Killing Freedom Read online

He stepped up towards the building and, ignoring the ‘CLOSED’ sign, rattled the bell.

  Nothing. Maybe he didn’t even live here anymore. Maybe he’d just look like a stranger and they’d arrest him or do something to her.

  He rattled the bell again and a light switched on.

  ‘Coming, coming,’ a voice called. Jared’s shoulders slackened: It was him. ‘I don’t know what time you call this, but I’m coming.’

  The figure scraped around at the door behind the frosted glass. ‘Almost got it, almost… right.’ The door opened and he stood there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

  ‘Mustapha, I’ve got a problem,’ Jared said.

  The unlit cigarette wedged between Mustapha’s lips slipped to the floor.

  He was shorter than Jared remembered him and definitely balder. Then again, it had been several years.

  ‘You… you can’t be here—’

  ‘Listen, Mustapha,’ Jared said, leaning in towards him. ‘It’s serious. She’s… I don’t think she’s going to make it, and—’

  ‘Your eye, what the fuck?’ He hadn’t even acknowledged the girl across Jared’s shoulder yet.

  ‘I’ll explain everything.’

  Mustapha’s eyes turned towards Cindy and his neck slumped further forward in disbelief. ‘And… oh, what the fuck, Jared?’ He looked towards his feet and scratched at his greying eyebrows, which sprouted out like tree roots.

  ‘I just needed somewhere to go. She’s hurt—badly hurt. Just, ple—’

  ‘You promised you wouldn’t come back, not after last time.’ Mustapha shook and his eyes bored into Jared. ‘You promised you’d do that to keep us safe.’

  ‘Do I look like someone with a lot of choices right now?’

  Mustapha dropped his stare and scanned Jared’s face again. He lifted his hands in the air and shook his head. ‘Come on, then. Come on. Fucking good nature. Let me have a look at her.’

  Mustapha led the way through the reception area and towards the rooms at the back. There were a lot of doors and the lighting was dim. The building had been extended since Jared had last been. It always did seem bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, though. Mustapha stopped at the penultimate door and pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. He twisted the lock and pushed the door open, waving his hand towards the room halfheartedly and tutting as Jared passed.

  Jared carried Cindy into the room and lay her on the bed. The mattress looked thin, lumps poking up through the surface. Flies buzzed around the bedside lamp—probably the only real source of light judging by the size of the miniscule rectangular window, frosted and intertwined with chequered grating.

  ‘What the fuck’s all this about, Jared?’ Mustapha asked, wiping the dropped cigarette against his shirt and sticking it between his lips. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing dragging a girl along here? And what the fuck’s up with your eye?’ He plucked the unlit cigarette back from his mouth and set it on the counter next to his chair.

  Jared rested his arms on the bottom of the bed as Mustapha pushed the stethoscope into Cindy’s chest.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Mustapha mumbled. He pulled a needle out of the drawer and pricked it into her arm before easing some water into her mouth. ‘She needs professional care, Jared,’ he said, pulling the bandage back. ‘I can try and get the bullet, but there’s infection, shit like that. We don’t have enough here to deal wi—’

  ‘Just do what you can,’ Jared said.

  Mustapha shrugged. ‘I’ll do what I can, but you still haven’t told me why you’re here. I’m guessing from the state you two are in that you’re still working for him?’

  Jared nodded and Mustapha acknowledged his nod. ‘You stink. Get a fucking shower and leave me to sort your mess out. First door on the left. I can’t promise anything. She’s in a fucking bad state, Jared.’

  Jared tilted his head and stepped out of the room. ‘Thanks, Uncle.’

  Mustapha grunted. ‘Get a shower and leave me to it. We’ll talk when you don’t reek of shit.’

  Jared stepped out of the shower feeling grubbier than he had before he’d gone in. The water fluctuated from boiling to freezing in the space of seconds, and a hairy black spider stalked his toes by the plughole. His eyelid stung from where he’d brushed the water against it, throbbing into his forehead. It felt strange tensing the closing muscle of his missing eyelid but still being able to see light peeking through. He wondered what it would be like to sleep.

