THE RECKONING

  BY

  SARAH PINBOROUGH

  i $6.99 US $8.99 CAN

  ii PRAISE FOR SARAH PINBOROUGH AND THE HIDDEN

  an

  Quite unique… Ms. Pinborough does an amazing job. … A great read.?

  —The Horror Channel

  ?Original and gripping.?

  —Horror Web iii Other books by Sarah Pinborough:

  THE HIDDEN iv TOE

  RECKONING

  SARAH PINBOROUGH

  LEISURE BOOKS

  NEW YORK CITY v For Mum, Dad and Laura with much love.

  A LEISURE BOOKŽ

  October 2005

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue New York, NY 10016

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as ?unsold and destroyed?to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this ?stripped book.?

  Copyright Š2005 by Sarah Pinborough

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ISBN 0-8439-5550-3

  The name ?Leisure Books?and the stylized ?L?with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Visit us on the web at www.dorchesterpub.com. vi Your house is your larger body.

  It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night

  and it is not dreamless.

  —The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, 1883-1931

  vii RECKONING 1 Sarah Pinborough 2 Reckoning 3

  Syracousse—Twenty-five years ago

  Cooled by a breath of September, the summer sun floods through the large clear windows from the garden outside and drenches Camilla’s face, replacing the natural color that has drained away with a golden yellow sheen, giving her an unhealthy jaundiced look. She can’t feel its warmth on her skin. She can feel nothing but the cold that is creeping up her numbed legs. The old swing outside, her swing from a childhood long gone by, creaks backward and forward as Gina rides it, screeching out the passing seconds on rusted hinges as she stands there and stares in disbelief. Oh God no, Oh God no, what has she done?

  The blood moves toward her across the tiled floor, slow and unreperiting, darker and thicker than she expects; but then this liquid that seems like crimson mercury sucking at her shoes is not from a frivolous scratch or graze, pink and light, to be laughed away. No, this is life’s blood, Philip’s life blood, and it is leaving him furiously, escaping in floods, no longer needed.

  4 Sarah Pinborough

  Her shaking hand releases the carrot that will no longer be eaten for dinner tonight, the carrot she’d been so angrily chopping, teeth gritted, wishing he would just SHUT UP, while her husband shouted. Shouted with all that blood pumping healthily, visible through the throbbing veins on the side of his head. Shouted the words that seemed to echo around her head, the words that he never seemed to tire of.

  Kneeling by his body, his blissfully quiet body, she reaches for the knife that has slid several times into his large torso before settling in its final resting place at the center of his chest. Oh God, it won’t come out, it won’t come out. Will this red that is creeping up her cotton dress ever come out? Leaving the weapon embedded there, she rocks backwards and forwards on her heels for a few seconds, her hand pressing against her mouth, unaware of the stain her fingers leave there. Has she done this? Had she wanted to do this? It has all happened so quickly and she is sure, she is sure … She lets out a small hysterical giggle. One minute in my hand. The next minute it was gone. And for my next trick ladies and gentlemen …

  Her knees are starting to hurt, and she slowly pulls herself to her feet. There is nothing to be done. Nothing more can be done. The sound of her heels clicking on the wooden hallway stabs at her brain, too real, too loud, and it is a relief when she reaches the phone.

  Her voice is even and calm as she speaks, and when it is over she goes to the large stairway and sits on the second step watching the front door. Her hands absently caress the wooden banister, seeking comfort in the familiar carvings, knowing each shape and indent from a lifetime spent here. Her house. Her home. Letting out a long sigh, she hopes the policeman will arrive before Gina comes in from the garden. 5

  Soho, London—The present

  ?Congratulations, mate.?The man with the sweaty face slapped him hard, maybe a little too hard on the back as he passed the bar. ?Great party!?

  Rob gave him a perfunctory grin, his cocaine-tightened jaw muscles aching. The stranger disappeared into the mass of dancing bodies, praising along with Fat Boy Slim. Who the hell were all these people anyway? He scanned the crowd for Janine but couldn’t make her out anywhere. She was probably in the toilet topping up her party spirit, and with the way he was feeling maybe he should join her. He drained his glass of champagne and shrugged off the idea. Shit, there was enough of Columbia’s favorite export rushing around his system to make an elephant high, and if it wasn’t working by now why keep trying?

  He sighed as the pounding bass line invaded his skull. What was the matter with him? He should be feeling on top of the world. New book, great reviews. Hadn’t that been the story of his life ever since he’d penned The

  6

  Pyramid Man more than ten years ago? Life had been easy for Robert Black, literary genius extraordinaire. Well, maybe not quite a literary genius, but his books sold, sold a lot, and that’s what counted in the big, bad world. So why the hell did his soul seem to ache so much these days?

