Cuckoo

  Jennifer nodded at the tentative introduction before looking again to her forgotten husband, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

  “And this,” Alex hesitated as he decided how Greg should be introduced. “Well, for the time being I‘ll introduce him as Richard Jameson.” A quick look of apology. “It’s his story we want you to hear.”

  Jennifer stared at Greg for a moment longer. Was that recognition in her eyes? She turned back to Alex.

  “How am I supposed to drink coffee with my hands tied?”

  Alex gazed at her, assessing. “Do you mind if we leave your legs bound? It will make us more comfortable if we know you can’t make a sudden bolt for the exit.” She gave him a curt nod, and he tore the tape from her wrists.

  They drank coffee in relative silence, though Alex had to sip from Jennifer’s cup before she would risk drinking any herself. He grimaced. “I hate sugar,” he said.

  When she finished drinking, Alex asked if anybody was hungry. Nobody was. Jennifer was too unnerved to eat, and none of the three abductors could face the thought of food. They knew what was coming. Either Jennifer would remember or they would lose this stage of the game.

  “Right,” Alex said. “You recognise this man, Richard, as the person who forced his way into your home last week. He assaulted you, beat up your husband, then had a sort of a fit. Am I right?”

  Jennifer nodded. “I wanted to call the police, but Greg decided it would be better to let a hospital take him.” Greg twitched as he heard his name applied to the creature, but said nothing. His chance to explain was fast approaching.

  “Quite.” Alex continued. “Well, from his point of view, he had cause to behave as he did. What I’m about to say will sound strange, but please don’t panic.” Again she nodded, anxious for an explanation. “Mrs Summers, Jennifer, all three of us have good reason to believe that the man sitting before you is Gregory Summers. The man you married. Your husband.”

  For a long moment Jennifer stared at the hotel manager’s angular face. She swung round to look at Greg. Please, he thought, let this be enough. Let her remember.

  She tilted back her head and laughed.

  Greg stood, unable to stay still. Pacing to the other side of the room, he banged his fist against the dry stone wall. It hurt. He punched again. It was never going to be so easy, he had known that, but to hear her ridiculing the very idea that she might love him was cutting. Again he lashed out, drawing blood. Then Georgina was there, holding him at the elbow.

  “Babe, we’ll do it. We’ll get there. And if I don’t get a chance before she remembers, I want to give you this.” Taking his face in both hands, she kissed him hard. After a startled second he responded, wondering if it would be for the last time.

  Georgina broke off. Greg realised she was responding to the lessening of the background laughter.

  “We should go back.” She was right. Letting her lead him by the hand, they returned to the heater.

  Jennifer was still chuckling, shaking her head as she tried to stop. Greg watched her brown hair swish from side to side, then turned to watch George’s hair gather as she sat. He felt the imminent loss of the beautiful, supportive woman who had just kissed him, but knew that if he gave up, ran away with her to somewhere they could never be found, he would not be able to live with himself. Greg’s life was not a perfect one, but he had built it up from nothing. He had a history he could never just cast aside.

  “I’m sorry,” she was saying. “I’m here because of this...this lunacy? I know my husband, and this isn’t him. What else can I say?”

  “Please, Mrs Summers, at least hear us out?”

  “I don’t have much choice in the matter. I can hardly walk out, can I?”

  “I suppose not. But I promise that if you won’t believe us we’ll let you go. I’ll even drive you home myself. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Then let’s get on with it. I think it’s best to let Greg tell his story first, then…”

  She held up a hand. “One condition,” she said. “Do not refer to this man as Greg. I’ll listen to what he has to say, but I won’t have him use my husband’s name.”

  George’s hand found his knee again. He shot her a reassuring smile.

  Alex was reluctant, but nodded. “We’ll continue to call him Richard then, and let him tell his story.”

  Greg took a deep breath, and met his wife’s eyes. They’d once looked at him with love, laughter, sorrow, and all the things that make up a marriage. All he saw there, in the basement, were scepticism and scorn. He would tell his story, but it would take a great deal more than that to convince her. Keeping his expectations low, he started at the restaurant.

