Past Darkness Read Free Page B

with Karl, and he continued ball-pressing.
    ‘I said that’s enough!’ Lipstick ran up to Karl, pulling him away.
    ‘You’re too forgiving, kiddo. How many times have I told you to toughen up?’
    ‘Toughen up like you, the biggest softy on the planet? Besides, I got this.’ Lipstick dangled an expensive-looking watch in front of Karl’s eyes, almost as if trying to hypnotize him. ‘He’ll hate losing this more than any kicking you can give him. He’s that sort of bastard.’
    Fatigued, Karl sat down on the overturned sofa, and let out a sigh.
    ‘I’m getting way too old for this kind of shit, kiddo, and you’re way too young to be doing the kind of shit you do.’
    Lipstick put her emaciated arms around Karl’s neck and kissed his cheek, leaving her trademark shimmering on his skin.‘I love you, Karl Kane. You know that, don’t you?’
    ‘The story of my life. Everyone loves me when they’re in trouble.’
    ‘Not like me, they don’t,’ Lipstick said, with such earnest intensity it was heart-breaking to hear. ‘I love you.’
    Karl quickly untangled her arms from his neck, and began pushing himself up wearily from the sofa, like an old heavyweight boxer using the ropes for balance.
    ‘C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get the hell out of here. We’re heading to the Mater.’
    ‘Do…do we really need to go, Karl? They might start asking awkward questions and–’ Uncontrollably, Lipstick started giggling.
    ‘What the hell’s so funny?’
    Lipstick pointed at Karl’s legs. ‘You really are wearing pyjamas.’

Chapter Three
    Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor’s crown.
    Revelation, 12:17
    T he inside of the large house stank of the festering human leakage of urine and excrement, coupled with dampness and the particular flavour of coldness associated with loneliness and despair.
    Death, also, in the godless gloom.
    Murder, specifically.
    Oh such a horrible murder.
    The master bedroom remained practically bare, except for the years of yesterday strewn everywhere: old newspapers browning and curling like autumn leaves, and once-happy clothes turned to sad-rags of moth-fodder.
    Practically bare, except for the thin, diseased mattress in the middle of the floor, and the young girl’s body curved into a foetal position atop the bedding. Her body resembled a straw doll left out in the evening rain for too long. She was adornedin a long, flowery dress from an era long forgotten.
    At the entrance to the room, Scarman stood like a medieval giant, naked, muscles framed powerfully in the door. His face was arrogantly chiselled like a great, pale wolf. His eyes were those of the departed, and he focused those dead eyes on the girl.
    In the claustrophic darkness, the girl’s skin gleamed like a ghostly beacon, more an apparition than something tangible and breathing.
    Stalking silently to the mattress, he knelt down and brought his nose close to her, inhaling deeply. A cloying onion odour of unwashed skin filled his nostrils. Coupled with that smell, which never failed to arouse the darkness in him: the smell of the young.
    For such a thin little thing, she had struggled gallantly, punching and kicking. But now she was silent and still. As still as fallen snow in the breaking of winter’s twilight; so still, he thought she could be dead.
    But she wasn’t dead. Not yet. Not until he was ready. He needed one more to accompany her on the journey ahead. He had been unsuccessful up to now in finding the other special one. The next couple of days, he hoped, would be more fruitful.
    He left the room as silently as he had entered, and only then did the girl abandon her pretence, opening the curtains of her eyelids slowly.
    Her gaze was filled with caution and weariness, but also something else; something not quite