bent down and stared through the hole again. “You need to deal with it to survive, and protect the ones you love. But Frank’s taking the transition hard. Give him time to think, he’ll come around. Until then, we’ll just have to keep an eye on him and help him along.”
6.
Frank heard them talking in the living room, about him he supposed, or the gathering army in Penny Crescent. If they were talking about him, Anne had better watch that mouth of hers. Sometimes she had trouble remembering where the line lay.
Let her talk
, he thought.
I can always shut her up if need be.
He picked up the coffee pot, and from the ease it raised into the air, guessed it had emptied. He lifted the top and peeked inside. Apart from a trickle of dark brown liquid with black specks, the pot had been completely drained.
His blood seemed to wail for caffeine. He imagined an alcoholic walking into a pub or a smoker trying to quit the habit, sniffing a cigarette in passing.
I need some fucking coffee.
He dropped to his knees in front of a low cupboard and feverishly sorted through the assorted jars and cans. He spotted some instant coffee sitting at the back and fished it out. It wasn’t the best coffee in the world: a supermarket’s own brand, probably worse than the foul tasting shit they had in the school staffroom. Still, this was an emergency. The instant stuff might not be as good as ground, but it would be down his throat a lot sooner.
He flicked on the kettle and tipped a generous amount of the brown granules into a mug.
Something hissed, and the spoon jerked in his hand.
Four saucepans sat on the hobs of the cooker, filled with boiling water. One of the bubbling torrents had splashed over the side, and the small amount of boiling water had turned to steam as it fell onto the electrical hob. He considered using some of the water for his coffee.
The distraction had pulled Frank from his caffeine-craving state, and now he truly studied the kitchen since he’d entered.
He noticed the barbecue forks sticking out from under the grill, and the array of kitchen utensils and cleaning sprays lined up along the work surfaces.
“Jesus…” he whispered to himself.
Reaching up, he pulled the curtains open, revealing the tabletop nailed up against the glass.
He rubbed his eyes.
Look at this place!
he thought.
What the hell have they done to my beautiful kitchen?
His hands on the worktop brushed the handle of a large butcher knife. He grasped the handle and lifted the blade up to his face. His distorted reflection filled the shiny metal.
His hair, normally combed and neat, hung to his head in matted clumps about a slicked forehead. The small cut from his slip in the bath had turned an ugly brown. His eyes were sullen, framed by crevices of wrinkles, aging his appearance another ten years.
Frank threw the knife down and noticed his shirt hung half open. Sweat stains had spread under each arm.
He placed his hands over his face and listened to the kettle begin to heat up.
How can this happen over a few short hours?
His mind reeled.
My house. My tidy, ordered house! And me. Look at the state…
Upstairs, boarding the windows and checking on the kids, he had something to occupy his brain. He pushed all this unpleasantness to the back of his mind and concentrated on the job at hand. It proved some much welcomed focus; something that had lightened his mood. Not a lot, but some. Now finished, the waiting would begin. The chaos of the situation crept back, draining his new found clarity and plunging him into some kind of instant depression.
His hand shook and he dropped the spoon.
Am I going nuts? Can insanity set in so quickly?
His mind wandered back to his argument with Quackenbush in the physics stockroom a few days ago. He realised how badly he’d lost his temper and saw Quackenbush’s round face, and his little piggy eyes fill with fear.
Probably thought I was going to hit him
, Frank thought.
I should have, too.
But his memory took a sharp turn. He saw himself falling to the floor, shuddering as something popped in his brain. His temper had caused an embolism, or a stroke. He lay writhing on the stockroom floor, Quakenbush gazing down with grave concern as the kids in his class began their song:
-Relax, don’t do it…fuck them! Fuuuck theeeem!-
That’s it
, Frank thought.
Anne always said that my temper would be the death of me. I might not be dead yet, but I might be in coma. That sounds right. A coma where I dream of monsters made of mouths, and hundreds of eyeballs on legs, and arseholes that come into your house. These are visions as my brain flashes its last, all part of an over reactive imagination.
He laughed, strangely squeaky.
That’s rubbish
, he thought.
Physics teachers have no imagination!
“Ha ha har!”
The kettle clicked off.
He poured boiling water into the mug, picked up the spoon and stirred the coffee. He lifted the steaming mug to his lips and took a deep slurp, wincing as the hot coffee scalded his tongue and throat.
The fog of his mind cleared a little. He enjoyed another painful mouthful.
Frank looked down to his free hand. His shakes had subsided.
To think that coffee gives some people the shakes.
He drank the mug empty in seconds and immediately spooned more granules into it.
At least this is only temporary
, his quieting thoughts suggested.
It’ll probably be over by morning. People will come, they have to. We aren’t in the middle of nowhere. This is an English suburb for fuck’s sake! He won’t be able to wait until daylight. Him and his whole bloody circus will be gone by dawn.
The thought satisfied him. In the morning, he could return the house to its proper state, end his mutually beneficial truce with McGuire and get his wife to respect him again instead of disagreeing with his every goddamn word.
I might be stood in the dark now
, he thought,
but morning brings light, the light at the end of the tunnel. That’s what I can focus on, that’s what will keep me sane.
He buttoned his damp shirt up to his throat, the way he wore it in his classes, and raked his steady fingers through his hair.
