chapter TWENTY-FIVE
ROYLE PARKED IN the next street and made his way on foot to Abby Hansen’s house. He’d already been briefed on the two-way radio, so he knew what was going on. Erik Best – a man he’d met and spoken with on several occasions – had gone crazy with a handgun and there was a full-on armed siege taking place in the Concrete Grove.
As he approached the property, flashing his ID at uniformed officers as he made his way through the police cordon, he saw members of the Armed Response Unit getting into position. A man with a high-powered rifle was visible on the roof of the house opposite; the rest of the team was dotted about at various points close to the house, their weapons trained on the front door and windows. There’d be at least a couple of officers at the back of the house, doing the same thing. It was all locked down tight; Erik Best was going nowhere apart from down.
Detective Superintendent Sillitoe himself came walking over when he saw Royle, raising a hand in greeting. The tall, thin man looked anxious. He never had been good with television crews, and there were a lot of cameras on the scene today.
“Sir,” he said, nodding.
“Glad you could make it, Royle. We have a... well, a situation here.”
“I’ve been briefed, sir. I know what’s going on.”
Sillitoe glanced towards the house and then back again, his eyes narrow and focused. “You know this man, Best?”
“I do, sir. I’ve dealt with him on a few occasions. He’s a local gangster – did time for GBH and assault, but we could never pin anything else on him. It’s a known fact that he runs bare-knuckle boxing bouts but not from anywhere around here. We think he has links to the drug fraternity, but again there’s no hard evidence. He’s Teflon, sir. The bastard always manages to stay out of our sights.”
“Okay, anything else?”
Royle paused, tried to remain calm. “The Gone Away Girls, sir.”
Sillitoe tensed, seeming to grow in height. “What about them, Royle. Don’t start all that shit again, please. Not here, not now.” His eyes opened wider, flashed.
“No, sir, you don’t understand. The last girl taken, before it all stopped... it was Best’s daughter, Tessa Hansen.”
“And the mother’s in there with him...”
“So I believe, sir.”
“F*ck. That’s all we need, to revisit another old mess.” He paused, looked again at the house. When he turned back to Royle, his features had softened. “Can I rely on you, Royle?”
“You know you can, sir.”
Sillitoe smiled. “Good... that’s good. Let’s try to keep any mention of the Gone Away – of that case – to ourselves.” His lips curled, as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. “The press are all over this to begin with. Armed sieges, hostage situations... flavour of the f*cking month, especially after that Moat business last year over in Rothbury. The bastards can’t seem to get enough of this ‘mad gunman’ shit.”
“Yes, sir. I know.” He stared at Sillitoe’s face, trying to read the man’s thoughts. But that was impossible; nobody could read Detective Superintendent Sillitoe. That was what made him so good at police force politics, why he’d risen so far and so quickly through the ranks, despite being such a piss-poor detective.
Royle was about to add something more when he heard the gunshot.
The sound was followed by a commotion: bystanders hit the deck, police officers ran around trying to look as if they had some kind of control over the situation, members of the Armed Response Unit hunched over their weapons, awaiting the order to fire at will.
Sillitoe moved quickly behind the nearest vehicle, protecting himself. Royle moved away, taking the opportunity to give his superior officer the slip. He’d been told to come here, he was meant to be on site, right in the middle of the action. He didn’t need any distractions. He just wanted to get to the heart of the matter and rip it out, still beating if necessary.
“Royle!” The voice came from an upper storey window.
He stopped walking, turned, and looked up at the front of the house. He could see a figure partially obscured by a bedroom curtain.
Looking around, he saw an officer cowering nearby with a bullhorn in his hand. He jogged over there and grabbed it, hitting the switch and causing a whine of feedback. He put the apparatus to hips lips, took a breath, and spoke:
"Best? Yes, it’s me, DS Royle. You remember me, don’t you?”
A pause... nobody on the street dared to speak.
“Yeah, I know you. I’ll speak to you... only you.” Another pause; the man was thinking things through, examining his options. “Get up here now, or I’ll kill the woman and the kid.”
Royle stopped himself from responding immediately. This didn’t make sense.
“The kid?” His voice echoed. “Let me get this straight. There’s a child up there with you, Best?”
“Yeah, a f*cking kid... or so it wants us to believe. Come up now or they’re both dead. I’m not f*cking around. The time for all that’s gone. This is serious. This is where it all ends, Royle.”
Royle did not wait for confirmation from his superior officer, nor did he look at anyone as he stalked across the street and pushed open the gate. He walked up to the door, waited, and listened. He heard someone coming down the stairs, heavy-footed, and moving along the hallway. He couldn’t make out details through the stippled glass panel in the door, but it didn’t look like Erik Best.
There was the rattle of a bolt in its slot. The door opened an inch; the security chain tautened, made a faintly musical noise. A woman’s battered face peered through the gap.
“Miss Hansen?”
She nodded.
“Miss Hansen... Abby, are you okay?”
The more he saw of her face the more worried he became. She was cut and bruised, with what looked to be a broken nose and a shattered cheekbone. Both of her eyes were swollen almost shut.
