Not Dark Yet

12

Banks first became aware of a throbbing pain in his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw he was in semi-darkness. It was a blessing. Bright light would have hurt. He also realised that he was tied up. He wasn’t sure how, or how securely, only that when he moved his legs to try to straighten them out, something tightened around his neck like a noose. Trussed was the word that came to mind. Trussed like a Christmas turkey. Hog-tied.

He didn’t know how long he had been like that before he heard a door open and someone placed a portable work light down beside him. He shut his eyes, but not quickly enough to prevent the pain of the light exploding inside his head. He couldn’t even raise a hand to cover his face.

When he did open his eyes again, he could only see the shadowed and hunched profile of the man who stood before him, but that was enough for Banks to recognise him. He was looking older, his hairline had receded and he carried more weight around the middle, but Banks didn’t have to be a super-recogniser to know it was Phil Keane. He also noticed that he was being kept in a cavernous space, an abandoned factory or control centre of some sort, with large rusted wheels, heavy pipes and valves, pumps, storage tanks, hanging wires, and broken consoles.

‘Well, well,’ said Keane. ‘We meet again. You cost me a lot, you know. Because of you I had to leave the country, get a new identity, find a new line of work. But perhaps I should thank you. It’s proven even more profitable than my previous work.’

‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ Banks managed to mumble with a mouth that felt full of treacle. Keane was holding something, and Banks saw it was a large can. The kind you carry petrol in. ‘Where’s Zelda?’ he asked.

‘The girl? She’s nothing to do with me. Petar’s taking care of her. He has a score to settle. He’s made plans for her. Fortunately, he’s agreed to let me settle my old score, too.’

‘If either of you harm her—’

‘Oh, stop it,’ said Keane, unscrewing the can. ‘You don’t know how pathetic you sound. We’re going to do exactly what we want, and you’re not going to be able to stop us. This time I’ll get to finish what I started.’ He shook the can and Banks heard the petrol slosh inside it. Soon he could smell it, too. ‘We’re clearing out of here very soon,’ Keane said. ‘It’s time to move on. A good fire is just the thing we need to make sure we leave no traces.’

Keane splashed the petrol on the floor around Banks’s feet.

When Tadić came into her room again and set the light down on the floor, he came alone. Zelda sensed some new purpose in his visit other than mere torture or gloating.

‘We are leaving soon,’ he said. ‘Mr. Foley has your new passport in the car, along with sufficient funds for the journey. It will be a long and hard one, and perhaps not as comfortable as you would wish.’

‘So let me loose to clean myself up a bit. At least give me a fresh T-shirt.’ Zelda’s top was still crusted with dried vomit from the time Tadić had hit her.

Tadić smiled. ‘Yes. Of course. A good idea. All in good time. We have nice new clothes for you in the car. But you are right about the T-shirt. It is disgusting.’

He knelt before her and took a flick-knife from the pocket of his leather jacket. He held it close to her face and flicked the blade open to make sure she saw it glinting in the light. Then he slid it under the material of her top and started cutting until the T-shirt was in shreds on the floor.

So this is it, Zelda thought. This is when he takes his pleasure. Feeling half-naked and exposed was nothing new to her, but it had been so long that she found herself feeling embarrassed and shy. She wanted to protect herself from his gaze and raised her cuffed hands up to cover her breasts as best she could.

Tadić merely laughed. ‘Very modest for a kurva,’ he said, unfastening his belt and unzipping his trousers. The light cast grotesque shadows of him on the wall. He took off his leather jacket and dropped it on the floor, then grabbed her by the hair. ‘On your knees.’

Zelda had no choice but to submit. But as she did so, an idea formed. When she was kneeling, and Tadić had his trousers down around his ankles, he put the blade of the knife to her neck, right by the jugular vein and carotid artery. It wouldn’t take much to cut them, Zelda thought. Just a slip of the hand, a nervous tic even, and she would be free. Could she do it? She hadn’t been able to swallow her tongue or hold her breath, but perhaps she could accept death this way. She closed her eyes, felt the cold steel on her skin, felt his hand press against the back of her neck, pulling her forward.

‘Open your mouth.’

