Chapter 5 – a hand up – breaking and entering – a gruesome discovery

I’m assuming you’ve not had experience of being held by a giant hand. Let me warn you, if you ever get the chance, watch yourself. Because it’s pretty bloody weird.

After Kevin had shuffled along to Davey’s block, he stuck his right hand palm upwards flat on the pavement for me to crouch on it. It felt awkwardly intimate, his pulse beating through the soles of my trainers as I tried hard not to think about what teenage boys get up to with their right hand. Then he lifted me up and his other hand was over me, cupping me in a salty dark stuffy warm space, my stomach flipping as my brain tried to work out what was going on, adjusting to being at the mercy of a nervy giant boy who could squish me as easily as a Frube shoot.

‘IS IT THIS ONE, MISS BURNS? IS THIS THE RIGHT WINDOW?’

Kevin’s whisper was still loud enough for me to wonder if it was blood rather than perspiration trickling down my ears. You’d have thought all the years in that attic at home would have made me immune to claustrophobia but I felt close to suffocation, fighting the urge to push my way to freedom that would lead quickly to a nasty drop. I dunted my head against the fleshy ceiling, the webby point where his forefinger and middle-finger met until he got the hint – ‘AW, SORRY’ – and loosened his grip, light and air rushing to meet me. He lightly pressed the tips of two fingers on my shoulders, keeping me steady as I stood swaying and I would have appreciated his gentleness more had I not been peering through a narrow gap in the curtains, staring into Davey’s living room. What worried me was how quickly I could tell it was his, the furniture in there – the couch against the wall facing me, a glass-topped coffee table – near swamped in melted stuff. 

Covering the carpet, every surface, were these odd, misshapen globe things catching the light. ‘What the fuck -’ I whispered as tiny rainbows glinted off shiny surfaces then realised they were CDs and DVDs, some still in their cases, squeezed together into a ball shape. As if Davey had been trying to mould a load of junkyard glitterballs. 

Sliding off the end of a coffee table was a slick of black with grey ribbons trailing out of it, fluttering in the draught from the top window, a load of old videos melted together in a frozen wave. Then I caught the smell. A stink of burnt plastic and rubber and metal and something else underlying it all, something organic and meaty and I nearly threw up but couldn’t, not into poor Kevin’s hand.

I turned and seeing Kevin’s fear knew he could smell it too so I had to keep it together for his sake, be the grown-up even though he could slip me into his jeans pocket. 

‘OK KEVIN,’ ‘Eau de Toxic Dump’ wafting about us, ‘LET’S SEE IF I CAN GET A LOOK IN THE ROOM OVER THERE,’ but after he’d hoisted me along we saw the curtains were shut tight. As the window opening was too tiny for me to crawl through there was only one option. What’s the use of knowing a huge hoodie if he can’t do some breaking and entering for you?

‘BUT MISS BURNS…I’M NOT SURE, IS IT NOT LIKE BREAKING AND ENTERING? I MEAN, WHAT IF THE POLICE-’

‘OH FOR GOD’S SAKE KEVIN, STOP BEING SO BLOODY SENSIBLE! I WORK FOR THE GOVERNMENT, I PRACTICALLY AM THE POLICE!’

Kevin looked doubtful. 

‘YEAH BUT IT MEANS I’M GOING TO HAVE TO-’

‘LOOK. KEVIN,’ and he held me up to his face so close I couldn’t focus on all of it, just the details, the fuzz of a moustache at the corners of his top lip, how his eyelashes were the length of my hand. ‘THERE’S A MAN IN THERE WHO NEEDS OUR HELP. IF ANYTHING GOES WRONG, IF THERE’S ANY KIND OF TROUBLE HERE, I’M THE ADULT AND I PROMISE YOU I’LL TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY. UNDERSTAND? ALRIGHT? NOW, BE A GOOD BOY AND BATTER IN THAT WINDOW FOR ME.’

Kevin sighed and as he did so I had time to realise one of the reasons for him hesitating was because of what was going to happen to me as he did what I asked. He had one hand tight around my torso, not quite squeezing the life out of me but not too comfortable either. My head flashed with images from old monster movie posters, the dumb blonde swooning in the grasp of the Creature from the Black Lagoon or King Kong. I didn’t do any swooning but had precious little dignity flailing like a rag doll, a bunch of teenagers whooping below, as Kevin pulled back before cracking his elbow against the living room window –

‘OOYAH!’

The shy girl shouted up, ‘Kevin, watch yourself!’, while I was thinking, ‘Oh yeah right, never mind me,’ the window crumpling in like cellophane. It didn’t break completely though and as Kevin got angry, I was crushed further, feeling the force of him, the rage and frustration at his Ability finding an outlet and the window didn’t stand a chance, the glass shattering inwards.

I’m sure he wouldn’t have stopped there, would have gone on a Hulk-like rampage, my head popping like a cherry in his grip, but for me shouting, ‘KEVIN! KEVIN STOP!’ bringing him back to his senses, him staring as if he’d forgotten how I’d got there.