“He hurt me... he’s got a gun.” Her voice was dull; she struggled to make the words clear through her beaten face. “He’s halfway up the stairs... if I try to run, he said he’ll shoot me in the back.”
Royle nodded. The decision was made.
“Let me in.”
She shut the door. He heard her pawing at the security chain, trying to release it from its catch. Then the door opened again, wider this time; just enough for him to step inside. She moved to the side, and once he was through the doorway, she slammed the door and replaced the chain, slid the bolt back into place. She was shaking. The unfocused look in her eyes made it seem like she’d just woken up from a long sleep and was still only half awake, still caught up in the wild webbing of dreams.
“This way,” said a voice from further along the hall. “Come here, where I can see you. And keep your hands away from your body.”
“I’m unarmed,” said Royle, moving slowly forward. “I’m not a firearms officer, anyway. I would probably shoot myself in the foot if I started waving a gun around. How about you?”
“Don’t worry about me. I know how to use this thing.”
Royle could not see the bottom few stairs of the main flight. As he drew closer, he saw a pair of feet, then legs, and finally a torso.
“Keep coming,” said Erik Best. He held the gun out, away from his body. The tip of the barrel was angled slightly downwards, but it was pointed vaguely in Royle’s direction. “No quick moves.”
Royle was aware of Abby Hansen standing with her back to the wall. She slid along the hallway cautiously, focusing all of her attention on the man who was standing halfway up the stairs.
“Okay, start climbing. We can talk up here, on the first floor, so we’re well out of the way of your mates out there.”
Royle nodded. “That’s fine, Erik. I’m here for you... all for you. We can talk about whatever you want.” He kept his hands held out, away from his body, the palms turned towards the man with the gun. “I want to find a peaceful conclusion to this. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt – and that means you, too. Let’s see if we can get everyone here out alive, yeah?”
Best shook his head slowly, a grim smile on his face. “We’re all already dead, marra. Don’t you see? This is a hell, and we’re all trapped here, in this hell. Like demons or ghosts... we can’t ever leave again. We’re haunting this place... haunting it...”
He’s insane, thought Royle as he started to climb the stairs. He’s lost his f*cking mind. He moved slowly, carefully. He didn’t reach out to grab hold of the banister, preferring instead to keep his hands up at waist level, showing that they were empty. He could hear Abby Hansen mounting the bottom step behind him. Her breathing was heavy. She whimpered quietly, but just the once and for only a second or two.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, keeping his gaze fixed dead ahead and hoping that only she could hear him. “Stay calm.”
“Shut the f*ck up and get your copper arse up here.” The gun barrel twitched, pointing directly at him. “She doesn’t need to hear you. She doesn’t need to hear anything.”
“Okay, okay... hold your horses. I’m coming. Like I said, I’m here for you. We can sit and talk, you and I, and see what we can organise.”
Slowly, Best moved backwards up the stairs, taking one riser at a time. He placed his feet carefully as he went, so there was no danger of him stumbling and falling no matter how hard Royle wished for it to happen. The man might, indeed, have lost his mind, but he was aware of his surroundings and seemed intent on having his way.
When he reached the top of the stairs, Royle followed Best along the landing to an open door. Best stood to the side, flicking the gun as if he were chasing off flies. “Get in there.”
Royle nodded. “No problem.” He entered the room. At first it wasn’t clear what he was looking at, and then he realised that there was a pile of what looked like a child’s belongings in the middle of the room, as if they’d been arranged into a heap and then spread out messily. There were clothes and toys, pages from magazines, and even photographs in the pile. He realised then that these things had once belonged to Erik and Abby’s daughter. These were her things; they’d been placed here deliberately.
Then he saw the thing that was standing in the corner.
He stopped, feeling the urge to turn around and run, to just get the hell out of there and not look back, not once, not ever. Just keep on running until he was out of sight and far away from the Crawl.
The figure was small – child-sized. It was dressed in a floppy-brimmed black hat, a long black cloak, and had some kind of weird bird mask covering its face. Placed over the mask where the eyes should have been, incongruous and lending a further surreal touch to the already eerie figure, was a strange-looking pair of black goggles. The figure did not move. It just stood there, with its back to the wall, staring into the room.
Royle had overcome the urge to flee. “Hello,” he said, disappointed at the fear in his voice.
“Shut the f*ck up,” said Best, entering behind him. “It doesn’t talk.”
Royle didn’t want to turn around and take his eyes off the figure. If he stopped looking, it might move; and if it moved, he was f*cked. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but it felt right. The last thing that needed to happen here was for that thing to start moving. Or crawling.
Abby Hansen walked past him on the right, moving towards the small figure. She stood near it, but not too close. She didn’t seem to know what to do – should she go to it, or stay out of reach? Her fingers flexed at her sides, her lips trembled, and she swayed on her heels for a moment, as if she were about to fall. Then, after a second or two where things looked fragile, she recovered and straightened her spine, lifting her chin in defiance.
Royle smiled at her, but Abby stared right through him. She was probably in shock. Or maybe she’d simply retreated inside herself, where it was safer.
