It was inconceivable that Samantha and Lacey Lorrance could even be a remote part of this world. Samantha would invariably return late Sunday afternoon. After a moment’s frowned contemplation, during which she might have sensed a strange taint in the air, she would shrug off whatever bothered her, smile brightly and chatter on in her high voice, attempting to groom out her East End inflections.
‘Oh, look at this, Rhys,’ she would say, fluffing out some fragile garment from her purchases. ‘Innit lovely?’
‘Charming.’ Lorrance would kiss her on the cheek and offer her a gin and tonic and she’d always say,
‘All right, though it’s a bit early.’
She would supervise the staff while they cooked dinner, unaware that since dawn a battalion of cleaners hired from the city had been scraping and sweeping the remnants of the two day party from the rooms. Dex had even known Lorrance call in a decorator at short notice, after an unfortunate episode of projectile vomiting from one of the guests.
Samantha twittered about the house, bringing with her a completely different atmosphere, a kind of innocence. Dex was at once repelled and fascinated by her. She had a healing presence, albeit one that grated on his nerves.
Lacey might sometimes appear on Sunday evenings. Samantha went out of her way to curry favour with the girl, attempts to which Lacey seemed oblivious. Lorrance appeared uncomfortable around his daughter, perhaps because he realised she was far more astute than his wife, and might therefore spot evidence of what went on in the house. The situation couldn’t have lasted; that much was obvious. It was almost as if Lorrance was dicing with fate, pushing to the limit the risk of exposure.
The weekend began as any other. Music throbbed from various rooms, interspersed with high-pitched laughter and drunken shouting, and the sounds of running feet. Dex lay in a drugged stupor on a sofa in the main lounge, while a faceless person - and he couldn’t even remember if they were male or female - expertly fellated him. Dimly, he was aware of a pulsing roar outside that sounded like a helicopter. That might be possible; he’d seen the dark men arrive that way.
Shortly afterwards, Dex heard a commotion in the hallway; shouting then, unmistakably, screams.
Dex struggled out into the hall, and at first saw only a melee of people and buzzing activity that made no sense. Then he realised they were all milling around something on the floor: a male body, lying face down, its limbs in an eerie approximation of a swastika. A couple of girls were screaming, repeatedly, monotonously, with hardly a pause for breath. Others were talking fast, gesticulating wildly, but no-one, for some reason, knelt down to check for a pulse.
Lorrance appeared at the head of the stairs. He looked terrifying, like a vengeful god; tall, golden and powerful. ‘Shut up!’ he roared and everyone did. He descended the stairs slowly. He wore a long, striped silk dressing gown and leather slippers, but otherwise seemed perfectly groomed. His eyes were cold. At the bottom of the stairs, he shouted, ‘Move!’ and flapped his hands at the crowd. ‘Get out of here!’ They backed into the rooms from whence they’d come; chastened demons. Only Dex remained. He and Lorrance stared down at the body on the floor, a young man Dex did not know, but felt he should recognise. ‘Who is it?’ Dex asked eventually.
‘Some tart,’ Lorrance answered.
‘He looks very dead,’ Dex said, wobbling on his feet.
Lorrance nodded. ‘It would appear so.’
‘Should we... call someone?’
Lorrance fixed him with a gaze that seemed at once blazing and icy. ‘Who, his fucking mother?’
Dex winced away from the blast of words, shrugged helplessly.
‘He’s just a little slag off the streets. We dump him. Can you drive?’
Dex laughed, a nervous reflex. ‘Drive?’ He couldn’t say any more.
‘Just a couple of miles down the lane. We’ll take it slowly. There’re no police around here who aren’t good friends of mine.’
‘But what will you tell people?’
‘That we took him to hospital. He’s only dead to us, Dex.’
‘No, Rhys, I can’t.’
‘You can.’
‘No, this isn’t right.’
Lorrance fixed him with a stare. In his eyes, Dex saw infinity stretching back; a relentless void. ‘You have no feelings,’ Lorrance said quietly. ‘Not about this.’
