Thin Air by Storm Constantine
Jem began jumping up and down, tugging at Jay’s hand.
‘What’s going on?’ Jay asked. Unaccountably, her heart was immediately filled with hope and joy. She felt she had undergone a rite of passage, and now was time to dance and celebrate.
‘I want to dance,’ said Jem.
‘It’s a kind of madness,’ said Dex, ‘called freedom.’
Sally Olsen whirled out of the group of women, and came skipping up them. Her face glowed red, and tendrils of her damp hair hung over her brow. She sang a greeting, apparently unable to keep still.
‘Sally,’ Jay said. ‘What’s this party for?’
Sally reached to clutch Jay’s arm briefly. ‘The era is changing,’ she said excitedly. ‘Oh, Jay, can’t you feel it? Isn’t it wonderful?’
Jay raised her hands in puzzlement. ‘I feel something.’
Sally made an expansive gesture with one arm, as if reaching for the stars. ‘New feet walk across the sky,’ she said. ‘New gods are coming. She has flowers for feet and diamonds beneath her tongue. She is clad in woven rays. He is the herald of truth.’
Sally sounded as if she was hallucinating, yet her mood was infectious. Jay found she couldn’t stop smiling.
Then the night was filled with the sound of a mighty booming crash. It seemed to shatter the sky and the stars rocked against their velvet backdrop. Jay winced against Dex, who curled an arm around her, staring wildly about himself.
Sally only clapped her hands. ‘Look! It is time!’
Jay broke away from Dex and followed the line of Sally’s pointing hand. She gazed up at the hill, where it seemed a multitude was rampaging, far more people than she’d imagined inhabited the village. As she concentrated upon this scene, her vision became telescopic. She could perceive every detail. Some of the crowd carried burning torches, which they waved about their heads. Children wove in and out of the dancing figures like sprites, followed by the dogs Jay had seen in the field by the river. Their tails were wagging and they barked excitedly. Above them all, the monument of Lestholme’s god and its tower were crumbling. Great chunks of lichened masonry broke away from it and seemed fall in slow motion to the ground. The people cavorted around it, dodging the plunging debris. ‘They’ll be crushed!’ Jay cried.
Sally laughed. ‘No. Not on this night of all nights.’ With these words, she wheeled away, her skirt flying round her flashing calves.
Jay felt a thread of unease worm through her mind. There was a tugging sensation within her, as if her consciousness was being pulled from her. ‘No,’ she murmured and clutched onto Dex’s arm. ‘No.’
‘Jay,’ he said. His eyes looked panicked. They were being pulled away from that place, but Jay would not let them be separated. Not again. She refused with all her will and wrapped her arms around Dex’s body. A sudden confusion of crashing sounds, of glass shattering and mountains exploding, seemed to engulf her body. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut. Then, there was only silence. For a moment, she could not feel anything, but gradually became aware of the rough texture of Dex’s coat against her cheek, the pressure of his arms around her. She opened her eyes and pulled away from him. ‘Where are we?’
Dex groaned. ‘Fuck. How the hell?’
‘Dex, where are we?’
‘Lorrance’s house,’ he said.
Jay looked around herself. They were standing in a spotless white hallway, which she recognised as the one where they’d met Peter in the shadow world. ‘What does this mean?’ she asked. ‘Is he here? Did they lie to us?’ For one hideous moment, she considered that Lacey and Peter had delivered them into Lorrance’s hands. Had they been working for him all along?
‘I think it’s OK,’ Dex said uncertainly.
‘There’s a car coming,’ Jay said. ‘I can hear it outside. I think we should hide.’
‘OK.’ Dex took her hand and led her further into the house.
‘This could be just another layer,’ Jay hissed. ‘Something else we’re meant to see.’
‘Possibly,’ Dex answered.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I thought we should make for the back door. The kitchen’s this way.’
Suddenly, a tall figure loomed out of a doorway to their left. Both Jay and Dex couldn’t help cursing and jumping backwards. ‘Rhys!’ Dex cried.
