Screams of Thy Neighbour Read online

  Screams of Thy

  Neighbour

  Alexander Cowley

  Copyright © 2020 Alexander W.J. Cowley

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-8380364-0-9 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-8380364-1-6 (e-book)

  Cover design by Peter O’Connor (bespokebookcovers.com)

  First printing edition 2020.

  [email protected]

  OMEN

  A thud. A shudder. A tonne of metal versus fifteen kilograms of flesh – there was only going to be one winner. Darwin’s Law, it seems, can easily apply to other animals than mere humans.

  What was that fox thinking, wandering into the middle of the road like that? If it had known the intentions of the motorist speeding towards it, the creature might have taken prompt evasive action. Maybe it was making a valiant attempt to try and stop him, as though it had somehow known the driver’s motivations. Alas, it was not to be.

  The young man behind the wheel drove on, unfazed. Wide yet distant eyes contemplated what lay ahead. With short black hair and shaven complexion, his youthful looks masked an inner resolve far beyond his years. This route he knew like the back of his hand, its every turn imbued in his memory. He could in theory make this journey in his sleep, but so much hinged on the next few hours that he daren’t lose too much focus.

  Sitting bolt upright in his seat, this enigmatic figure clasped the steering wheel with hands enveloped by dense padded gloves. He rubbed his back against the seat, trying to relieve himself of the discomfort caused by the body armour embracing his body. The Velcro straps dug into his skin, forcing him to fidget to ease the irritation. Stars shimmered like beacons, set against an inky sky. The ground was dry and the air mild, unseasonably so given the time of year. Moonlight cast a silver glow across the countryside. Curious, how the full moon is said to be an omen for bad tidings to come.

  No singular event in his life could explain why this man – a teenager, even – was undertaking such a morbid endeavour. Despite the scars and nuts and bolts holding him together, this young man remained composed. Perhaps he had self-medicated on potent analgesics, or maybe he had developed a tolerance to the jarring and aches that were a feature of his formative years.

  Without any forewarning, his headlights snared a mighty stag standing bewildered in the middle of the road. The light reflected off its eyes and forced the driver to brake hard. Letting out an obscenity, he tooted his horn to disturb the peace and force the buck to yield. It did, yet as he drove off, more deer leaped across his path. Fawns, doe and another stag charged in pursuit of the alpha male. Unlike the fox, he did not fancy his chances against a mammalian goliath with antlers that could impale him like a sharpened pike.

  Again, the man eased back in his seat. He continued his journey along empty B-roads and deserted dual carriageways, allowing his mind to wander. To ponder how it was that he came to be in this situation at all.

  PART A – SORROW

  I

  The first time Edward Kreus saw a dead body – in the flesh, so to speak – was at the impressionable age of twelve years. It is difficult to imagine a child of that age witnessing such trauma at close quarters.

  He was content on his phone, playing the latest mobile app craze. Shush, don’t tell his mum and dad that he was single-handedly contributing to their three-figure phone bill for this month. If only he could get hold of those pesky rubies, he could level-up and be done with this game – this annoying, expensive, addictive game that his eyes could not be drawn from.

  “What’s for tea?”

  “We’re treating you to lunch at the drive-thru’ and you’re sat there griping about dinner?” Edward’s father struggled to conceal his disbelief, shaking his head from the driver’s seat.

  “He gets his appetite from you, Dwayne,” muttered Linda Kreus as a wry smile broke across her fair face.

  Edward glanced up in time to catch his mother reaching across to pet her husband with delicate fingers. Dwayne Kreus was receptive to this, stroking her arm that bore a small tattoo of a bird-of-paradise. All the while, he remained fixated on the road ahead. The boy in the back seat frowned and returned to work.

  “And my metabolism. There’s not an ounce of fat on the kid,” Dwayne said in a tone at once expressing astonishment and admonishment.

  Concentration etched on Edward’s face, he was oblivious to the world around him.

  “Edward, you’ve been on that thing for hours. Your teachers have said your schoolwork will suffer if you don’t focus on other things. Put it away, honey.” The exasperation in Linda’s voice betrayed her endearing smile.

  His gaze was drawn off the device once more, to meet the disapproving stare of a woman who was all too familiar with his antics. No sooner had their eyes met, a rapid succession of beeps grabbed his attention and his face bowed once more.

  Ching-chink-bleep. Tsh-tsh-tsh-tsh. Tinny background music and monotonous sound effects punctuated the silence within the car.

  “Radio on please, honey.” Dwayne’s strong jawline tensed with every succession of ‘bleeps’ and ‘plips’ that rang out from Edward’s phone. His Alabama drawl had been somewhat diluted, thanks to living in England for thirteen years.

  “Have you been in an accident that wasn’t your fault…?”

  High score!

  “Off the phone now, please. You’ll get square eyes staring at it for hours.” The forthright voice of Edward’s father interrupted his quest for gold coins.

  Much like a flock of birds fleeing an impending storm, Edward could always foresee trouble brewing when his father’s usual laid-back demeanour descended to one of bullish frustration. Again, he distracted himself from his screen, brooding with cynicism. Determination crossed his face, a resolve to continue pushing his luck.