Dex looked down. There was a body on the floor; they’d have to deal with it. The dead boy had always been dead for Dex; he possessed no personality and no past. Whatever he’d thought or felt a moment before had vanished.
Between them, Dex and Lorrance lifted the body into a soft approximation of standing. They arranged the limbs, so it looked as if they were supporting the boy tenderly for the short, slow walk to Lorrance’s car. It was possible to believe he was only unconscious. A couple of the floor tiles were cracked where the body had hit them; they were smeared with blood. The rooms were hushed around them, as if every party-goer was afraid and holding their breath. Sounds echoed hollowly. The body weighed heavily against Dex’s shoulder. He told himself, ‘this is a dead person’, but could feel nothing in his heart.
In the car - a sleek silver Mercedes - Lorrance sat in the back, his arm around the body. Dex backed the vehicle out of the garage, and saw two tall, indistinct figures standing in the driveway, illumined only by the crimson glow of a cigarette. ‘Who are those people?’ Dex asked. He could not see their faces.
‘They are friends of ours,’ Lorrance answered. ‘That’s all you need to know.’
The two men appeared to watch the car as it left the estate, but it was difficult to tell. In the rear view mirror, Dex could see only shadows. There was no sign of a helicopter on the field before the house.
Out in the lanes, Dex found it surprisingly easy to drive. ‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘The forest,’ Lorrance answered. ‘I’ll direct you.’
They drove along in silence for a while, and all Dex could see in his mind was those two shadowy figures on Lorrance’s driveway. The image eclipsed even that of the body sprawled on the floor. Dex swallowed with difficulty. He glanced in the mirror and saw Lorrance’s face. He was gazing placidly out of the window at the passing countryside, apparently without a care in the world.
‘Somebody might find the body,’ Dex said. He wanted reassurance.
Lorrance shrugged. ‘Unlikely. The place where it will lie for eternity is on my land. My land is private.’
‘Someone from the party might say something.’
Lorrance laughed coldly. ‘About what? The ones who remember anything clearly in the morning won’t want to be involved. They know better than to try and make trouble. Don’t worry on my account, nor your own.’
Dex was unnerved by Lorrance’s insouciance. He had always believed that truth leaked out eventually, that it was an unwritten law of life, no matter how long it took.
‘Turn off here,’ Lorrance said, indicating an old five-bar gate. Dex turned the car’s nose towards it. The headlights illumined a wide track, leading between a high avenue of elms. A chain hung heavily from the gatepost. Dex could see a padlock.
‘Have you got a key, Rhys?’
‘Nowhere is out of bounds to me,’ Lorrance said. He opened the car door, got out, and the body slid heavily into the vacant seat.
Dex drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Lorrance had his back to him. He could not see what happened with the gate, but how could Lorrance have had keys on him? He was still wearing only a dressing-gown.
Once Lorrance got back into the car, they drove a short way into the woods, taking a left turn to crawl up a narrower track. Then Lorrance directed Dex to stop the car. Outside, the night was still and fragrant, although there seemed to be noises in the distance that Dex could not identify: heavy sounds, like muffled booming.
Carrying the body between them, the two men walked for some minutes along the track, until they came to an old ruin on their right, which had once been a lodge of some kind. Per
haps a gamekeeper had lived there. Moonlight picked out few details, other than the bulk of the crumbling walls, the slick shine of ivy. The roof had gone, but the ceiling of the ground floor ensured the lower rooms were in darkness.
‘There’s a cellar under the lodge,’ Lorrance said. ‘Take my torch and put the body down there.’
Dex did not appreciate the suggestion. ‘Aren’t you going to help me?’
‘No. Hurry up.’
Dex studied the ruins. They seemed watchful, slightly malevolent. He suspected Lorrance might have made use of them before.
‘Get on with it,’ Lorrance said coldly. ‘Don’t waste time.’
Reluctantly, Dex began to drag the body towards the shadows. Piles of masonry covered the ground near the open front door, and littered the floor of the interior. Dex shone the torch around. Sticks of furniture remained, and unidentifiable rags hung from the rafters. He couldn’t just throw the body down the dark stone stairs. If this boy must die without a name, without mourners, it seemed the least Dex could do was carry his remains into the cellar. He still wasn’t convinced this was a good place to conceal it. Kids might come here. But there was no sign that anyone had visited the place recently.
