To Indigo by Tanith Lee (read along books txt) 📕

was even privy. It was as if I’d left myself below, and here he – I – sped along the high bridge above. With Sej. Most games need at least two players.

Sej lifted his head and tipped it right back this time. He looked up at the ceiling.

“Give me a clue,” he said.

“First letter L. Lynda,” I said, deliberately.

“No. That wasn’t it.”

The tea I hadn’t drunk was cold. He had drunk his. “What about,” I hesitated. “V,” I said. “Or – J?”

And he looked at me. “Oh, Roy,” he said. “We are going to have a wonderful time.”

He did break in the bedroom door, later that evening. It was easy for him, as I’d have thought, although the door didn’t break open cleanly because of the glue.

“What did you use?” he asked, sounding mildly intrigued.

“What she did, I expect, your woman friend who fixed the bolts downstairs.”

“I see.”

I’d already asked him how she had managed the loosening of the top bolt. “She’s good at that kind of thing,” he said. “She has strong wrists and fingers – she plays the piano, the same as me.”

We had had lots of little conversations by bedtime. On this, and that.

Once I said, “So now I’m definitely your prisoner.”

And he said, “Yes. For now.”

We had established this because my mobile had rung faintly out on the front path. Apparently it still worked. But when I inquired if I was to be allowed to get it he said no, and that nor would he.

It rained heavily that night anyway.

Besides, someone might steal it, simply for its usefulness, perhaps as a free gift, for it was in no way trendy.

I had also seen, during the afternoon, the tiny dark healing wound in the palm of Sej’s left hand.

For one terrible moment I’d been reminded of a disgusting statue of Christ crucified – the Crucifix. He saw me see the mark. He said, “This? That’s fine. I’ll tell you about it later.”

But I am prevaricating.

Because I don’t want to put down the next section of my narrative.

Perhaps absurdly, I hadn’t known I would ‘block’ at this point. In fact it isn’t a block; I know only too well what comes next.

No one will ever see this.

No one.

Let me therefore, for my own sake, write it.

6

The second time I went to his flat, Mr C went with me.

Brothers in our shaven baldness, we were otherwise not alike. A big man, Mr C. On this occasion he wore a grey shirt. “Which one’s the druggy you said?”

“Flat No 2. 3A’s a possible as well.”

Mr C rang the bell of No 2.

We waited, while 5’s loud music thundered above. My companion seemed impervious.

There was no answer. So Mr C rang No 2’s bell again, now leaning on it.

Presently a voice blurred from the speaker.

“Whah? Wha’ is it?”

“Hello, sonny. I got something nice for you. What you like. You want it?”

No 2 brightened audibly. “’S ’at Col?”

“No. It’s his best friend.”

“Wha’ you got?”

“I’m not telling you through a door. You want it, come and get it. You got one minute.”

“Hang on – don’ go – I’m opening the door – I’ll be there…” wailed No 2.

The buzzer sounded and the door was pushed open by Mr C.

We went in and stood there until No 2 came slithering and slipping, nearly falling, down the stairs. He was as I recalled him, nothing changed, hair, garments or stench.

On the last lowest step he seemed to grasp that something was wrong here. He eyed Mr C, then me, then came back to Mr C.

“I see you afore,” he finally told us both, inaccurately.

Mr C moved.

He was very quick, which I’d already witnessed.

No 2 went down like a literal bag of bones. I seemed to hear them click and rattle as he landed on the floor and Mr C knelt on him. Probably I’d heard his keys.

“Now then. We want to go and see Tina.”

“All right – a’ right – yeah, mate, you go an’ see Tee.”

“She up there today?” asked Mr C, grinding his knee into No 2’s ribs so he squeaked and coughed. “Sure – yeah.”

“If you’re lying…”

“OK. Don’ know, do I – get offa me…”

“Oh, am I hurting you, sonny?”

No 2 whimpered.

“Tell you what, why don’t I let you get up and you can show us the way.”

“He knows – the way…” accused No 2, indicating me around Mr C’s inexorable bulk.

“Never mind. Demonstrate your good manners, son. Just lead us up. Like we was blind, eh?”

“You ain’t,” whispered No 2. “Y’ain’t blind.”

Mr C stood and No 2 crawled over and coughed against the floor. Then he rose and tried to sprint back up the stairs

But Mr C tripped him and he went down with a bang on the first step, and rolled there whining, with blood on his mouth.

Above us the music roared, but I don’t think anyone would have come to see anyway.

“I cut me lip – why you done that – ain’t got no stuff…”

Sobbing, No 2 guided us up the stairs, sometimes faltering and coughing, once spitting red on to the step.

There was a resignedness to all his actions. One guessed he had been done over before.

Nothing else happened all the way up. No 2 ignored both his own flat and 3A’s; he led us, flagging and wilting, to the top. Where no one had repaired the door of 6, 66, and it still stood ajar.

“What a good boy you’ve been,” Mr C congratulated No 2. “Now you skitter on down to your frowsty little pen, and we’ll see what Tina’s got for us.”

No 2 fled.

There was obviously no chance he’d call the police. Doubtless, rather like Roy Phipps, there was really no one he could call.

“I’ll go first.”

I let him.

I wasn’t entirely certain why I’d felt I had to come back, but it had nagged me all through the couple of days since I’d been here last. I’d called the number again Cart gave me, of course by then the third time I’d