  “No they won’t. Stop saying that, you’re lying!” His eyes were drawn once more to the action unfolding on the display, six inches from his face.

  “We’re the scientists in this family kid.”

  “Not very good ones.”

  “Well we’re good enough to afford that phone for you. And not to think twice about launching it out the window once we park.”

  “Then I’ll call social services and you’ll be taken away.”

  “We keep telling you, go ahead and do that. They’ll be doing us a favour,” Linda replied. “He definitely gets the sassiness from you Dwayne.”

  Both parents exchanged tepid smiles. He with the five o’ clock shadow and dark blond hair of short length; she with the wide blue eyes and humble face.

  “Put the phone down and stop acting so spoilt, Edward. Listen to Mum, otherwise we’ll head straight back home. Do you hear us?”

  Dwayne’s accent always grated on Edward’s nerves. Even so, he could tell the line in the sand had been crossed; his father was genuinely displeased.

  “Alright, fine. Just, please, let me finish this one quick level”. The boy’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed shut, the tip of his tongue poking through the side of his mouth as he homed in on his objective.

  Blip-blip-bloop. Ching-ching-plip.

  “A contraflow remains in place following an earlier accident between junctions 12 and 13 on the—”

&
nbsp; “Do you want the radio off, love?”

  “Oh what is this asshole doing cutting me up?”

  Level up!

  “Keep going then, you goddamn piece of shit.” Dwayne pressed the car horn and returned the disdainful gesture aimed at him by the motorist ahead.

  “Dry and sunny spells will continue for much of the afternoon, with some intermittent cloud—”

  “Don’t slow back down again!”

  Tuneless muzak emanated from Edward’s speakers, of the sort often heard when put on hold to a customer service helpline.

  “Ed, puddit down now, ya hear me?”

  “We shouldn’t have bought it. Edward, you can forget having it this weekend,” Linda said with weariness in her voice.

  “But Mum…” Edward pleaded.

  “The headlines at the top of the hour—”

  “Oh the lights were green Dwayne!”

  “Ah jeez—”

  ◆◆◆

  The young boy’s eyes opened a little. At first, he could not see through the light grey haze around him.

  Beyond the wispy strands of lingering smoke, he made out tyres embedded in the asphalt. This did not register with him. Neither did the sight of two cars fused together, creating an unholy matrimony of mangled metal and glass, in which he was trapped.

  He heard, but paid no heed to, the dialogue taking place within earshot. Judging by the urgency of people’s voices, the crash had been equally horrific for them as it had been for him. Bystanders came together to help in any way they could. Some phoned for help; others tried to free the occupants of the vehicles.

  “There’s a kid in the back!” one yelled. “Quick, give us a hand over here!”

  “Watch the fucking smoke before it blows!” came the booming reply from another motorist. He aimed a fire extinguisher towards the crumpled, conjoined car bonnets.

  Edward’s bright eyes glazed, staring at the two men, failing to process anything for want of the pain that began to consume him. Shock took its toll as his fragile form struggled to reboot.

  On the road close by, he glimpsed the contorted heap of a broken human, vanquished of life and devoid of soul, lying sprawled in the road. His car windscreen no longer afforded him protection and security, nor a modicum of privacy. At least the well-meaning rescuers needn’t pull him out of his four-wheel drive.

  “Would you stop being a dick and help me get the lad out before it blows up?”

  “There’s petrol all over and you’re gonna get yourself killed as well,” roared the second driver.

  “I’m not just going to leave him here, you dozy muppet!”

  “Watch out, glass on the road!”

  Their confrontation was ended by a woman identifying herself as an off-duty police officer. She sauntered into Edward’s field of view to interject with an air of military-style indignation and well-rehearsed authority.

  “Would you both please lay off the bickering? Take your extinguisher and spray the underside of the cars.”

  As the motorist did so, she turned her attention to the other man. “There’s no use trying to pull him free, he’s stuck tight and probably has spinal trauma as well. You can assist me by getting out of the way!”

  By now she had reached the back of the car that had been smashed into, with its obliterated windows. Here Edward Kreus lay helpless in the rear seat. He felt nauseous and cold. So very cold. A sharp, searing sensation radiated from his core to the peripheries of his body. Wedged centimetres behind his father’s limp body, his head bobbed this way and that, punch-drunk on pain. He listened out for the sound of that unfamiliar female’s voice.

  “Stay with me, OK? Everything will be OK, you are going to be safe with me. Can you hear me honey?” The policewoman’s tone was soothing, a Siren’s call amidst the incoming wall of sirens. Still, Edward could not see through the tortuous pain that tore through him. Both physical and mental, the anguish was overwhelming.

  “Gnnnrgh,” he grunted. He wanted to say more, but his brain was scrambled and his tongue felt like dead weight in his mouth. He spluttered. He wheezed. His mouth was dry, yet his eyes were moist.

