Chapter Seven

Katie shivered. Night had fallen properly now, and it was cold, but this whole area seemed rough, and she felt vulnerable outside the car. There was noise coming from farther up the street: the sound of people outside a pub, an angry edge to the echoing laughter. She glanced across the street behind her. A forbidding metal block of public toilets rested on a grass shoulder there, and a skinny man, bald and shirtless, was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, talking to himself and gesticulating with his thin arms.

She turned to Chris's door and rang the bell.

There was no response, but the apartment above her was so dark and silent that she hadn't expected one. She tried the key in the lock, a part of her hoping it wouldn't turn.

But it did.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

There was a thin set of stairs directly ahead, leading up to a dark landing above. She stood still and listened for a few seconds, but everything was quiet aside from the thud of her heartbeat. Nobody was here. You can tell when a place is empty; the silence just has a different quality.

But, of course, that didn't mean Chris wasn't here.

She found a light switch, and then made her way up the stairs to the landing above, breathing slowly and carefully the whole time. The air smelled slightly stale, but—mercifully—no worse than that. It didn't take long to explore the apartment. There were only four small rooms: a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. She steeled herself as she stepped into each one, but there was no sign of her brother.

Katie stopped on the landing.

She felt slightly out of breath—she hadn't realized how much she had been bracing herself to find something terrible. And so on one level she was relieved. But there was also space for a little anger to creep in. For the worry and concern Chris had caused their mother through his behavior.

Just as he had done so often in the past.

But the apartment was far nicer inside than she would have guessed from the street outside. The carpets were all new; the walls had been freshly painted; and while the furniture was sparse and functional, each piece had clearly been carefully chosen. As an adult, she had become used to Chris finding the cheapest lodgings on offer, using them up until there was nothing left, and then moving on. But this place felt different. It had more of a settled feel to it, as though he'd found a house and made an effort to transform it into a home.

She couldn't remember him ever doing that before.

She walked back into the front room and looked around. There was a television on a stand, a couch and an armchair, and two small shelves stacked with a random selection of secondhand paperback books. The Death House. The Stand. The Doll Who Ate His Mother. She found a few bits of personal debris scattered on top of the shelves—a faded library card; a spread of small change; a couple of half-burned tea-light candles—and at one end, a hundred-sided die.

Katie picked that up and ran it between her fingers. It was one they'd played with together—part of the set she'd saved up and bought for his birthday. But it was so old now that it had the polished feel of a pebble, and so many of the numbers had rubbed away that it would be impossible to use. Even so, it brought a pang of nostalgia and sadness. She wondered why Chris had kept it. As a reminder, perhaps, of simpler, happier times. Or maybe of the more serious games he had spent his life playing and losing since.

She put it down again.

There was a cheap cell phone next to the television. It was out of charge, and so she assumed this was the phone her mother had tried to call. Which raised the question of why it was here when Chris wasn't, and why it had been left to run out of power. There had been a time when a cell phone, however inexpensive, would have been good currency for him. But she didn't recognize the model, and there was no sign of a charger.

The bedroom was small. There was just enough space for a double bed with a wardrobe on one side of the headboard, and a small table on the other. The bed was unmade, and there were clothes scattered across it. She opened the wardrobe. While a few clothes remained, it was filled mostly with empty wire hangers.

Almost as though Chris had left this place in a hurry.

Like he was looking over his shoulder, she remembered.

Like he was scared of something.

She moved around to the table. There was a drawer built in below. When she opened it, she was greeted by the smell of wood and dust drifting up.

There were a few sheets of paper inside. She picked one out and saw it was an old, faded letter printed on university-headed notepaper. It hadn't been delivered to the apartment, and both the address and the name of the person—James Alderson—meant nothing to her. But directly underneath, she spotted a glossy sheet of photographs, and she put the letter aside and picked those out instead.

There had been four originally, taken in a booth, but one had been clipped away. The remaining three showed the same image of the same two people. She recognized Chris, leaning into the picture on the right-hand side, and yet at the same time she didn't. For one thing, he looked healthy. He was tanned and freckled, he'd grown his hair out into a style that really suited him, and his smile was as genuine as she could remember seeing since he was a little boy. And most important of all, he didn't seem remotely self-conscious about the scar that ran down the side of his face.