Dex’s feet slipped on the damp steps, but he kept the torch beam directed straight ahead. He didn’t want to look around this place. The atmosphere pressed down upon him, watchful, perhaps scornful. He hastily arranged the body on the floor, which was covered in rubbish he didn’t investigate. This was Lorrance’s problem, not his. He was just helping out.
But you’re part of this, a sharp inner voice reminded him. You’re a conspirator.
‘Shit,’ he said aloud. For a few moments he squatted, hunched, on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. It was as if he’d been floating in a dark ocean, and now it had closed over his head. He’d always known Lorrance was ruthless, but this was something worse. Why had he agreed to help Lorrance dispose of the body? He should have walked away, yet back at the house, Lorrance’s compelling gaze had over-ridden his own feelings. Someone will find this body, he thought, someone will. Then someone might say something, someone with a conscience. Did anyone at Lorrance’s parties have consciences?
A voice came out of the darkness, ‘They never found me, Chris.’
Every hair on Dex’s body stood up. For a moment, he could not move, then adrenaline flooded his body and he was up the stairs like a bird, fumbling his way through the dark ruins. It was Little Peter’s voice he had heard. Little Peter, a ghost who had never been laid to rest.
Back in the car, Lorrance had just rolled and lit a fat joint. ‘Took your time,’ he said as Dex flung himself, panting, into the front seat. ‘What’s up? Saw a ghost?’
‘Fuck!’ Dex put his head in his hands. ‘I fucking heard something.’
Lorrance leaned forward over the seat, making the leather creak. ‘What did you hear?’
‘A voice. It’s nothing. I was hallucinating. It was creepy down there.’
‘And did you complete your task?’
Dex rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Yeah.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Is it safe, Rhys?’
Lorrance leaned back. ‘Quite safe. Join me in the back here. We can’t return to the party yet - not enough time for us to have driven to a hospital.’
Dex clambered over the seats, and took the joint from Lorrance’s hands. ‘I need that. Give it here.’
Lorrance observed him coolly. ‘You’re the one I trust, Dex. You have done well tonight.’
A cold fist seemed to close on Dex’s stomach. Had this been a test? ‘What happened? How did he fall?’
Lorrance laughed. ‘Very easily,’ he answered.
Dex narrowed his eyes. ‘What...?’
‘He said he would die for me. And he did.’
Dex sucked furiously on the joint. ‘This is bad, Rhys, very bad. I don’t want any part of things like this. It’s all getting out of hand.’
Lorrance reached out and stroked Dex’s hair. ‘No, it’s just time for a change. Life is a series of cycles, each different from the last.’
‘You can’t trust those people who call themselves your friends. You don’t know one of them won’t talk.’
‘I do know. Don’t worry. You must learn to trust me. Haven’t I always been right in the past?’ Lorrance laughed softly to himself.
When they returned to the party, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The music was up again, the laughter, the shouting. People had walked across the smear of blood on the cracked tiles, which was the only evidence of the young man’s demise. Dex felt nervous, sick, afraid. He went out into the garden and sat there for over an hour, smoking dope and swigging from a bottle of bourbon. His mind was curiously devoid of images, although the words he thought he’d heard in the cellar of the old lodge occasionally flashed across his consciousness. ‘They never found me, Chris.’ Dex knew that somewhere, the body of Little Peter lay hidden from view. It had to, didn’t it? People didn’t just disappear.
Around two a.m., Lorrance came out of the house and swam into Dex’s field of vision. He was dressed in a soft cream jumper and dark jeans. He looked young, his golden hair catching the starlight. Dex stared up at him, blinking. ‘I can’t live with this, Rhys. I...’
Lorrance made an irritated gesture. ‘Dex, there’s someone who wants to meet you, someone important.’
‘I don’t want to meet anyone.’
Lorrance sighed, grabbed Dex’s right arm and hauled him to his feet. ‘Pull yourself together, there’s a good boy.’
‘Rhys...’