Rhys Lorrance stood before them. Jay had never been this close to him before, even though she’d occasionally glimpsed him across rooms at various events and seen his photo often in the papers. Perhaps because of her recent experiences, and the knowledge she’d gained, she immediately felt the heat of Lorrance’s power radiating off him. He didn’t seem to be in any state of decline other than appearing slightly anxious. Dex uttered Lorrance’s name again, but it was clear that he could not see his visitors. He strode past them, back into the hall.
‘Why are we here?’ Jay said. ‘Are we back in our own reality or not?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dex said.
Outside, car doors slammed. Dex and Jay remained immobile, Jay straining her ears for any sound from Lorrance. There was none. She sensed he was waiting in the hall, as motionless as they were. After a few moments, the doorbell chimed. Silence. The bells chimed again. Then came a more threatening sound. The front door creaked open, without any noise of footsteps or other movement. Curious, Jay went back towards the hall, Dex following. She saw Rhys Lorrance standing tall and powerful before the door, braced as if for an attack. A man stood in the doorway, while another was visible loitering outside. Dark men, clad in black.
‘Ghosts!’ hissed Dex. ‘Jay, come back here. They’ll be able to see us. I know it!’ He grabbed her arm.
Jay resisted, drawn by an uncontrollable impulse to witness what happened. She heard Lorrance utter some unintelligible words. He began to raise his hands. Then came the gunshot.
Lorrance staggered backwards, a hole blown through his torso. He fell to the ground. Jay could not move. She saw the gunman walk into the hall and calmly direct another bullet through Lorrance’s brain. Then the assailant raised his head and looked Jay full in the eye. She couldn’t even cringe away from his dead-eyed stare. What she saw in it was an utter soulless and icy implacability. She was irrelevant to him, no more than a powerless phantom.
The gun-man turned round quickly and walked from the house, leaving the door open. Jay buried her face against Dex’s chest. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. She had begun to shake. The world around her was shaking too. She clung to Dex and he to her. They were being wrenched away again, drawn through a void of terrifying crashes and roars.
They did not find themselves in silence this time, but surrounded by the merry tune of fiddles and joyous voices. Jay opened her eyes to Lestholme, and above her saw the final chunks of masonry fall from the statue. Her body flooded with relief, although her limbs were stiff yet shaking at the same time. It was difficult to pull away from Dex. He had crystals of ice in his hair.
Dex shook his head slowly, as if coming out of a trance. ‘It’s happened,’ he murmured. ‘They said it would. We saw it, Jay.’
‘A scene I could have done without,’ Jay said, swallowing thickly. ‘A vile dream.’
‘Are you OK?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I think so. God, Dex, was that real what we saw? Who killed Lorrance and why? Was it Peter and Lacey’s people or Charney’s?’
‘It might not have been literal reality,’ Dex said, ‘but a representation of it. Charney might see Lorrance as a security risk now, or maybe someone else has taken the law into their own hands, but somehow I doubt their method for dealing with it will involve murder. That’s not often their style. You know that. They have a thousand different ways to ruin people.’
‘But it felt – and looked – so real.’ Jay shuddered, trying to expel the image of Lorrance’s falling body, and the blank eyes of the gunman, from her mind.
‘These things often do,’ Dex said in a cynical tone.
‘Part of you doesn’t want him dead, does it?’ Jay
Dex shrugged uncomfortably. ‘He did a lot for me, but if a part of me still cares about him, it’s a very small part.’ He stroked her face. ‘You’re the one, Jay. Believe it.’ He smiled uncertainly, as if he hadn’t smiled properly for a long time. The expression, in its boyish naiveté, wrenched at Jay’s heart. She was filled with a certainty that it was time for her to take back control of her life. She had seen things that few people saw, given an insight into the complexities of the universe and how nothing might be how it seemed. ‘Dex, it’s time to make a choice,’ she said.
He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly. ‘I know.’
‘Come back with me.’
He looked down at her, cupped her chin in one hand. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Will you give me some time?’
‘Some,’ Jay said. She reached up and curled her arms around his neck.
