Lev stops talking, suddenly exhausted, and he slumps in his chair.
“He’s not dead, not yet.”
Her words, when they finally come, startle Lev.
“What?” He cranes towards her in the darkness. “What do you mean? How do you know?”
Even in this situation he can feel the haughtiness coming off her in waves.
“Because,” she says, “he’s trying to say something.”
Lev leans forward as far as he can, listens intently and realises she is right. He had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, and got so used to the little puffs of air coming from what he thought was Roland’s corpse, he hadn’t even given thought that the boy might still be alive.
And he is alive. Barely, probably hanging on by a thread, but still alive.
And for some reason, a reason that Lev can’t comprehend, this fact gives him a little bit of hope that maybe he too, can get out of this living hell alive.
56
ROLAND
March 21st 2000
Smith died. He slipped quietly away a few nights ago on Mark’s bed. I was called into the bedroom, woken from a broken sleep full of nightmares, summoned to face a fresh one.
“Check him,” said Mark. “I think he’s gone.”
I didn’t have to check him, I could tell that he was dead. Stretched out on the bed, on his back, his once fine cheekbones slack, his mouth open as though his last breath was a scream.
As I stared at Smith’s corpse, I realised I’d never been permitted entry to this room before. The rest of Mark’s home, though shabby, was at least organised and relatively clean. Here, in this bedroom, it was as though Mark never expected anyone to come here, at least, nobody whose opinion mattered to him.
I could feel the filth in the carpet, crumbs and dirt sticking to my sweating, bare feet. The air was fetid and stale, the window behind the black curtain probably painted shut. The stains on the once white sheet under Smith were almost worse than the body to look at. Blood, semen, piss and shit all intermingled, forming a grotesque pattern of death.
It hit me then, what a terrible mess I’d got caught up in. The police would come back, maybe the same one that was there when Smith escaped outside. He would recognise me, he would see I lived here, he would think I was involved.
He would tell my mother.
The urge to leave the room, the house, this whole street and section of town made my feet move of their own accord, but as I spun round I stumbled into Mark who had moved silently to stand behind me.
He stared down at me, his blue eyes more alive than I’d ever seen them.
Looming over me, he advanced. I backed up, stopping only when I felt the bed frame against my shins. Mark kept coming, leaning so close that for a terrible moment I thought he might kiss me. But he reached past me, dragging a pile of thin, threadbare towels off the dresser.
He stepped back.
I remembered to breathe.
He passed me a towel.
I remembered who I was, who he was and I shuffled towards him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Pick him up,” said Mark, his voice quiet but firm.
Together we lifted Smith, me holding his ankles, Mark roughly manhandling his upper torso.
“Put him down.”
I obeyed, took a step back, clutched my fingers together behind my back as I waited for his next instructions.
I watched as Mark pulled the mattress off the bed and removed the wooden slats to reveal a dark, cavernous area. Inside the bed frame was littered with dust and food wrappers.
“In there,” said Mark.
Together we lifted Smith again and slid him into the gap.
“How long are you going to leave him there?” I asked.
Mark fixed his gaze on me. “Are you questioning me, Roland?” A smile twitched at his lips, but it wasn’t a real one. It was pretend. It was a nasty smile.
I shook my head, lowered my eyes.
When the morning dawned, bright yet chilly, I was sent out on errands. In the few hours between Smith’s death and the sun coming up, I’d not slept. Instead, I’d plotted and planned. I had to find the Colonel and hand this whole mess over to him.
I finished my chores quickly, and luck was on my side as my last drop off was near to his office. I rapped on his door, my breath coming fast and shallow as I looked left and right and behind me. When my knocking went unanswered I stepped back and observed the building. The curtains remained tightly drawn, no windows were open. Deflated, I walked away.
When I found myself on Gevers Deynootwed I wondered if I’d been planning to go there all the time without really realising it.
The door to 1058 was open, as it always was. I hovered in the doorway, my prescense unknown. Unobserved I watched the brothers as they sat together, three points of a triangle, connected to each other in a way I never would be.
It was Vinnie who noticed me first and his face lit up in what looked to me like a genuine smile.
“Roland!” He beckoned for me to come in.
As the other two glanced up I noticed David’s face, puffy and bruised, the beginnings of a black eye brewing.
“What happened?” I gasped.
But it was Miles who answered.
“Why don’t you ask your friend?” he spat.
I