Zelda opened her mouth and felt him enter her. She almost gagged, but managed to stop herself. Instead, she offered a silent prayer to the God she didn’t believe in and bit down as hard as she could.

In that moment, Banks was certain he was going to die. Then he heard sounds from somewhere deep in the building, upstairs, perhaps. Someone shouting, a banging noise, a chain scraping along a floor.

Keane smiled. ‘Sounds as if Petar is having his fun. I must say, he’s a bit of an animal when it comes to the fairer sex. I can’t say I approve. Me, I’d rather wine and dine and seduce a woman than simply take her. Like I did with Annie. How is she, by the way?’

‘Bastard.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Keane said, splashing more petrol over the floor between himself and Banks, who was still feeling too woozy to resist. Even if he hadn’t been trussed up, he wouldn’t have been able to offer much opposition.

‘Tell me about Faye Butler,’ he said. ‘Why did you kill her?’

‘Don’t think this is going to be one of those long drawn-out confessions you get in movies when the hero is about to die,’ Keane said. ‘And don’t think you’re going to keep me talking until the cavalry comes. Nobody’s coming. Faye was collateral damage, that’s all. I didn’t kill her. Maybe Petar got a little overeager to find out what she told your lady friend up there about his business. Like I said, he’s an animal with women.’

‘Did you kill Hawkins?’

‘He was taking Goran and Petar’s money and giving them crap in exchange. They lost a whole shipment of fresh girls because of him. You don’t pull those kind of tricks on the Tadićs and live. They let me prove myself.’

‘Bully for you. What happened to Goran?’

Keane paused. ‘You don’t know? You really don’t know? Well, well. I’ll tell you that, at least. Goran’s dead. The girl killed him. Knife. Made a right mess. Petar and the others disposed of his body to prevent a police investigation. Then they carried out their own. Why do you think all this is happening?’

‘Petar’s revenge?’ Banks said. ‘But you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be a part of it. You disappeared before. You can do it again.’

Keane paused. ‘You don’t understand. I want to do this. This is a favour granted me by Petar. And who knows, maybe I’ll pay Annie another visit, too, before I leave here for good.’

Banks struggled against his ropes, but it was no use. He only felt them tightening around his throat. Keane stood in front of him holding the petrol can. The rest of the abandoned factory was quiet now.

‘Just a little more, I think,’ said Keane, and splashed some of the petrol over Banks’s trousers and shoes.

Zelda had no idea what it would feel like when the knife cut into her neck. She had seen movies where the blood gushed out, but they conveyed no idea of the sensation. Would it hurt? How long would it take? What would dying feel like? Like going to sleep, she hoped. But surely she would find out very soon. His muscle would twitch and the knife would cut her open. The end.

She felt nothing. No pain. Nothing.

Tadić screamed, dropped the knife and clutched at his genitals with both hands. Stunned to still be alive, it took Zelda a moment to adjust her perspective. She had expected death, but perhaps now she had a chance to achieve freedom instead. He hadn’t twitched in a reflex action but had instead dropped the knife and moved his hands to the source of the pain, thereby leaving himself open. But she had to act quickly.

Tadić fell to the floor and his grotesque shadow twisted and turned on the wall. Zelda saw the knife where it had fallen. She stretched her leg as far as she could with the chain still on and reached out her cuffed hands, but it had fallen just outside her grasp. She had no idea how long it would take Tadić to regain control, but she didn’t think she had much time. He was in the foetal position on the floor groaning. It was awkward with her hands cuffed, but she managed to remove her belt, hold it in a loop with both hands and hook it over the knife like a lasso. It just reached. Slowly, she pulled the knife towards her.

Tadić’s groans were less frequent now, but he was still sliding around on the floor in his own blood. Zelda tossed her belt aside and grasped the knife as best she could with both hands cuffed together. Tadić kicked out, either deliberately or still in agony, and his foot caught her on the shoulder. She almost dropped the knife but instead managed to lunge out with it. She felt it bury itself in his flesh. Now she got to her knees again and plunged the knife in and out of Tadić’s chest and stomach until he stopped moving. It was only then that she saw her first cut had severed his femoral artery in his right thigh, and the blood was still gushing out. She slid back towards the radiator and landed against it, breathless, dazed and miraculously still alive.