Samantha Lorrance considered herself to be a practical, rational person. Even though she read her stars in the paper, she’d never admit to being superstitious. Life had felt very odd over the last few weeks, but she put this down to the pressures of her husband’s work. As his wife, she couldn’t help but be sensitive to his moods and even though he wouldn’t confide in her, she knew he was anxious about something. Samantha didn’t like some of the people who’d been coming to the house. The men in dark suits looked like gangsters to her. She hoped Rhys wasn’t involved in anything dodgy. Still, she was prepared to stand by him, whatever happened. She was his wife. He cared for her. Loyalty was very important.
One morning, after her work-out, Samantha went up to her bedroom. A song was looping through her mind. It was an annoying tune she could not dispel and she found herself singing the words beneath her breath. ‘I’ve seen the truth in your heart, I’ve seen inside your fear.’ Not very nice words. How did she know them? It wasn’t the sort of song she liked. Must be something Rhys played.
As she changed from her leotard and leggings, the wind slapped furiously against the window. The frame rattled so much, Samantha thought the catch couldn’t be fastened properly. She went to investigate. Down on the lawn, the untidy leaves whirled and swirled around the bare tree trunks. The garden seemed so huge, seen there from the top of the house. Dark clouds belched across the sky, promising a deluge. The lawns were still green, although the gardeners had been busy in the flower beds, which now looked empty, the rich earth newly turned.
She heard a voice call from the garden, a woman’s voice calling her name. It sounded like Lacey. What was she doing out there?
Samantha felt impelled to open the window. Once she did so, a surge of wind broke over her, bearing into the room a scent of smoke and loam. Samantha leaned out of the window, letting the wind dishevel her sleek hair. She could not see Lacey in the garden. Perhaps she’d been mistaken about the voice.
There was something exciting about the autumnal smells and the chill, rushing air. Samantha could see the hill at the far side of the estate, its bare crown stark against the white sky. It seemed two figures were standing on it looking back at her, but when she looked again there was no-one there. The leaves filled the air. They confused her sight. Some of them even came in through the window and stuck to her face. Suddenly repelled, Samantha slammed it shut. Immediately she was cocooned in stillness and silence. She could still see the violence of the elements, but could no longer hear it. It was almost like a tornado out there, everything being whipped around, the trees leaning and swaying. She was worried one of them might fall on the house. Then, quite suddenly, the wind dropped. It was so sudden, Samantha wondered whether what she’d just seen was some kind of minor twister wriggling across her land. She glanced down at the lawn.
The leaves had fallen into a perfect formation: a message. Not the face of a demon, nor an omenic pictogram, but simply a number: ten digits. Samantha studied it in surprise for a moment. It was a London telephone number. How could that happen? Then, a low breeze scudded across the grass and the leaves twisted into it, becoming a chaotic scatter once more.
Samantha found that she could remember the numbers she’d seen quite easily. She was a rational, practical person, but because there was a phone in the bedroom, she acted impulsively. She punched in the number and it rang about three times. The voice that answered was her husband’s.
She said, ‘Rhys?’ Perhaps her voice sounded odd.
He barked, ‘Who is this?’
She answered, ‘Me.’
The phone slammed down at the other end, leaving Samantha with a silent line.
She sat down on the bed, the phone in her hands. She felt boneless. Where was Rhys? How had that number appeared to her? What did it mean? She picked up a pen and wrote the digits down on the notepad that lay on her bedside table. For several minutes, she just looked at it. Then she rang the number again, just to check, just to see. It rang and rang. No-one answered, although she could almost feel the eyes that watched that ringing phone, willing it to stop.
For an hour or so, she pottered around the house in a daze. Was it a woman’s number? Was Rhys having an affair? Her stomach felt hollow at the thought of it. Maybe there’d been no number in the leaves at all. Maybe it was her own mind that had made her think she’d seen it. It could have come from her memory.
Rhys’s office was always kept locked when he was away from the house, so Samantha had to ask the security man, Terry, to break in for her. She would pry into Rhys’s desk, see what she could find out, look for the number. Rhys would not expect something like that from her, and neither did Terry. He was not suspicious of her request, and accepted her excuse of having left a sheaf of bills in there that needed paying urgently.
