45
Tom pulled the car up outside Malcolm’s parent’s house.
“Thanks,” said Malcolm. He was about to pull the latch to open the door when he saw the front of the house. He frowned.
“Why is the front door open?” he asked nobody in particular.
“What?” Tom asked. He followed Malcolm’s gaze. There was a black rectangle where the front door should have been. The door frame next to the lock had been split.
“It looks like someone’s broken in,” said Tom. There was silence for a few moments. Malcolm looked at Tom, his expression asking questions that he knew Tom could not answer.
“D’you think I should go in?” he asked. “What if someone’s in there?”
“Maybe you should just call the police,” said Tom. Malcolm looked back at the doorway. The car was bathed on the fringe of light from a street lamp, and barely illuminated the front of the house. It seemed none of that radiance went into the house, as though the darkness was absorbing it.
“I’m not sure they’d appreciate it if they came out and saw us two sat out here, while they go in and find nothing. There’s two of us. If someone’s in there, we can just come straight out and we can drive away,” said Malcolm. Tom frowned at him.
“Thanks,” he said. “First you want me to lend you money. Now you want me to back you up in case you have an intruder”. Malcolm shook his head.
“It’s up to you. You don’t have to help me”.
“Yes, but what d’you think that’d do to my conscience? Come on, but it’s like you said right? If someone’s in there, we get the fuck out, ok?”. They hesitated for a few seconds. “If we hesitate,” said Malcolm, “we’ll never do it”. Tom nodded. Malcolm quickly got out of the car and walked across to the gate. He looked back at Tom who had joined him.
They slowly edged their way to the doorway, and stopped to look inside. There was darkness, and there was silence. Malcolm leaned forward and whispered in Tom’s ear:
“I think it might be best if we just went in noisily, turning on the lights. If someone’s in there, they might be surprised, and we should know more quickly than if we went in quietly whether or not someone’s in there”. Tom thought about that for a few seconds, then nodded. Malcolm stepped inside. The living room door was next to him. He only had to open it, reach inside and press on the light. This he did, and bravely announced: “If there’s anybody in..!”. There was a man standing by the fireplace. He looked up at Malcolm and asked:
“Are you Malcolm?” Anger swept over Malcolm’s fear.
“Who the fuck are you?”. The man, who looked to be in his forties, wore a white T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. His hair was dishevelled, his feet were bare.
“Are you Malcolm?”
“Yes, now who are you?” he hooked a thumb to the front door.
“Out, before I call...” The man had had his hands at his sides, and Malcolm noticed that he was lifting up a claw hammer. With a look of complete rage and hate, he hurled it at Malcolm, who ducked to the side. It cracked the living room door, and bounced on the carpet. Malcolm ran quickly out to find Tom standing at the gate.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“Move!” shouted Malcolm, “Gerrin’ the car an’ fuckin’ drive!”. Tom did not ask a second time. He ran to the vehicle. Malcolm ran to the passenger side. The man appeared at the doorway, and saw Malcolm as he slammed the door shut. He hurled the hammer again. It struck the door beneath Malcolm’s side window.
The car sped away on screeching tyres. The man hurried to the gate, and did not bother to pick up the hammer. He ran as fast as he could along the middle of the road. Tom looked in the rear view mirror as the man became smaller and smaller. He had seen a look of sheer despair and fear on the man’s face. Malcolm looked back, just as a curve in the road took him out of sight. Tom’s foot was pressed on the accelerator hard, but he had to brake as he emerged into a main road. He turned to the right. There were no other vehicles on the road. He speeded up, and Malcolm kept looking around.
“He’s gone,” said Tom, but did not slow down.
The man puffed and panted his way to the main road, and when he reached the
T-junction, stopped, looked left and right, but could not decide where Malcolm went. His breathing grew heavier. He looked all around him, his face one of absolute panic, but he did not utter a sound. He reached towards the left, and towards the right. His head snapped one way, then the other, and he began slowly to vibrate, as though a mild electric current was passing through him. He spun around, reaching in all directions, searching for Malcolm. His face grew more and more crimson, and his vibrations became more intense. Again, his head snapped left, snapped right, and he fell to his knees, his hands at his head as his eyes bulged. What seemed like a power surge coursed through him. His arms reached out again, and he fell forward, still, not making a sound. He crashed on his side, his head cracking against the tar-mac.
Still, he continued to shudder. Blood began to seep from his eyes, from the corner of his mouth, and from his left ear, to pool around his head. It was soon joined by another substance. A dark, greyish liquid that could only be the result of a melted brain. Soon, the trembling stopped, his right arm frozen, reaching out for Malcolm. It wasn’t long before onlookers gathered.