  For a moment he wished Michael were still here, but his agent had left hours ago along with all the journos and reviewers, sensing rightly that as usual the party was heading off in a new and psychedelic direction. And Michael hadn’t even bothered trying to lecture him this time. Maybe he was finally giving up on getting his star writer back on the straight and narrow, who knew? And who the fuck cared, he still got his ten percent, didn’t he? Rob was still producing the goods, ever-increasing cocaine habit or not, which was something of a mystery to himself as well as the rest of the world.

  Turning around and leaning his torso on the black marble bar, he tried to get the attention of the girl who was opening yet another bottle of champagne to fill the empty glasses of all those people who’d turn up to the opening of a can of baked beans if it meant a free drink. She finally caught his eye and brought the bottle over, frowning when he told her in no uncertain terms to leave it with him. Hah. At least he was the mug paying for it. For a fleeting moment he wondered just how much this party was going to cost him, and then he caught sight of his reflection in the wall of mirrored glass that lined the back of the bar.

  The sweaty, pale face he barely recognized stared back at him with empty eyes. He could see his jaw muscles working in his thin face, the face of someone who was in danger of looking much older than his thirty-seven years, the hollowed-out cheekbones creating lines where there shouldn’t yet be any. But the face he could live with. It was the eyes that worried him. They were unhappy eyes that skulked beneath the dark hair, hopeless, blue in all sense of the word. They weren’t his. They belonged to a stranger. This is no way to live a life, they screamed

  7

  silently at him from their prison in the glass. This is no way to live our life. Nothing works anymore.

  As he stared at himself, the atmosphere of the club suddenly seemed oppressive. For a moment Rob felt a rush of nausea. He turned away from his reflection and back toward the throng of people having a good time. He ran a hand through his short hair and felt the chill of damp skin as his fingers brushed his forehead. It was time to get out of here. It was definitely time to get out of here. But where the hell was Janine? Cursing under his breath, although he may as well have been shouting for all his words could be heard over the music, he started to push his way through the groups of dancing people, eyes scanning in the flashing lights for her shock of peroxide hair. The heat on the dance floor was unbearable, and he could feel his shirt sticking to his skin. Finally he spotted her, her red dress flashing in the lights as she moved her slim form energetically in the middle of the room. Yeah, that was just like Janine. Had to be center of everything. He wondered whether she actually knew him any better than any of the other strangers who surrounded him. Probably not, he decided as he reached for her shoulder. But then, that was what you got when you started screwing a model with a coke habit, ten years younger than you. It was hardly going to be a relationship based on mutual respect and understanding.

  ?Robby, honey!?She squealed and threw her hot arms around his neck. Her mascara had run down her cheeks and her long hair was sticking to her face. ?Where have you been??Rob noticed the two men she’d been dancing with throwing him a dirty look, then moving on. He ignored them.

  ?It’s time to go,? he shouted, hoping she would read his lips, as he took her arm and pulled her through the overfilled club. When they reached the slightly quieter bar area, he felt a petulant tug on his arm and turned to face her. She looked sulky.

  8

  ?You’re kidding, right? The party’s just getting going.?He stared back at her, not in the mood for an argument.

  ?You can stay if you want, but I’m goi
ng. I’m not in the mood for this tonight. I’ve had enough.?And the party was supposed to be about me, remember? he wanted to add. About me and my book. ?And anyway, it’s three in the fucking morning. We’ve been here since six.?

  Janine was chewing her bottom lip with indecision, but he knew she’d come with him. After all, most of her modeling career these days was based on the fact that they were an item. Photos of them together in the tabloids were invariably accompanied by articles wondering which one of them would burn out first. She was becoming too unreliable to employ, even by modeling standards. Hating himself for being so harsh, he kissed her on the forehead. None of this was her fault. Being a shit was something he seemed to be getting pretty good at these days. No, it wasn’t Janine’s fault and if nothing else, they were at least convenient for each other. ?Now come on home and make an old man happy.?This time when he tugged at her arm, he didn’t feel any resistance.

  Not that many hours later his own desperate voice woke him, the force of the dream making him call out as he sat bolt upright in bed, panting, eyes suddenly wide open as consciousness flooded back. The ghost of the word still hung invisible in the air in front of him. TEACHER. Leaning back against the headboard, he took a deep breath as his eyes adjusted to the morning sunshine and his heart slowly calmed down to its normal steady beat. Jesus, why would he be dreaming about Teacher after all this time? That shit happened more than twenty years ago, probably as long ago as he’d last thought about it. What the hell made his brain bring it up now? He didn’t really need anyone to answer that one for him. All the goddamn fucking drugs and booze, that’s what it was. What a fucking mess. He swung his legs over the side of the untidy, empty bed

  9

  and got up, pulled apart the curtains and tugged open the sash windows, needing to feel the morning sun on his face, wanting to rid himself of the lingering unsettled feeling, the residual sadness of the dream. The warm breeze caressed him, lifting his hair, the mingling smell of fresh coffee and sweet pastries floating up from the smart Soho cafes below. He stood there for a few moments with his eyes closed enjoying the sensation, until he heard the toilet flushing. Janine. He’d forgotten she was there.