He was pressing his cheek against that of a man Katie didn't recognize. She guessed he was about thirty years old—although, like her brother, there was something about his face that made him seem boyish and younger. He had long brown hair, round glasses, and a smile that matched her brother's in terms of happiness.

She turned the photos over and recognized her brother's handwriting there.

Mr. Christopher Shaw, Esq., and Mr. James Alderson Jr., Esq.

So he had a boyfriend—another sign that he had been building a life. She put the photos back in the drawer, and as she did, she noticed the sheet of paper directly underneath. It looked like it had been printed off the internet and showed a black-and-white photograph of a stern-looking man with a broad mustache. He was dressed in a smart black suit with a flower in the lapel. Beside the picture, above a dense wall of small text, the headline read: THE DESPICABLE HISTORY OF JACK LOCK.

The front door opened downstairs.

Katie froze and then listened carefully. For a moment, she could hear nothing beyond a slight rush of outside air from below. Whoever was down there was hesitating. There was something about the silence that made her think it wasn't her brother.

That it was someone like her who shouldn't be here.

"Chris?"

A man's voice calling up.

"James?"

She heard the front door close, followed by a tentative series of creaks as the man made his way slowly and cautiously up the stairs. Katie glanced desperately around the room—but there was nowhere to hide. She closed the drawer quietly, and then pulled out the key and clenched it between her knuckles.

As she heard the creaks reaching the top of the stairs, she stepped out onto the landing with her fist raised.

"Shit!"

The man flung his arm up to protect his face and then stumbled and lost his footing, falling backward onto the floor against the wall.

"Don't!" he cried out. "Please! No need!"

Her heart was hammering. She recognized him—it was the shirtless man she'd seen talking to himself across the road. Except now that she was seeing him up close, cowering on the floor in front of her, she realized he wasn't actually a man at all. He was barely older than the senior boys at school. He was bone-thin, his skin almost blue, and there was a mottled, cup-shaped scar curling beneath the bristles on his closely shaved skull. When he looked up, he seemed more scared of her than she was of him.

"No need," he repeated.

Katie hesitated. Then she put the key away and took out her phone, keeping her distance. He didn't seem much of a physical threat, but she wasn't taking any chances. She tried to summon a little of the authority that she didn't feel.

"You've got about two seconds before I call the police," she said. "What are you doing in here?"

"I saw the lights."

He started to get up.

"Don't," she warned him. "Just stay where you are."

He settled back.

"I thought Chris and James were home," he said.

"So you know them?"

"They're friends of mine. They used to give me money sometimes. I live opposite."

He gestured with his head in the direction of the street. It took her a moment to realize he was referring to the old toilet block across the road. Then he looked back at her again, a little more suspicious now.

"Who are you, anyway?" he said. "Are you one of the people watching them?"

His choice of words sent a chill through her.

Like he was scared of something.

"What's your name?" she said.

"Ben."

"Okay, Ben. I'm Katie. I'm Chris's sister."

"He never said anything about a sister. And you don't look much like him."

"Maybe he didn't tell you everything about his life. I'm here because his family is worried about him. What did you mean one of the people watching them?"

He hesitated.

"Talk to me, Ben," she said. "I'm trying to help Chris too."

And after another few seconds of silence, he did.

He told her that Chris had moved into this apartment about a year and a half ago, and Chris had been kind to him from the beginning: saying hello and giving him money as and when he could. James Alderson, Chris's boyfriend, had arrived on the scene about a year ago. Alderson was doing a PhD in art at the university, and Ben said he had been nice too.

And for a while, everything had been fine.

"But then I saw Chris… maybe last week?" Ben said. "He looked more nervous than usual. You know how he always seemed so calm and in control of himself, right?"

"Yes," Katie lied.

"Well, he wasn't like that anymore. He was really on edge."