  It took a while to relate everything that had happened, but time was meaningless in that basement. They were in a separate world, one distinct from the lives they led outside that place. In some ways it was strange, in others comforting. There, and only there, he could tell his story to Jennifer. She would not believe, that would come later, but at least he could make her understand his actions. Even if she thought him insane, she would have an explanation. Perhaps then she would fear him less.

  A few times during the tale she looked alarmed, particularly when Greg told her about his inexpert attempts at breaking and entering. A couple of times she started to scoff, especially when informed that her husband was some indescribable monstrosity. Alex calmed her at those moments, and Greg was allowed to finish.

  “We came here because we thought the police might trace Alex’s car back to his flat. That brings us up to date.” He took a sip of his second coffee. Georgina had made more during his clumsy attempts to explain the last two weeks.

  Jennifer realised that some response was required from her. A nervous smile hovered over her lips. “Do you even know how deranged this all sounds?”

  Alex chuckled. “Believe me, I do. I was the first person he came to with the story. My thoughts at the time were not dissimilar to your own, but I saw the thing you believe to be your husband. I looked into inhuman eyes and knew it would have killed me if it could.” Alex believed the truth of what he was saying, but Greg was less sure. Remembering it clinging to the bonnet, staring at Alex, he thought it had wanted nothing more than to terrify the man, to spread the fear it knew itself capable of generating. If he had to guess, Greg would say it had let them go.

  Jennifer broke his train of thought. “I’m sorry, but I can’t believe you. Your friend is obviously seriously ill, but you seem perfectly normal. He must have been a lot more convincing when he talked you into this madness.”

  Georgina shifted. “Can I say something?” All eyes turned to her, and she straightened her back as though their scrutiny was a great weight she had burdened herself with. Her pout was defiant. “I just want to say my bit and get it over with.”

  Jennifer gave an odd smile, then nodded.

  “Mrs Summers, I know this is Greg because I’ve been sleeping with him behind your back for about three months. I met him in a bar near where he works. He’s told me a lot about you and his life. I’m here to try and convince you of who he is, and it’s hard for me because if I get it right I’ll lose him. I don’t want that, but he’s made it clear that this is what he needs. I just wanted to say that. I’m done now.”

  Greg thought the speech sounded rehearsed, almost textbook perfect. She must have been going over it in her mind while he was talking.

  Jennifer spoke up. “You, I believe.”

  Dizziness, nausea, scepticism and joy. She believed George. His dry mouth made speech difficult, but he forced words out. “Jen…”

  “Let me finish,” she said. Tears of joy stayed half-formed in his eyes, awaiting permission to proceed. There had been a warning note in her voice that Greg hadn’t liked at all. “As I say, I believe her – or I believe that she believes what she says. I also believe you.” She turned to Alex. “I don’t know how he convinced you that my husband is some demon, but I believe you think he is. But you,?
?? she finally addressed Greg, “are either dangerously insane or a very convincing con artist. I don’t believe or accept what you’ve told me. Now I would like to go.”

  The silence was thunderous. Tears drying in his eyes, Greg glared at the woman he loved. She seemed to sink back into herself beneath his gaze. “You said that I could go if I listened. Please?”

  The atmosphere of wary acceptance had withered. Greg leaned forward. “No.”

  Putting a cautionary hand on Greg’s shoulder, Alex spoke a warning. “Greg.”