  Sleep. He needed sleep.

  He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped back into the room where Cindy and Mustapha were. Her eyes were closed as Mustapha sat on a stool by her side. He’d hooked her up to a professional looking drip that seemed out of place and industrial in a village like this.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ Jared asked.

  Mustapha didn’t turn round. ‘She’ll live. But she’s going to be in a lot of pain. And I can’t say whether she’ll get any infection. This place isn’t the best for that sort of thing, Jared.’

  Jared’s head rattled with the reality of it all. ‘She’s… she was pregnant.’

  Mustapha was completely still and looked up towards the window. He let out a sigh and turned back down to her, carrying on doing whatever he was doing to her stomach.

  ‘When will she wake?’ Jared asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  ‘When she’s ready. It could be in ten minutes, it could be in ten days.’

  Jared nodded and pulled a clean shirt on. The freshness of the clean clothing hit him like a seaside breeze. ‘I need to go back and get my sister.’

  Mustapha rose up and walked up to Jared. He still looked threatening no matter how old he was. ‘Wait a second, kid—it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just expect to… to waltz in here like this and then shoot off again. You just can’t. You still haven’t told me what’s happening, and—’ Mustapha paused. ‘And your eye. It’d look a fucking state even with an eyelid. You need rest.’

  Jared brushed his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s a mess, Uncle. A real mess. I—’

  ‘Who is the girl?’

  ‘She’s… it’s a long story. But she shouldn’t be alive right now, and I guess I—well, I panicked. Her family, they’re dead. I couldn’t just leave her.’

  Mustapha sighed and nodded his head. ‘When you do what you do, you can’t let your fucking conscience start getting the better of you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Mustapha slipped his arm around Jared’s shoulder and pulled him out of the room. ‘It means it’s dangerous to care. Now let’s get that fucking eye seen to.’

  Jared screamed out as Mustapha dabbed alcohol onto edge of his eyelid.

  ‘You scream like a bloody woman,’ he said. ‘Get a grip already. I haven’t even put the stitches in yet.’

  Jared bit into his lip until it bled. Mustapha handed him a glass of water.

  ‘You’re gonna have to get a patch over this eye at some stage.’

  ‘No,’ Jared said. ‘I can’t draw too much attention towards myself. I have to just keep my head down. But I need to go back.’

  ‘Get some rest, then we’ll talk about what it is you—’

  ‘There’s no time to rest,’ Jared said, rising to his feet. ‘I’ve got to warn Faith. I—’

  ‘Won’t a phone call suffice?’

  Jared looked over at his phone. ‘No, they could already have… No, I need to see her.’

  Mustapha stepped over to the door and stood in front of it. Even though he was ageing and his posture slouched, the width of his shoulders still filled the doorframe. ‘You’re in my house, you abide by my rules. I’m sorry for whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but I’m not letting you stay here in the state you’re in. You’re bringing trouble.’

  ‘Uncle, I’m not—’

  ‘You can’t hide here, Jared. Whatever you’ve done… whatever it is you’re running from, this is no place for you. The community couldn’
t take it, not after last time.’

  The flames. The screams. Mustapha wiped his face and his scratched wedding ring glinted in the low light.

  ‘You still wear that?’ Jared asked, as Mustapha tapped the ring against his teeth.

  ‘Always. She’s always with me whether she likes it or not. How’s the eye?’

  ‘Sore.’

  Mustapha grunted. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up first thing. Then you do what you have to do.’ He stepped out into the corridor. ‘You can’t stay forever, just remember that. Oh, and erm, on the bedside table. Found that picture lying around. Thought you might, er… Anyway. Get some sleep.’

  Jared acknowledged Mustapha with a nod before resting his head back against the pillow. The door creaked shut and footsteps clicked along the corridor, another door opening somewhere else.

  Count to seven.

  One, two, three—

  Jared shot out of bed and slipped his black trousers on. He fumbled with his shoes and buttoned up his shirt. He had to go back for her now. He had to deal with the body in the van. Sleep was a waste of time: he could function without it.