Tadić lay unmoving in the pooling blood, and Zelda knew enough to be certain he would never move again. With some difficulty she tried to saw through her plasticuffs with the knife. It slipped twice and she cut her palm and thumb, but she got free. She rubbed her hands together to get the circulation going, then crawled towards Tadić’s jacket, still lying where he had dropped it on the floor, dragging her leg chain with her. When she got close enough she went through his pockets. Eventually she found his keys, and after several tries found the one that fit the padlock on her leg iron. She was free. Alive and free. She massaged her ankle. But it wasn’t over yet, she felt certain. Tadić hadn’t been alone; there were others. She put on his leather jacket, wiped the knife on his jeans and crept towards the door, holding the blade before her.

The whole place stank of petrol. Banks felt his head swimming with the fumes, as if his consciousness were water gurgling down a drain. But the pain in his head kept him awake. For a moment, he couldn’t remember who it was that stood in front of him, and why. Then it came rushing back. It wasn’t a dream. He was in some sort of abandoned factory and Phil Keane was about to start a fire. He imagined the flames slowly creeping over his skin, through to the flesh, and down to the bone. Like most people, he had only had mild burns in his life, but they had hurt enough. How long would it take for him to die? How much would it hurt?

‘I think that’s about enough petrol, don’t you?’ said Keane. ‘Should be a nice little blaze. There’s plenty of combustible material in the building. Probably bone dry after the recent weather. And we’re far enough away from civilisation that there’s not much chance of the fire brigade making it here until there’s nothing left.’

As Keane talked, Banks fancied he glimpsed movement in the shadows behind him. It was out of the lamp’s range, so he couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was just imagining things. Or maybe it was Tadić come to watch the fireworks. But this shadow seemed to be creeping slowly, deliberately, up behind Keane. Surely Tadić wouldn’t do that. Another wave of nausea and dizziness swept through him, and he lost track of the shadow, if there was one.

‘I just have to make sure Petar and the girl get out first,’ Keane said, ‘then I’ll be back.’ He took a red disposable cigarette lighter from his pocket and flicked it so it flamed for a moment. ‘Don’t go away.’

There was definitely movement behind him. Silent. Slow.

Then suddenly, Keane seemed to jerk to attention. His hands went behind him and he dropped the can, petrol gurgling at his feet and over his shoes. Then he jerked again and dropped to his knees.

The next thing Banks knew, Zelda was stepping around Keane’s body and cutting his bonds. Keane moved behind her and she turned around, blocking Banks’s view, so that he couldn’t be sure whether it was her or Keane who struck it, but the lighter flared briefly and Keane’s petrol-soaked clothes went up in flames along with the floor around them. Keane screamed.

‘Run!’ cried Zelda, helping Banks to his feet and slapping out a tongue of flame that caught his trouser leg. ‘Get out! Quick! Run! Run!’

Banks ran.

Running wasn’t easy. Banks’s head was bursting, and he kept tripping over himself as he made his way through the door and into the night outside, the flames at his heels. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to see that he had been in an abandoned water treatment plant. The rectangular reservoirs stood before him empty of water and filled only with weeds, ghostly in the moonlight. He ran around the first one and headed for the woods beyond, with no idea of where he was going. He could hear the flames roaring behind him and turned to see how close Zelda was, then stopped in his tracks.

She wasn’t there.

The flames were quickly engulfing the building, already eating their way through the roof, but he had to go back. He stood in the doorway and saw there was no way he could go any further inside. Parts of the ceiling were collapsing, the whole floor was blazing, and the fire was spreading fast to every last corner. He called out Zelda’s name but got only the roar of the flames in return.

He looked towards the spot where he had been tied up and thought he could make out Keane’s burning body, but that was all. So what had happened to Zelda? Why hadn’t she been right behind him? Should he have waited and made her go first? He hadn’t been thinking clearly, couldn’t think clearly because his head hurt and his thoughts were muddled. The heat was too much, and he staggered back towards the reservoir. Before he could stop himself, he fell backwards over the edge into the bed of weeds and felt his head jar against the hard bottom. And there, as the fire raged, he lost consciousness again.