  “Wait. We said we’d let her go when we were satisfied she wouldn’t believe us. I am not satisfied.” He turned back to Jennifer. “Listen to me, and listen carefully. My name is Gregory Summers, and I’m an only child. My mother died when I was thirteen years old, and until I met you that scarred me horribly. But I did meet you, Jennifer Sharpe, on the day we graduated. We went clubbing then slept together the same night. We honeymooned in Florida. I work at Jackson Insurance. We have no children because my sperm count is low, but we’re considering adoption. We had a bad patch four or five months ago when work was getting on top of me. For New Year’s Eve you bought me a little smartphone that I take everywhere. I didn’t get you anything in return and you wouldn’t sleep with me that night.” He paused for breath, pleased at the stunned gape of her face. “I could go on. And on. Jennifer, I have years of memories I could share with you. All I want you to do now is think of how I could know all this. Think very hard. If, by tomorrow evening, you still have no doubt that I’m either a madman or a liar then I promise you’ll be free. Will you do this for me? Just this and nothing else?” If only she could see inside his heart, into his soul. She could not doubt him then.

  When she finally nodded her slow agreement, he felt the tension flow from his body. In a whisper, he thanked her. Then he got up, walked past Alex and George to his unrolled sleeping bag, and climbed in.

  There was to be little rest for him that evening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  RAPE

  Two hours. That was how long he slept before being woken the first time. Still groggy, he turned over in the sleeping bag to try and determine what had disturbed him. He glanced at Jennifer. She was lying in one of the sleeping bags, arms hanging over the top. Alex had bound her wrists again, using strips of denim over her skin to spare her the pain of tape being ripped back when they freed her.

  Greg noted this in the instant before he looked into her eyes. She stared at him, her expression not so much as flickering when he first made eye contact. Nothing at all was reflected in those orbs. No hate, no fear, no love. All he could see were reflections. His half-awake mind struggled not to doze back off. It lost the battle, but as he fell towards slumber it was the image of those eyes that he took with him.

  The second time he awoke it was to voices. Female voices talking in hushed tones. Forcing his eyes to open, he saw Georgina’s crouched form hovering over Jennifer. For some reason she chose that moment to turn towards him. Seeing he was awake, she crossed over.

  “Hey babe,” she whispered. “How are you sleeping?”

  “Not bad,” he lied, voice groggy. “Wha’s happenin’?”

  “Nothing honey. She was just asking some questions about, you know, us.” She began to stroke his hair. “I don’t think she believes yet babe, but she will.” Once more the soothing chasm of sleep opened beneath him; he barely heard her last words as he toppled in. “Believe me, she will.”

  Then it was morning.

  Greg woke with a start, jerking upright from sleep. Surprised by the cold sweat sticking to him, he wondered what he’d been dreaming of. Casting his eyes about, he saw that all was as it should be. Jennifer was awake, sitting once more against the heater, and George was curled next to him in her own sleeping bag. Alex was not to be seen. Probably on some errand. Being careful not to disturb the woman beside him, he disentangled himself from his own sleeping bag. Somehow, during the night, it had entwined around him. As he pulled himself free he gave a low groan. His camping days, it seemed, were long over. Both his back and shoulders ached from spending the night on cold cement. Rubbing them into a grim facsimile of life, he hobbled to where Jennifer sat.

  “Where’s Alex?” he asked.

  “Refilling the coffee,” she told him. “And good morning to you too. I slept damned uncomfortably, thank you for asking.” Greg grinned. For a second it felt like old times. From her arched eyebrows, he could tell that the feeling was not mutual.

  The sound of the door closing drew his attention upwards, to where Alex was descending the stairs, thermos tucked beneath his arm. He also carried a brown paper bag. Greg put a finger to his lips, signalling the sleeping Georgina. Alex nodded, waiting until he was close before he spoke.

  “Morning. I come bearing gifts.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he unbound Jennifer’s wrists before opening the bag. Like a magician demonstrating some new flourish, he produced a small assortment of wrapped sandwiches from within.

  Greg applauded. “We’ll put some aside for George. I’d rather not wake her, she was up late.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll eat now though. I slept like a log.” He offered a sandwich to Jennifer.

  She refused. “I’m not hungry.” She welcomed the coffee Greg made though.

  The easy sense of companionship was odd, given the circumstances, but Greg accepted it without question, glad to have something to set against his mounting trepidation. Jennifer had spent the whole night thinking about what he had said yesterday. If her mind was not yet made up, that was fine. Should she have made a decision, then that was it. Having promised to let her go when she had thought the matter through, forcing her to stay for the rest of the day would not be the most effective way to alter her opinion.