  He crept over to the door, pressing his ear against the wood: nothing but the sound of distant crickets. The place was dead. He turned the handle, trying his best to reduce the creaking, then swung the door open in a smooth gesture.

  ‘Going somewhere?’

  Jared jumped back as Mustapha stood in front of his door. He raised the ring of keys up towards Jared’s face.

  ‘Just, um, the toilet.’

  ‘The toilet. Right. And as if I’d leave a master of disguise like yourself unattended.’ He pulled the door shut and slipped the key into the lock. ‘Get some fucking sleep.’

  Prisoner for the night.

  Jared turned back to the thin mattress of his bed and slumped onto the edge. A brown, patterned moth fluttered around his bedside lamp. He reached over for the photograph Mustapha had mentioned. On it, a young Jared, Faith, and his parents, playing in a sun-drenched garden. Before Mum went crazy with her religion. Before Dad stopped turning up after nights out.

  Before he left, and before their accident.

  He’d witnessed car accidents before, but the closest he’d gotten to his parents’ deaths were the news reports. The closest he’d gotten to their funeral was their obituary in the newspapers.

  And yet, he did not feel one iota of emotion or remorse. They were already ghosts of a past life long before they died.

  He scrunched the photograph up and slipped it into his pocket before easing his one good eyelid shut.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The warmth of the sun against his skin woke him up.

  It was unusual to be in a room where real light crept in. He was so accustomed to the artificial glow of the city’s neon lights that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up not surrounded by the darkness of black blinds.

  He opened his eyes and jumped back as he saw Mustapha standing by the door, arms folded.

  ‘Still a lazy fuck, then?’ he said, glancing at his watch.

  ‘What time is it?’ Jared asked, scrambling around for his clothes.

  ‘Eight-thirty. You want any breakfast?’

  Jared pulled his coat over his shoulders. ‘No. I… I have to go back. I have to get Faith.’

  Mustapha sighed and scratched his balding head. ‘She can’t come here, Jared. I’ve made that clear. Now you can go and you can check she’s okay, do whatever you have to do, but you can’t stay here. You see that, right?’

  Jared brushed his fingers through his hair. The money. He could give Faith some—warn her away for a while. That would do for now if he could convince her.

  ‘I need to… I need to get some money to her,’ Jared said. ‘I need her to get out of there because otherwise she’s in big trouble.’

  Mustapha brought his hand down on Jared’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. ‘This girl you brought here last night. Is she your lover?’

  Jared diverted his eyes to the ground. He’d never thought about things in that sense before. Was he in love with her? Or more in love with the normality of their life? He had a lot of explaining to do. About Brian. About Carl. ‘Just be there for her when she wakes up,’ Jared said, brushing Mustapha’s hand off his shoulder and stepping out of the door.

  ‘How you planning to get back?’ Mustapha asked.

  ‘My van. I don’t really have much of a choice.’

  ‘What, the van with the dead body in it?’

  Jared swung back round and stepped up to Mustapha. ‘How do you—’

  ‘Oh come on, Jared. I watch the news.’

  Jared scratched the back of his neck. Mustapha knew. The media were already on to him. They were closing in and Raymond would throw him to the dogs if he didn’t act fast.

  ‘I need to get rid of the van, somehow,’ Jared said.

  ‘No need. Had it dealt with this morning. Consider it a favour.’

  Fear washed over Jared. The money. He’d left the money inside.

  ‘Di—did you—’ Jared started.

  Almost as if he’d read his mind, Mustapha pushed a black rucksack into his chest. Inside, the envelope of money. ‘I suggest you take more care of your belongings in the future.’ He twirled a cigarette against his lips.

  Jared turned to his bed and slipped out a wad of cash. Twenty thousand. Enough for Faith to survive on for a year or two. Or would ten grand be enough? Even split? He couldn’t have her wasting it.

  He slipped fifteen thousand into the rucksack and stuffed the envelope with the rest of the cash underneath the bed.