Better
, he thought.
He reached for the kettle.
Pain sharp as a dagger slid into his forehead, straight through to the tender grey matter beneath.
He squealed and clamped his hands to his temples as agony swept through his skull like a cloud of needles.
Well good evening, Mr Harper!
Frank’s eyes, filling with tears, scanned the kitchen in panic.
“Who…who’s there?” His voice strained. He pressed his hands tighter, creating a clamp-like pressure on his head.
Don’t bother trying to look for me, good sir! Unless you possess the ability to see through walls, which I strongly doubt.
“You!” Frank growled through the pain, recognising the soft tone and precise delivery of each word. “How…the fuck…did you…get in?”
Don’t worry, Frank. Your efforts to keep me out have not been in vain. You have all been quite busy haven’t you? Regardless, I’m still outside, stood on the other side of this window in fact. I’ve been waiting for one of you to get close enough, close enough to almost touch…
“Stop this! It…hurts…”
We’ve been here before, remember? Begging doesn’t work, dear boy. Speaking of our last conversation, might I mention the relief I feel with the layer of glass and wood that separates me from your temper?
The Collector laughed. To Frank, it felt like a stream of fireworks going off in his mind.
“What…do you…want?”
Ah, the question of the moment! You know what I want: the mana, of course. I won’t go until I get it. You do all know that, don’t you?
He’s been listening to my thoughts
, Frank realised through the haze of pain.
All that nonsense about my sanity, the idea that all this was a stroke-induced hallucination: that was his doing!
The Collector spoke.
No, sir. Don’t go blaming the weakness of your own mind on yours truly. I’ve not been here that long.
Another sweep of agony. Frank thought a scalpel had sliced across his hairline.
“Stop this now! Anne…?”
Anne can’t help you.
The clarity of the voice was amazing. It was like he was stood right next to him
. None of them can. The only thing that can save you is the mana. The moment it returns to my possession, I will leave you be.
“I don’t know…what you’re talking about!”
I know you have no idea what the mana is, Frank. Your mind is like an open book to me, and not a particularly good book at that. I would explain what the mana is, but I don’t think your simple human brain would last that long.
“If I know nothing…let me go! Me and…and my family…we’re no…use to you!”
Oh, but you are. Maybe you can get some information for me. Someone in there must know at least where the mana has gotten to by now. I blame myself for not having enough time to probe some of them further. Especially the old woman, Eleanor. She knows more than I gave her credit for…
“Then take her! Leave…us.”
A long string of saliva trickled from Frank’s mouth and hung over his chin. It bounced up and down with his quivering jaw like a bungee rope.
It’s nearly game over for your brain, Frank. I’d better make this quick.
Frank groaned. The kitchen swam before his eyes, shimmering like the horizon on a hot day. The colour began to drain away, and the pain subsided as numbness set in.
I know that none of this is your fault. You’re a good man, really. Despite out little misunderstanding earlier, I can see you’re the brains of the operation, the leader, the commander.
Frank collapsed against the work top.
The Collector spoke quickly, although his pronunciation was still razor sharp.
I had a little look around in young McGuire’s head earlier. I would never have guessed, Frank! You wife was there. Naked, writhing, soaked in sweat. The things she was doing with him; quite a dark horse, isn’t she?
With his consciousness fading fast, Frank shook his head.
“No…not been…near him…lying…”
Not yet, that’s all I’m saying. It was his desires I found, Frank. Surely you’ve noticed the way he looks at her? Maybe this will help…
Frank jerked as memory was pulled from his head without consent. It showed Anne in the kitchen a mere hour ago, falling into Joe’s waiting arms.
That’s right, Frank. Watch him, watch him…
7.
“Frank?” said Anne. “Are you okay? You look awful.”
He leaned over the work top, knocking some of the utensils to the floor.
The water boiled in the pans beside him, and Anne ran forwards, worried he might fall and topple them.
His face glistened with a mixture of tears and sweat, and he stared at her with red, puffy eyes. His hands trembled.
“Frank?”
She put a hand to his shoulder. He flinched and jumped back.
“Please,” he whispered, “give me some time.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said.
“Stop arguing with me,” he hissed. “This is still my house, and if I want sometime alone, I’ll have it.”
Anne bit her bottom lip and backed up. The man who’d beaten her, intimidated her over and over again, had slipped away, leaving this nervous wreck.
She opened the fridge and removed a bottle of white wine. It was half full, and a metal stopper protruded from the neck.
“You don’t mind do you?” she asked, shaking the bottle towards him. “It’s gone quiet out there. The Prowlers don’t seem to be doing anything, just standing around. A little drink might calm our nerves.”
“Go ahead, as long as I can get a little while on my own to gather my thoughts.”
“You know where we are if you change your mind and fancy a little drink.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, raising a shuddering hand and patting the kettle.
She approached him and kissed him quickly on the cheek. He stood his ground and received it.
“Maybe you should ease up on the coffee. It’s giving you the shakes.”
The instant the words slipped through her lips, she realised her mistake, and met the cold glare from her husband.
He tried to stand, but fell back against the cupboards.
“Go,” he gasped, “if you know what’s good for you…”
His quivering fingers closed into a tight fist.
Unwilling to risk another beating, Anne turned and with her head hung low, walked out of the kitchen.