  Feeling drained and sore, he finished his sandwiches. After that, he could do nothing but wait for her answer. She must have felt the expectancy, for her gaze turned his way.

  After several moments Alex noticed the pregnant stare. Rising, he made his apology. “You should hear this in private. I’ll be by the steps if you want me.” With that, he left. Greg had seen and heard him from very far away, for Jennifer’s gaze consumed him. With a strange lack of feeling, he realised what he was seeing in her stare. Sorrow. Mounting pity. He did not want her to speak anymore, but after a time she did.

  “I’m sorry.” Her first words chewed up his heart. “This is obviously important to you, no matter what your state of mind. But I love my husband, and you’re not him. I don’t know how you found out what you told me yesterday. Maybe you really do believe you’re Greg. But I don’t know you.” She stopped, her silence full of compassion.

  Numb, Greg nodded and rose. He knew he should try again, have one last go at convincing her, but he had no energy for the task. Turning, he walked to where Alex sat. Seating himself next to the closest friend he had, he swung his head across to meet his concern.

  By his demeanour Alex already knew the answer, had probably known before he left them, but out of courtesy he raised his eyebrows in a question.

  Greg shook his head.

  Their eyes held, then he was suddenly in the arms of the larger man. He did not cry, being far beyond such simplistic expressions of emotion. Instead he clung on hard. Thoughts seemed to leap the gap between them.

  It’s all right, thought Alex, it isn’t over.

  I know, replied Greg. But it hurts.

  Don’t think about it, I’m here.

  She doesn’t know me.

  It isn’t important, I know you.

  She doesn’t love me.

  That isn’t important.

  Greg pulled back his head to see Alex’s face. The other man’s eyes widened, first in shock then with implicit understanding. Leaning forward, Alex pressed his lips against Greg’s.

  Surprised, then accepting, Greg explored the kiss. It was tender, softer than the passion he had shared with Georgina. Their tongues met only briefly, flickering across each other in tiny, electric car
esses. His hand rose to stroke the back of Alex’s neck.

  His eyes shot open. He yanked his head back, turning to one side and spitting.

  “Greg?” Alex reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. Greg slapped it aside. “Greg? I thought you knew.”

  “Knew you’re queer?” Alex flinched, becoming smaller beneath the abuse. Greg was beyond thought. “Why have you been helping me?”

  Alex was a pathetic facsimile of the man he had been just moments ago. “Please Greg, don’t do this. I’m sorry. I thought you understood. I thought you knew.”

  Silence. Warring impulses asked different things of Greg. He wanted to say that it was all right, that he didn’t mind. That, in fact, he had shared the impulse. It had been a good urge. He had felt safe and comfortable and lost in that brief touching.

  But he was Gregory Summers, a man married to a beautiful woman. He was having an affair with another beautiful woman. He was heterosexual throughout. He’d never been forced to question that, or even asked, having never felt any desire for other men. It was alien, frightening, and perverse.

  Pervert. Greg Summers was not a pervert. Before he could even think he lashed out. His fist throbbed dully, bleeding again where he had cut it the previous night. Looking down at Alex, now on the floor, he realised he had hit the man. Alex looked back up. One anguished look was exchanged, both men helpless in the face of something larger than either of them. Then Alex half-ran, half-stumbled up the stairs.

  Greg resisted the urge to call out after him, and was relieved when the door shut. Why had he let that happen? As much as he denied it to himself, he had responded to that kiss. It had been natural. Good. Normal.

  But Greg was not homosexual. It was that simple. On the other hand, he had never thought himself a homophobe. Each to his own, that was what he always said, but that illusion too had been shattered. He had assaulted not only a gay man, but a gay man who was among the only friends he had left.

  Alex wanted him that way? For how long? When did it start? When Greg had gone to the flat and explained his story? Or before that, when he had demanded a refund in a shabby office, on a distant day.