  “Don’t speak young man, we’ll help you. Now, please, keep your head facing straight ahead. Look forwards for me. We’re going to get you out of there, alright?”

  The twelve-year old couldn’t bring himself to look through the headrest – misshapen by the force of the collision.

  Turning his attention to the front passenger seat, it was hard to determine where his mother started and bits of the car ended, such was the degree to which her body had become entwined amongst the metalwork. Suppressing a pang of nausea, Edward kept a vacant gaze on her exposed arm, where the tattoo of an exotic bird stood. Its vibrancy and detailed outline now were shrouded behind a veil of blood.

  They’re not moving! Oh God, they’re not moving!

  “Can’t you…please. Do…please, do something. For my mum and dad.” He swore he could see a flicker of movement from the driver’s seat in front. Then again, maybe it was passers-by reaching in to feel for a pulse that muddled the boy’s perception of reality.

  To one side of him, the officer spoke once more. “We’re going to do everything we can to help them, but we need you to listen to us, OK dear? What is your name?”

  As the first responders arrived, Edward remained conscious, albeit barely lucid. Paramedics and fire crews assessed him. At great length, they liberated him from the aluminium cage that imprisoned him. Meanwhile, the adrenaline began to subside, overtaken by intensifying agony precipitating from top to toe.

  A split-second later, Edward’s parents would have been clear of the crossroads and safe. This sheer weight of circumstance dawned on Edward with such crushing immediacy that he promptly passed out.

  Some time elapsed, and Edward lay bound and delirious on a spinal board in the body of an air ambulance. Ensconced in blankets, numerous straps immobilised his body. His head swam.

  The off-duty policewoman stayed by his side for now, comforting him. Her words were ineffective, not least because his ears were blocked with padding. He also knew that everything was not going to be OK. Nevertheless, her presence somehow reassured him.

  Just before the heavy-duty pain relief kicked in, the officer stepped away to let the helicopter’s door close. In her place sat two aliens in snug-fitting orange overalls, shielded by giant helmets with black visors blocking out their faces. She never heard Edward’s whimper above the din of the rotor blades.

  “Don’t leave me,” he mouthed. With a slight jolt, the helicopter took flight. His vision faltered once again. “Please, don’t leave me.”

  Many subsequent weeks in hospital followed, forming one disorientating montage of recovery and grief.

  II

  Edward was in a despondent mood as he lay on the bed, staring at the spider straddling his bedroom wall. He watched its legs effortlessly supporting its bloated thorax, scuttling and pausing, scuttling and pausing. Edward may not have noticed had it not been for the sunlight striking and casting a distracting shadow off the spider’s body. He was in no mood for compromise and lashed out with his notepad, smiting it with aplomb.

  He heard footsteps work their way up towards his floor. Removing his notebook revealed a smear of arachnid entrails staining the wall. The cover was also dirty, prompting him to launch the book across his bed. The creaking floorboards stopped, just outside his bedroom. He knew what was coming.

  “Edward? Edward, may we come in please?” a woman’s voice enquired from the other side of the door.

  Edward propelled himself off his mattress and called back. “Go away!”

  “Edward, we need to have a word.”

  “I said go away, I’m getting changed,” he lied.

  A pause. Two voices on the landing muttered but he could not make out what was being said.

  “You can’t stay in your room forever young man. We’ll be back to have a chat later.” With that, footsteps creaked back down the staircase.
/>   Free of this predictable interference, Edward paced up and down his grotty room. He muttered to himself, fists tensing and teeth clenching as his mind raced and pain coursed around his body.

  He picked up his diary and flicked through the doodles and scribbles. Sad faces, angry faces, things on fire and people in distress – it was all rather primitive. His handwriting was shoddy as well, but had improved ever since he was discharged from hospital.

  Five months ago, was that all?

  His eyes came to rest on one page somewhere in the middle of the notepad. Three stick figures, drawn haphazardly in crayon yet distinguishable as a man, a woman and a child. Holding hands, they looked like a happy stick family. Except for the angel wings coming out of their backs. And the upside-down cars in the background. And the mangled body sprawled next to them.

  Before he could well up and seed the diary with his tears for the umpteenth time, he slammed it shut and frowned. His stomach growled; his appetite had returned. He would have to leave his room and enter the lion’s den downstairs.

  The dining room was a hive of activity. Staff and children milled around in eager anticipation of dinner being served. A stocky middle-aged man looked up from helping to lay the table and caught Edward’s eye.

  Without wishing to engage in pleasantries, Edward noticed the bowls of peas and mash in the middle of the table. “I’m hungry.”

  The man gestured towards a pair of impatient children loitering. “Can one of you finish setting the table please,” he requested. “Edward, come on. Let’s have that chat with Rosie.”

  Edward pined, knowing there would be nothing good to eat by the time he’d finished his ‘chat’. One of the other residents, a girl of similar age to him, stuck her tongue out and licked the back of a wooden spoon. Before Edward could launch into a tirade about another of the world’s injustices, he was ushered out of the dining room and across the hallway. Maybe she fancies me, Edward thought. He scrunched his nose up at the possibility.