mean?”
Brendan placed his hands on the gate, as if trying to divine something of the atmosphere on the other side simply by touching it.
“Well,” said Simon, “I thought we’d have a few drinks, catch up on each other’s lives, and then slowly work our way up to this point.”
“Why waste time?” said Marty. “Now that we’re back together, it doesn’t feel like any time has passed. We agree on this, don’t we?”
Simon nodded. Brendan said nothing; just kept his silent vigil by the gate.
Marty rubbed his left cheek with his right hand. He felt the stubble rasping against his fingers. “It’s as if our lives got stuck in a groove when we were ten, and nothing really moved on. Yes, you have your wealth and businesses, and Brendan has his family, but despite these things, we were frozen inside. Our hearts stopped beating; the blood was stilled in our veins. I know I’m not exactly explaining this very well, but…”
“Yeah.” Simon closed his eyes. “Frozen… that’s a good way of putting it. We moved on, lived our lives, but everything inside us was frozen in place. Speaking for myself, it’s held me back in every relationship I ever had, made it so that I can barely relate to anyone in my life.”
“So why the fuck do we even need to mess about, to dance around this moment? Let’s just do it. We’re here now, anyway, so we’re all agreed. This is it; the time’s come to defrost.”
Even as he spoke, Marty felt his insides stirring as whatever monster he now carried within him responded to his words. He gritted his teeth, trying not to scream, and waited it out. Soon the movement died down, and eventually stopped. He thought this must be what it was like to be pregnant: to feel the existence of another inside the fragile envelope of your body.
“So we’re all agreed, then? We’re doing this now. Right now.” Brendan had turned around to face them. He looked ill. His eyes were bright and feverish.
Simon stepped forward, brandishing the keys. He unlocked the gate with a steady hand and stepped aside to let the others through. When they were all on the other side of the barrier, he locked the gate behind him. Marty felt that there was something final about the action. He was unable to shake the feeling that all of them might not be coming back out, and those who did make it would be changed in more ways than he could imagine.
The last time they’d all been here together, time itself had behaved strangely: they thought they’d been inside the Needle for only a short time, but when finally they emerged from its shadow an entire weekend had passed. He wished he’d taken the time to tell someone where he was going today, but then he remembered that he had no one to tell. His friends from the fight game were merely acquaintances, and the only other significant person in his life was Melanie, but he’d already cut his ties with her. He could never tell his grandmother; she would worry too much, even about something she did not understand.
There was nobody. He was truly alone. It was a sad indictment of his life that the only two people who cared where he was right now were here with him, and he had not spoken to either of them in twenty years before this day.
“So this is what it all comes down to,” said Brendan, suddenly, breaking into Marty’s thoughts as if he were attempting to echo them and add his own spin. “These last few days of tracking Marty down. It all comes down to this: three strangers standing outside an old, empty building.”
“No,” said Simon. “Not the last few days, the last twenty years. This is it. This is what we’ve been waiting for, but didn’t even realise. This is where we face down our fears.”
“You’re right,” said Marty. “Both of you. All we are is three strangers who were once, for a brief moment in another lifetime, friends. It’s taken us two decades to get back here, and we’ve had our own little adventures along the way. I’ve spent my time fighting. You, Simon, have spent yours in another kind of battle — but still fighting yourself, I’d guess, just the same as me. And Brendan. What about you?” He nodded towards Brendan, who was standing stiffly, as if awaiting some kind of verdict. “In many ways you were the best of us. You at least managed to have some kind of real life, and you’ve brought children into the world. You’re the part of us that worked; the part that matters. Simon and me, we represent all the other stuff: the shit that went bad.”
There was nothing else to say, nothing to add. The three of them stood there, renewing old bonds, waiting for some kind of energy to throb through their veins and pull them closer together.
Marty felt stronger than he ever had before in his life. But he also felt a weakness within him, a fracture that had always been there and that might yet prove to be his undoing. His hidden passenger — the fairytale nightmare hitching a ride in his belly — was reaching out, seeking that fissure, with the aim of making it wider and letting out whatever darkness it found there.
“Let’s go,” said Simon, striding towards the main doors of the tower block and brandishing his keys like a weapon. “Let’s get this thing done.”
The door opened onto blackness. Not a dim area or a room without light, but utter, perfect darkness. When they stepped inside, Marty felt like he was walking into water; it flowed over and around and into him, filling his lungs and making his eyes sting. Fathoms deep, he stood there blinking and trying to get his bearings. He heard the doors close behind them, and the breathing of his companions. Then, struggling against the tide of darkness, he shuffled his feet along the floor and tried to move forward, deeper into the building that now felt like a wide open space.
Groping blindly at his side, he felt a small, cold hand grip his own.
“Keep hold of each other,” said Simon. “Somebody grab my hand. I’m moving it around, by my side. Try to grab it.”
“Don’t I have hold of you?” Marty felt panic welling up inside him; he wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Every direction was just another pathway deeper into this pitch blackness.
“No, that’s me,” said Brendan, close to his ear. “You have my hand.” The grip slackened; the fingers twitched.
“Okay, then. Do you have my hand, too?” Simon’s voice sounded slightly farther away, as if he’d moved along a passage of some sort.
“No,” said Brendan.
Voices: this was all they had in the dark.
“Me neither.” Marty sounded hoarse; his throat was dry.
“Fucking hell… then whose fucking hand am I holding?” Simon’s voice sounded weak, as if he were struggling to contain his terror.
Then, in answer, there was a soft clicking noise in the darkness, and a short burst of childish laughter.
“It’s gone,” said Simon. “It’s fucking gone… my hand… it had hold of my hand… and its fingers were hot.” Footsteps grated on the concrete floor, everyone’s breathing was heavy, laboured, as if they were climbing an incline.
“Let’s just… move forward.” Simon again, sounding breathless.
“But which way is forward?” said Marty.
“This way.” Brendan was taking charge. “Just follow my voice, Simon. I have your hand, Marty. Come with me. I think I can see light up ahead. I know the layout of this place. I think I have my bearings.”
The clicking sound was still audible, but only just. Marty couldn’t tell if it was behind them, up ahead, or off to the left or the right. Space had taken on alarming new qualities; the dimensions of this room were meaningless, a strange geometry had taken over. He could be inside a tiny room or lost in a vast, endless void. He wasn’t sure; it all felt the same, limited and limitless.
He wasn’t quite sure where the word had sprung from, but with it came a suggestion of pity. He felt emotionally wrong-footed, shoved off centre. Was it even possible to feel sorry for a monster?
Brendan tugged on his hand and Marty allowed himself to be pulled slowly in one direction, trusting that it was the right way to go. The air was thick and heavy, like damp towels laid across his face, and that clicking sound kept waxing and waning in and out of the range of audibility, as if it kept crossing a threshold of some kind and then rushing back, just to remind them that it was still there, keeping track of them. He smelled burnt rubber and Parma
