Читать книгу Blood RED - Paul Kane - Страница 18

CHAPTER EIGHT

She was sure she’d heard something.

Rachael pressed her ear against the speaker, but all she heard now was the occasional hiss of static. Definitely something, like Tilly trying to say her name, but not quite being able to.

She looked left and right. Rachael didn’t want to be exposed out here for too long. She’d given the gang the slip somehow, charging up and down streets until she was almost lost herself—but it wouldn’t take them long to figure out where she’d gone. Cap and Hood had seen her here yesterday and, to be honest, she’d half expected them to be waiting, ready to finish what they started back in the alley.

But the street outside Tilly’s block was deserted. It had crossed Rachael’s mind that they might be lying in wait for her—ready to spring a trap—so it took her some time to pluck up enough courage to make towards the main door. She’d kept her head down and run, hoping that Tilly would let her in quickly, all the time expecting to see the trio leap out from behind a wall or the corner of a building. It didn’t happen—she’d reached the door without incident. The only thing stopping her from getting inside now was the fact that Tilly wasn’t answering ...

Or rather that she’d answered then switched off the speaker. She might have fallen, especially as she doesn’t have her tablets, thought Rachael. Now she had two reasons to get inside—to ring the police and to see if Tilly was okay.

Rachael hadn’t been given the keys to Tilly’s place, but they were in a special coded key safe attached to the wall, so she could gain access if anything was wrong. Tilly even used this sometimes if she locked herself out; Rachael just hoped if the old woman had done that recently she’d replaced the keys again. Now, if she could just remember the combination ...

Rachael racked her brains, which were not exactly working all that well at the moment. She’d had to memorise quite a few of these codes, but most of her clients either had partners or could let her in themselves, so it had been a good while since ...

What the hell was Tilly’s? Think!

Something simple, she’d told her. Something that said ‘you can call round anytime if you like, not just when you’re meant to’. Not 1,2,3,4, like her lists—that was too obvious. Backwards, it was backwards: 4321! That was it.

With shaking hands she removed the rubber square protecting the buttons and stabbed at them, fumbling the catch the first time, then gaining access, letting out a relieved breath when she found the keys inside.

She didn’t like doing this, it made her feel a bit like an intruder. Rachael had to keep reminding herself that she needed to get inside because it was an emergency. She was in trouble, and Tilly might well be, too.

With that in mind, she used the first of the two keys to open the main door. Rachael closed the barricade behind her and leaned against it when she heard the loud click. For the first time since she’d stepped off the bus, she felt safe.

She made her way round to Tilly’s door, the sound of babies and music still rife in this complex. Rachael held up the second key, pausing before slotting it into the lock. Better to knock, she thought. I don’t want to give her a heart attack, bursting in like this.

She tapped lightly on the wood. “Tilly ... hello, is anyone there? Tilly, it’s Rachael, could you let me in?”

It seemed that Tilly could neither hear her, nor let her in—because nothing happened. Everything screamed at her that something was wrong. Use the key, Rachael ... Just use the bloody key and get the door open!

So she did, telling Tilly that she was coming in—just in case. But when Rachael opened the door and looked inside, she could see no sign of anyone at home. She walked into the small hallway with doors that opened to every room in the flat, calling out Tilly’s name again. There was no response.

Rachael checked the living room, the first room she came to—there was nobody inside. She was tempted to pick the phone up but knew she should check the rest of the flat first, to see that everything was okay. It was a similar situation in the kitchen, that room she knew so well, where she and Tilly had their little chats over her breakfast.

It was only as she moved back to the hall that she saw the sliver of open doorway leading to the one small bedroom in the apartment. And there, on the floor, she saw a pair of slippered feet, a pair of legs in tan stockings.

“Oh no,” whispered Rachael, rushing to the room. “Tilly? Tilly!” She pushed the door open farther and saw the rest of the old woman, face down on the floor. As she bent, she could hear Tilly breathing—and when she shook her gently, Tilly murmured something.

Rachael told her to hold on while she phoned for an ambulance. Tilly made a rasping noise. “No ... no, just get me to the bed, dear.”

“But you’ve had a bad fall, Tilly.” Rachael knew full well that you weren’t supposed to move someone after a tumble. If you still had the painkillers on you, said that little internal voice, you could have given her one right now.

“Please ... please, young Rachael,” said Tilly. “Nothing’s broken, I’m sure of that. And it’s so ... it’s so hard on the floor.”