‘Thank you,’ said Samantha in a dismissive tone, once Terry had forced the lock. She stood at the threshold, looking at him, until he went away.
The study was dark and watchful. Old ashes in the hearth gave off a bitter smell. Samantha went to the desk, which was empty of papers. Only an old-fashioned blotter and a black telephone lay on the gleaming surface. Samantha pulled the handle of the wide central drawer of the desk. It was locked. She hesitated. Should she break into the desk? Oh why the hell not ? She’d already have to explain the forced door. Terry wouldn’t do it, though. He’d think that was too much of a liberty.
Samantha marched into the kitchen and took a large cook’s knife from the draining board. Mrs Moran was at the sink. The moment she saw Samantha, she said, ‘what’s the matter?’
Samantha gave her a fierce glance. ‘I’m going to find out,’ she said, her mouth unusually firm.
Mrs Moran, wiping her hands on a dish towel, followed Samantha back to the study. Samantha didn’t stop her. The housekeeper looked on in bewilderment while her employer attacked the desk drawer lock with the knife. ‘Be careful,’ she said.
Samantha ignored her. The more the lock resisted her, the angrier she became. Certainty was settling within her: Rhys had betrayed her; Rhys had secrets.
Finally, with the wood around it scored and splintered, the lock gave way. Samantha threw the ruined knife onto the red carpet. Mrs Moran still stood at the doorway, her eyes round. Samantha sat down in her husband’s leather swivel chair. She started to pull all the contents of the drawer out onto the desk. Most of them were just receipts, but she did find an address book. Too convenient. As she suspected, the number she’d seen in the leaves wasn’t there. Rhys would have another book, one he kept on him at all times. Private numbers would be written in it.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Mrs Moran, walking gingerly towards the desk.
Samantha looked up at her. ‘I don’t know. Where you find evidence of infidelity?’
‘No!’ exclaimed Mrs Moran.
Samantha couldn’t explain about the leaves. Mrs Moran would think she was mad. She stood up and stalked into the living room, where there was an extension of her own telephone line. She called an old friend, whom she knew could find someone to gather information for her.
Rhys didn’t come home that night. Sh
The next morning, a man named Jones called her and told her how much it would cost to hire him. Samantha engaged his services immediately. Jones said that normally he would expect to receive payment in advance, but as a favour for a friend of a friend, he could give her an address now.
‘What address is this?’ asked Samantha.
‘Of the number I was given,’ he replied, rather smugly.
‘That was very quick’ said Samantha. ‘Thank you.’ She wrote the address down as he dictated it. The address belonged to a man named Gus Lyons. Then Jones asked her what further requirements she had.
‘I may not need anything else,’ she said. ‘Send me a bill.’
Jones laughed. ‘That’s not the way it works.’ He sounded displeased now, sorry he’d given her the address.
‘Where shall I send the cash?’ Samantha said impatiently. He gave her a PO Box address.
After she’d ended the call, Samantha dressed herself with care, cancelled her personal trainer for the day and went out to her car. The wind was not blowing today, and the sun shone harshly on the garden. Samantha looked back at the house, suddenly sure that she would not be living there for much longer. A sense of ending hung over the bare trees, and enveloped the stark white walls of the house. Samantha tossed back her hair and got into her car. She was going to London.
For a few hours, Samantha went shopping. She drew out some cash from her account, and posted it to the address Jones had given her. That was dealt with now. She wouldn’t have to remember it. Late in the afternoon, she went into a cafe, where she studied her A-Z street guide of the city. The address she’d come to find was in a fashionable area, expensive. It belonged to a man, yet Samantha was sure a woman was involved. She could almost smell an alien perfume. I may be wrong, she told herself. Strange men had been coming to the house for years. This Gus Lyons could be any one of them. Rhys might have been at the flat because of business. Yet still she couldn’t dispel her suspicions. She’d have to go there and see for herself. Samantha sipped her cappuccino, her face numb. She would do this thing, then, depending on the outcome, she might contact one of her friends. So far, she’d called none of them.