Chris hadn't wanted to tell Ben what was wrong at first, but finally he'd relented. He thought someone was following him, and because Ben had his eyes and ears on the street, Chris asked him to keep a watch out and let him know if he saw anything suspicious. Anyone loitering in the area who didn't belong or seemed like they were watching the apartment.

Any cars that looked out of place.

"What kind of car?" Katie said quickly.

"A posh one, Chris said. Like something a rich person would drive."

That settled her slightly.

"And did you see anything?"

"I don't know." Ben looked uneasy. "Maybe—but not a car. A man. It was the middle of the night when there was nobody else around. I didn't really see the guy. He was standing in a shop doorway a little way along the street. Hardly moving. I thought he was a shadow at first."

"What did he look like?"

"I couldn't see him properly. He was tall though. Big. And there was a bad feeling coming off him. It's usually peaceful at that time, and I like being out and about because nobody else is. But that night, my skin was tingling. I had this feeling like there was something dangerous nearby. And when I spotted this man, I realized it was him I was scared of. That he was someone who enjoyed doing really bad things to people."

"What happened afterward?"

"I told Chris—this was a few days ago. And then I saw him and James together. They had these big backpacks on, like they were heading off on an adventure. I've not seen them since."

"Did you see the man in the doorway again?"

"No. But I've felt things. It doesn't seem safe around here anymore." He looked upset now. "Are Chris and James in trouble?"

Katie thought about it. Then shook her head.

"I honestly don't know. But listen, there's some change beside the TV. It's not a lot, but I'm sure Chris would be happy for you to have it."

Ben looked at her warily for a second, then stood up and disappeared into the front room. A few seconds later, he emerged back onto the landing, nodded at her once, then made his way back down the stairs.

She waited for a couple of minutes, trying to calm herself down.

And thinking.

She had been reluctant to come inside here, but if nothing else, she had imagined doing so would at least provide an answer as to what had happened to her brother. Instead, all she had found were questions. Was he in trouble? While she couldn't necessarily trust everything Ben had just told her, she was sure there had been grains of truth in there. The apartment really did feel abandoned. And that chimed with what her mother had said—that her brother had been scared of someone.

But who?

Someone who enjoyed doing really bad things to people.

Katie went outside and locked the front door behind her. There was no sign of Ben; she was alone on the street right now. But it felt like she was being watched. There was an itch at the back of her neck.

Leaves skittered across the street as a cold breeze picked up.

You should go home now.

Yes, she thought. She really should. Perhaps she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if she hadn't checked in on Chris, but there were limits. Her brother wasn't her responsibility anymore. Whatever trouble he might have gotten himself into, it wasn't her job to get him out of it—especially when she had her own family to think about.

There's only so much of yourself you can give.

She got in the car and started off.

But she kept checking the rearview mirror as she drove. The traffic was relatively sparse, but there were a few vehicles behind her, and even though the idea she might be followed was ridiculous, she still found herself keeping an eye on them, and feeling a sense of relief as each one turned steadily off.

By the time she passed the prison, there was only one left.

It was a fair way back, but it seemed to be maintaining a steady distance, keeping pace with the speed she was driving. Its headlights were on full beam, so that it was impossible to make out the size of vehicle, never mind the type or color, and whoever was behind the wheel was lost in darkness.

Her heart began beating a little faster again.

The car followed her as she drove back toward the main roads that circled the city center. However much she varied her speed, it kept the same steady distance behind her.

After a while, the main road divided into two lanes, the left peeling off in the direction of her village. She signaled and took the turn, watching the mirror as she did, then turning her head to look out the window. The car stayed on the main road—but suddenly accelerated so hard that it was out of sight almost before she could see it properly. The streetlights bleached the vehicle of color.

But she caught the briefest flash of a fish-white face staring out at her.

She turned back and stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her heart was thudding. And even though she tried to tell herself it had just been her imagination—that the vehicle had simply been behind her, and not following her at all—Siena's words came back to her again as she drove, and she felt her nerves begin to sing.

Red car, Mommy.

And what did that mean?

Something terrible and incomprehensible.

Something that had always been coming for you, but which you wouldn't even see until it swerved in out of nowhere and changed your world forever.