‘MISS BURNS, YOU OK? SORRY LOST IT A BIT THERE.’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine Kevin,’ I managed after my lungs had started working again. ‘Thanks. But if you could just pop me through that window frame now, that would be fucking fantastic.’

*

As soon as I got in, I wanted Kevin to haul me back out. The smell clagged the back of my throat and I pulled up the collar of my jacket, tried to breathe through that. It was hot in there as well, and not the sort of heat you get from central heating. It felt like someone had opened the door to a furnace and shut it quick before scorching their eyebrows off. Like some kind of nuclear aftermath. 

Davey? Davey, it’s Cathy, Cathy Burns from the Agency, I got your emails and…are you…are you in here? You alright?’ The flat stayed silent but I made out some creaks and hissings. The sound of settling. 

I figured if the sound of a fifty-foot giant smashing one of his windows hadn’t caused Davey to come running, not much else would. I also had the odd feeling of being alone but not. Like when I got home from work and although the place would be quiet I would know, just know, there was someone in there with me. Mum in her bed, Colin my lazy-arsed wee brother snoozing on the sofa.

I had to walk carefully not to impale myself on any of the strange clumps of junk scattered about. They reminded me weirdly of owl pellets, the aftermath of Davey’s frustration. In the hall, knives, forks, spoons were moulded together and I could imagine him grabbing them out of a drawer, not thinking, squeezing them together like Play-Doh before chucking them to the floor in disgust. 

I had seen a lot of weird shit in my job. Ballpoints turning into tulips, words blurring then trickling off sheets of paper when you tipped them up, envelopes turning to fur. Usually there was something magical about it, but this stuff… this was warped. Unpleasant. Like a magician taking off his top hat and pulling out roadkill instead of a fluffy bunny.

‘Davey?’ Checking down the hall I saw the phone squished against the wall, like a big black swatted bug. Underneath it, next to the undamaged charger on a wee table, were some leaflets and on top of them, pens and pencils fused into a cross. The sort you make when pretending to ward off a vampire. It didn’t feel like it had been made as a joke when I picked it up though. It felt wrong touching it, a thing so clearly made out of fear. I stuck it in my jacket pocket thinking of it as evidence, although I wasn’t sure for what yet. Then I had a closer look at those leaflets. 

They were from the Knoxians. The Men In Black, spouting out the same shite I heard every morning or in front of the Caird Hall at the weekend, nonsense about ‘ABILITIES = ANNIHILATION!’ and ‘THE ELECT WILL SAVE YOU, THE REST CAN BURN.’ I stuffed them in a pocket while shouting ‘Davey! What the fuck you playing at!’ suddenly aware that I really didn’t get paid enough for this sort of shit. 

I stomped up to the door at the far end of the hall that was open slightly. I shoved at it then stopped because the first thing I saw was the dressing table. It was exactly like my Mum’s, the big difference being this one was covered in figurines, the type my Granny Macintosh used to collect. Royal Doulton, I think they’re called, ladies in swishy skirts and ballgowns. But these ones were wrong. Pulled out of shape, necks elongated spaghetti-like or blended together like a set of freaky lesbo-Siamese twins. 

I pulled back further because of a blast of heat and as I did so I caught sight of what was reflected in the mirror on top of the dressing table and came close to screaming. Maintained my butch credentials by making a choking noise instead, tried to take a couple of deep breaths but was prevented by the stench. Eventually, remembering Davey’s emails, I forced myself in. 

When I saw it, what had happened, I wanted to laugh. Hysteria no doubt, but I stopped myself because laughing would have involved breathing and that was difficult because of the heat but also because I was sure a large part of the air contained Davey. What was left of him. Because Davey wasn’t in the room, he was the room. Melted into it, over it, part of the furniture and I hated myself for swallowing down a giggle. 

His clothes and flesh were stretched across the bed, still bubbling, his outline blurred into the duvet, flattened face down thank God. One arm reached across a bedside table, the wrist too long, hand flopping down the back of it. His legs looked as though they belonged to some ridiculous rag-doll, one trailing over the carpet close to me and I was reminded of those snake draught excluders but the jeans were too thin and flat, his ankle the wrong way round, twisted like spaghetti, something seeping from the sock and I heard the front door open, a woman’s voice calling, ‘Davey!’ followed by a gasp and ‘What the hell is going on here! The window…Davey!’

I had to get out of there quick, back into the hallway to stop his wife seeing this. Stumbling out I thought the shock of seeing me might be enough to distract her – ‘And who the hell are you? Are you here to sort that smell?’ – give me enough time to get her away from there, as I tried to pull the door to behind me. ‘Mrs Robertson, I know this looks really bad but honestly, if you’ll just come with me into the living room or -’ 

But she was having none of it, pushed past me, opened the bedroom door wide, letting the heat and the stink out and the scream that followed matched exactly the sight of what was in there. Before I got her out and held her, shushed her like a child while trying to get my mobile out to phone the police, the ambulance, anyone although it was far too late for help, I knew that scream would be the backing track to all my nightmares to come.