Against her better judgement, Rachael slipped her hands under Tilly’s arms, then hefted her up. For a small woman, she weighed quite a bit, but Rachael manoeuvred her expertly to the bed, laying her upright on it. Tilly winced a couple of times in pain. Her usually immaculately maintained hair was sticking out in several places.

“Now I really am getting you that ambulance,” said Rachael.

Tilly placed a hand on her wrist and shook her head. “You know what will happen if you do that. You know where they’ll put me.”

Rachael knew well enough. Social services would stick her in a home because they’d be frightened of a repeat performance.

“I don’t want that to happen,” breathed Tilly.

“This is all my fault,” Rachael said.

Tilly shook her head and patted Rachael’s arm. “Nonsense, dear. Why on earth would you think that?”

“I forgot to give you your painkillers ... I’ve been so wrapped up in what’s happening to me, I’ve ... I let you down, Tilly.”

“No you haven’t, dearie,” said Tilly with another pat. Her voice sounded stronger now, Rachael was pleased to hear.

“Look, I’ve got to ring the police anyway. There were some youths when I was on my way here—”

“You’re such a beautiful girl, you know,” said Tilly.

Rachael gave her a puzzled look. Where did that come from?

“Quite breathtaking. You really do remind me of ...” Tilly paused before finishing, “someone I used to know.”

“Tilly, we don’t have time for this. Those boys—”

“Sit with me a while. Sit and talk to me like we always do.”

“What about?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tilly smiled. “We’ll think of something.”

Tilly’s gaze made her uncomfortable. “Let me pull up the chair, then,” she said, breaking away. For a moment, Rachael thought Tilly wasn’t going to let her go, then her hand dropped from Rachael’s arm. She walked over to the chair under the dressing table with its collection of brushes and hairspray. And with its three mirrors: one central, the others on hinges at both sides. It was slightly angled, so the image thrown back was of the wooden wardrobe on the far side of the room. But when Rachael bent to grab the chair, one of the mirror ‘wings’ caught something else.

“You know ...” said Tilly. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you see a fair few things, young Rachael. You begin to understand that ... the more things change, the more they stay the same. And what goes around, eventually comes around.”

Rachael couldn’t tear her eyes from that image. It showed Tilly in the bed, but it wasn’t really Tilly at all. The body was covered in hair, or more accurately, fur: tufts of it on every inch. And the face was monstrous—the most hideous thing she’d ever seen. Feral was the only word she could think of to describe it, with clumps of fur dotted all around the brow—which was ridged and thick, even more so than unibrow’s—and on the cheeks. What she could see of its ears beneath a mane of hair were pointed. Its eyes were bright red, burning from its skull with an intensity that explained why she’d felt so uneasy just a short time ago by the bed. But the teeth, oh God the teeth! However they were packed into that mouth was a mystery, although now she could see that it was faintly muzzle-like, reaching back almost to the ears. Rachael swallowed, but it was as if all the saliva had dried up in her mouth. Unlike ‘Tilly’, who seemed to have an abundance of the stuff, dribbling and slavering over the lips and chin, sticking to the matted beard there.

Her eyes travelled back down that body, down the arms: to the hands that had just been patting her. At the end of the fingers were yellowing claws that looked at least as sharp as those razored teeth. It was so alien and yet there was something about it.

The yelp popped out before she could stop it.

“Are you all right, dear?” asked Tilly. Except it wasn’t Tilly now, was it? It was something that simply looked like her, even imitating her clothes. But it could never be her in a million years.

Rachael nodded. Keep it together, keep it together ... This is just part of the hangover, brought on by the stress and the booze and—

It was no good. Rachael blinked to shoo away the monster, but it remained in the mirror. This was happening—no two ways about it. Steeling herself, she turned back to the thing on the bed, which suddenly became Tilly again. You can act, so act! Act like you don’t know what’s in front of you, like you haven’t just seen its true face.

All she wanted to do was run—she’d face the youths again gladly, rather than this creature. Hell, she’d face a hundred of the bloody yobs! But she knew that just as it was pretending to be Tilly in face and voice, so too was it faking its fragility. It would be up and on her in seconds, before she could reach the front door, before she could reach the safety—such as it was—of the outside world. In order to get out of this alive, which was now the only thing on her mental ‘to do’ list, she would have to do a little pretending of her own.

“Tell ... tell me again about Leonard,” Rachael said, trying to keep the crack from her voice—and to buy herself time to think.

“Leonard?” It was giving itself away again.