‘Come on.’ Lorrance’s gaze was steady, commanding.
Sighing, Dex followed him into the house. ‘What is this, Rhys?’ He felt in no condition to meet anyone, let alone someone who was important to Lorrance.
Lorrance said nothing, but took Dex into his study, which he always kept locked during parties. The room was lit dimly; a fire burned in the hearth. A large, florid-faced man sat in the high-backed chair at Lorrance’s antique desk. He was smoking a pipe, and his eyes, within their wads of flesh, were like an eagle’s, as if they could see for miles or through walls. Dex had never seen the man in person before, but knew who it was: Lester Charney. Behind him, stood a tall, attenuated dark figure, whose posture was slightly hunched. This second man looked foreign, being dark-skinned, but Dex could not place his nationality.
‘Well, Les, here he is, our golden boy. Dex, this is Lester Charney.’
‘Golden goose,’ said Charney, appraising Dex with his aquiline gaze. He was surrounded by a sweet smell of perfumed tobacco. His body was ponderous, but Dex had the impression it could move very quickly. He had never been afraid of anyone in his life, not even his brother Gary, and he wasn’t afraid now. The feeling went deeper than that, to evoke a primal instinct for survival. You could not flee from this man, and you could not fight him; the only choice was to serve. Such ideas were alien to Dex, who prided himself on his autonomy. Even in his stupor, he recognised that he had been brought before the dark heart of the empire; its emperor.
‘All right,’ he said by way of greeting.
Charney blinked mildly. ‘You are a great asset to us,’ he said. ‘And perhaps will be greater still. A pity you abuse yourself, but that can be changed.’ He signalled to Lorrance, who went to a cabinet and returned carrying a very small glass of a milky liquid, which he offered to Dex.
Dex laughed uncertainly. ‘What’s this?’
‘Drink it,’ said Charney. ‘I want to talk to a functioning mind.’
The dark man behind Charney neither moved nor spoke, but kept his attention wholly upon Dex. He looked like a vulture, waiting for something to die. Dex, realising he had no other choice, took the glass and swallowed the contents. The taste was indescribable, yet not entirely unpleasant. It sent a rush to his brain that made him stumble backwards, but sobered him almost immediately. He was sensitively aware of his surroundings, the three men who observed him.
‘That’s better,’ said Charney. He took a long draw on his pipe. ‘You push yourself to the limit, in body and mind, but just how far are you prepared to go?’
Dex brushed his hair from his eyes. ‘What do you want?’
‘An answer to my question: how far?’
‘I’ve got where I want to be.’
Charney laughed softly. ‘So little ambition? You’re not even on the first rung of the ladder. You’re praying at its feet.’
Lorrance put a hand on Dex’s shoulder. ‘You’re being given a chance,’ he said. ‘You must take it.’
‘A chance for what?’ Dex squirmed away from Lorrance’s touch.
‘A chance to be more than just a minor celebrity who will be burned out within a few years,’ Charney said. ‘Rhys is very pleased with you. He has spoken to me about you.’ He chuckled, in a disturbingly avuncular manner. ‘I think you remind him of a younger, more idealistic form of himself. Is that right, Rhys?’
‘He has fire,’ Lorrance said softly and turned to Dex. ‘You have anger. You despise the world, and your music has power. That can all be honed into something greater.’
‘We are always alert for people such as yourself,’ Charney said. ‘We are a select group, and extremely particular about whom we involve in our operations. We are the hub at the centre of the wheel. You are being invited to put the hectic spin of life behind you and sit at the centre of stillness, where all is controlled. Do you understand this?’
Dex nodded. ‘Money runs the world. I know where you’re coming from.’
Charnely nodded. ‘And are you with us?’
‘Why me?’ He displayed his palms to Charney. ‘I’m not like you. I’m not part of your world.’
Charney grinned. ‘You are. And Rhys believes you are more like us than you know. You’re just the raw material, which it is our job to shape and polish. Now, answer me. Are you with us?’
Dex shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ‘I’m not into this kind of thing.’
Charney drew in his breath slowly. ‘There are fates worse than death. What you saw tonight was nothing. Now, are you with us?’