Finally, Royle managed to look away from the figure in black. “Okay, Erik,” he said, turning reluctantly to face the gunman. “So I’m here. Now, what shall we talk about?”
Best used the gun to point at the bed. “Sit down. I don’t trust you on your feet. I don’t trust any of you f*ckers.”
Royle stayed where he was. “So why did you ask me in here, Erik? I mean, if you don’t trust me, why am I here?” He gestured with his hands, shrugging slightly.
“Don’t get f*cking clever. You’re only here because you tried to help when our Tessa went missing. You were the only f*cker who cared. Nobody else did. They just turned their backs and walked away, probably thinking I had something to do with it.” He licked his lips. His gaze wouldn’t settle on one thing; his eyes moved around the room, looking at everything, doubting everything. “Now, sit down on the f*cking bed before I put a hole in you.” Finally his gaze settled on Royle, and there was a blank spot behind those eyes that Royle wished he’d not had turned upon him.
Royle did as he was told and sat down on the small single bed. The soft mattress bowed beneath him, making him feel like a giant, or a man sitting on a toy bed. “Okay... just be cool, Erik. Tell me the problem.”
The other man laughed. “F*cking hell, man. Are you blind? This...” He gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. “This is the problem. All of it.”
“This house?” Royle was acting dumb, pretending that he was slow on the uptake. Anything that might buy him some time.
“Jesus...” Erik Best shook his head. “Not the house... not just the house. Everything else, too. This place, this estate – this f*cking life.” He walked across the room and stood by the window. The curtains were closed. The beaked figure did not move as he approached, and he barely even looked at it. “I’m right at the centre of the black hole, Royle. I can’t move, can’t breathe. Nothing I do makes any sense.” He turned towards the small figure. “Look at this... this thing.”
“What is it, Erik? I can see it, too. Where did it come from?”
Best turned away from the window. He dropped the gun hand down by his side. “It came from the black hole. Right over there.” He nodded towards the pile of items at the centre of the room.
Royle wasn’t certain, but it looked like there was a hole in the carpet right at the middle of the untidy heap. The hole looked like it might even penetrate the wooden floorboards beneath.
“That thing... I think... I think it’s my daughter. Or at least a small part of her.”
That was Abby Hansen’s cue to move. She seemed to snap out of whatever fugue state she’d entered, and moved sideways, towards the figure. It stood there like a statue, tense and immobile. Even when Abby put one arm around its narrow shoulders, the thing did not move.
“Get away... you get away from it.” Best raised the gun.
“Listen, Erik. Let’s just stay calm.”
“Get the f*ck... away.” His finger tightened on the trigger. It was a subtle movement, but Royle was looking at exactly the right place to see it happen. He was ignoring the man’s face. He was more interested in that hand, and the gun it grasped so tightly. Without thinking, he stood and made a single quick movement towards the gunman.
Erik Best’s finger twitched on the trigger. The gun went off: a single shot, but in the small room the sound was deafening.
Royle reached him too late. Abby was already bending over and clutching her abdomen by the time he grabbed the gun hand, twisting it to release the weapon. By this time, Best had gone limp. He let go of the gun without a struggle and sank to his knees, his head going down and his shoulders hitching in a silent sob.
That was when the figure by the window started making a noise.
It raised one small, thin arm, pointing at the wounded woman, and let out a sound like a broken motorcycle engine. The din was unearthly... that was the exact word that came to Royle’s mind, even at the time. The sound was not of this world. A long, high-pitched clicking sound, like nothing he’d ever heard before.
Other than raising its hand, the figure did not move. It just kept on clicking: a single endless ratcheting note, with not even a pause for breath.
Royle went to Abby Hansen. She was down on her knees. Blood had turned her legs red; she was clutching at the wound, trying to stem the flow. She started crawling on her knees, making her way over to the pile of items on the floor – all the things she’d kept when her daughter went missing. When Royle tried to help her, she brushed away his hands. She kept on moving, staggering on her knees, until she came to the hole in the floor.
Royle could hardly believe what he was seeing.
The hole had enlarged; the edges were burnt, as if an intense heat had seared the floorboards and the carpet. There were black leaves clinging to the lip of the hole. It was a perfect black circle – a black hole, just like Best had said. He felt his hand open and the gun dropped to the floor. He made no effort to keep hold of it. His muscles were limp, lifeless.
He sensed movement before he saw it, and by the time he’d turned around Erik Best had already picked up the gun. He was holding it with the barrel in his mouth, his eyes wide and his teeth chattering against the steel barrel. He smiled around the barrel, and then he pulled the trigger. The back of his head detonated in a confusion of red, like something from a dream. It didn’t look real; it was a special effect, one that would play out on the screen behind his eyes for the rest of his life.
Royle watched as the man crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from his open, slack mouth as the gun slipped away. Then, when he turned back to Abby Hansen, she was crouching by that hole in the floor, shivering. The beaked figure had somehow made its way across to her, and they were embracing tightly, as if one were absorbing the other. The small figure in the black cloak looked vague, insubstantial, like a rag doll that was no longer held together by the glue of its parents’ grief.
Abby Hansen smiled.
Then both figures fell into the hole and vanished.