  Sighing, the private moment over, he pulled his head back inside and took his white dressing gown from the back of the door and put it on. His head and body ached from the excesses of the night before. Shit, if he were honest he ached from the night before, and the night before that and the night before that. Hot coffee and a long shower. That was what he needed. The clock by the bed read 9:30 am. He probably could have done with another couple of hours’ sleep, but there would be no point in trying now. He’d never been one of those people. The minute his eyes opened, that was it. No going back, a new day had begun whether he was ready for it or not.

  Padding out of the bedroom, he yawned as he made his way down the hardwood hallway and into the large open-plan living room and kitchen. The sun was bursting through the skylights and reflecting off the pure white of the walls and furniture, filling the enormous area with brightness. God, he loved this flat. In the eyes of some it probably would have been seen as overclinical, but for Rob it was perfect, the lack of clutter and color soothing his mind, enabling him to work. This room was where he wrote, ate and sometimes slept. It was his sanctuary from the darkness inside him.

  This morning its tranquillity was somewhat ruined by the sight of Janine kneeling by the square, glass-topped coffee table, dressed only in a t-shirt, her hair hanging lank and unbrushed as she concentrated on chopping herself out a large line of coke. Feeling his disgust at her, at

  10

  both of them, rising from his stomach, he watched her for a minute. God, she wasn’t looking so good these days. She was getting old before her time, not a good thing in her profession. Guilt gnawed at his stomach. What the hell was he letting her do to herself? The guilt made him angry.

  ?Shit, Janine, at this time in the morning??Ignoring him, she started to roll up a twenty-pound note, and lower her head over the table. Not wanting to watch, not wanting to be tempted, Rob went to the kitchen and turned the coffee machine on, hoping the familiar rumbling would drown out the sound of her snort. There was nothing sexy about watching beautiful women take drugs. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a large white mug. Maybe it was the hangover making him so ratty. He should be used to Janine’s ways by now. Christ, he was hardly that far behind her himself and not really in any position to throw stones. She wasn’t such a bad kid, just a fuckup like the rest of them.

  ?Did you have that bad dream again? The one about your teacher??She giggled behind him, and he turned around to see her wiping the dregs of powder from her nose and licking her fingers. ?What did that guy do to you at school anyway??

  He ignored her and went to the fridge to get the milk. Janine was not a person he would ever want to talk to about Teacher. In fact, he hadn’t talked about it since that summer, since there had been the four of them: him, Jason, CaroleAnne and Gina. Anyway, big deal though it seemed at the time, it probably had been just their overactive imaginations. He was about to pour the coffee when something Janine had said made him stop in his tracks and look at her quizzically. ?What do you mean, ‘again’? Have I had that dream before??

  Still kneeling by the table, she nodded. ?Sure. You’ve woken up shouting that word at least three or four times in the last fortnight.?She raised an eyebrow. ?Probably more, but that’s the amount of times you’ve woken me

  11

  up.?She held up the twenty-pound note. ?Want one??

  He looked at her, at the note and at the paper wrap on the table, and that was when it struck him. It was time to go home. It was time to get out of all this while he still could. Maybe that’s what the dreams were about. It’s time to go home.

  An hour later, he was just getting out of the shower. Janine was gone. He’d sat down, drunk his coffee and gently explained to her that he was going home to the country to clean up. It was nothing personal, but he just couldn’t do this anymore. He needed to be straight. He needed to concentrate on his work. All the usual platitudes you come out with when you want someone out of your life. Quickly. There had been a few tears but nothing major, and part of him had been slightly disappointed with how well she’d taken it. But then, the parting gift of his stash of grade-A party chemicals probably had gone some way in softening the blow. The glittering London scene was nothing if not shallow, so what had he really expected? Still, the whole experience left him feeling hollow, emptier than normal, if that was possible.

  He’d made the right decision. He knew that by the sudden keening ache he felt to be back home. Somewhere that he had roots. Somewhere he could rediscover himself, the person he should be. Someone happy. Shit, maybe he’d even write a book, the book, the one all writers want. His magnum opus.

  He pulled on his jeans and a white t-shirt, and rubbed the towel vigorously over his head to dry his hair before going back barefoot into his blissfully empty lounge. He sat on the sofa and opened his address book, then punched in a number. It rang for a second before a voice answered. ?Property-Lettings, can I help you??

  ?Can I speak to Richard Mills, please??There was a moment of Robbie Williams singing as his call was transferred.

  ?Richard Mills speaking.?

  Rob had pulled a cigarette from the packet Janine had

  12

  left behind and lit it. You could only give your vices up one at a time. ?Hi, it’s Robert Black here. I just wondered if you’d let my parents house out yet?? The old tenants had moved out a week ago, and although there had been a few repairs to do, Rob knew that the agency was good and invariably had people ready to go straight in. They’d been looking after the house since his mother died, and that was coming up for five years now.

  ?I’ve got a viewing on it this afternoon, but the decorators are still in there. I should have it let for you in a couple of days.?