  Mustapha licked his fingers and pulled a key out of his pocket before noting something down. ‘That leaves you with the slight problem of not having a vehicle. Four, seven, three, one: the code to the garage. My old bike is in there.’

  ‘I can’t, Uncle.’

  Mustapha shoved the key into Jared’s chest. ‘You can and you will. But if it comes back with as much as a scratch on it, I’ll fucking kill you myself, or at least rip your other eyelid off, okay?’

  Jared nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Mustapha waved his hand at him in disregard as Jared disappeared around the corner.

  People whispered as Jared stepped into Mustapha’s reception area. There were only five or six of them, sat on wooden chairs, like an old family home rather than a hospital. A woman wrapped her arms round her child’s shoulders and pulled her in towards her blanketed chest. Did he recognise her? He hoped she didn’t recognise him, not after what happened when he’d last visited his uncle.

  Jared stepped out into the warmth of the sun. It was still spring, but this place seemed to be a year-round suntrap. In the distance, the chatter of voices and shouts cried out at the market stall as children kicked footballs around the dusty roads. The clatter of cutlery sang from the windows of the tall, white apartment block as the scent of breakfast tantalised the nostrils. Jared unlocked the garage and pulled out the motorbike: black, shiny, almost speckless. He didn’t expect anything else of his uncle.

  As he hopped on the back of the vehicle and slipped on the helmet, he noticed that a patch marked the dusty ground where his van had sat the night before, the poor warden lost forever. A necessary elimination. Encounter a problem, deal with it. There was nothing else to be done.

  He revved up the bike and headed out of the village.

  The wind blasted against his helmet as he pelted down the highway on his uncle’s bike. His eye stung as the late morning sun shone down on him as he navigated through the traffic. He tightened his grip on the money bag over his shoulder. The fifteen thousand dollars and spare phone he’d put in there would be enough for his sister to get by in the meantime. It should be enough to pay off whoever she was working for.

  When he cut off the highway, he did so at a later stop to avoid going past Cindy and Brian’s house. He caught a glimpse of an ambulance rushing past him on the highway. Maybe they’d found them already? They were bound to find the
m at some stage—they always did. He didn’t want to see the news. It was better to stay disconnected. Jared cleared his throat as he turned off at the following junction, winding his way through into the inner city and towards his sister’s flat. She was supposed to be out of hospital today, so he had to get to her before anybody else.

  He pulled up outside Faith’s block of flats. The usual suspects were there: tramp sat by the bins, black guy with sunglasses twiddling with a cigarette in his mouth. Threatening to the everyday individual, perhaps, but nothing to worry about. Jared walked past them as they checked out his bike.

  ‘Dude, your eye is fucked,’ one of them said.

  Jared ignored him and jogged up the metal steps towards his sister’s flat.

  He thundered down the musty smelling corridor towards his sister’s room at the end. One of the doors was ajar. He ignored the smell of ganja and paced down towards his sister’s room. He lifted his hand to his sister’s door and the open door creaked down the corridor. Was somebody watching him?

  No. Just being paranoid. Nothing to worry about.

  He heard a shuffling somewhere inside Faith’s room but nobody came to answer. She was definitely back. The hospital had told him she’d been released last night. He cracked his fist against the door again, hoping that Raymond or Frank hadn’t gotten to her first.

  ‘Faith,’ he shouted. The door at the other end of the corridor creaked again. He looked over at it, and then back down at his shaking hands. He knocked on his sister’s door a third time. He’d have to kick it down. He’d have to go in there. ‘Faith, are you i—’

  The door rattled open and a bulky black man pulled himself out of the room. ‘The fuck you talking to? You some kind of Christian or something? Cause I ain’t havin’ none of that shit.’

  Jared’s eyes widened and he took a step back. ‘I—Faith’s my sister. Is she… This is her place.’

  The man looked at Jared and folded his arms, flexing his muscles. He had a full beard and sweat gathered on his shaven head. His muscles protruded through his white tank top. ‘I ain’t seen no chick called Faith,’ the man said. ‘I moved in here a couple days ago when the last girl took off. Sorry I can’t help more, bro.’