The fields are bleeding and the house is full of smoke.
And Father howls his anger at the walls. Using it like a stick to beat the smoke with. Only the smoke doesnt break as easily as Justin.
The kitchen door bursts open, bouncing off the wall, making the mugs and plates rattle in their cupboards. Father stabs a finger at him. Its those bloody jackdaws again!
Justin doesnt move.
Building their sodding nests in the bloody chimney... His face is dark as the smoke, teeth shining like sharp white stones. Get the ladder.
I... Justin licks his lips.
Fathers hand is like a claw, fingers digging into Justins arm, squeezing so hard it sends needles and pins and knives stabbing all the way up into his shoulder.
Aaaaaagh!
Youre making your mother cry. Can you hear her? Can you? He shakes Justin, making his teeth clack together. CAN YOU HEAR HER?
Faint, muffled sobs come from downstairs, working their way up through the floorboards like sad little seedlings looking for light. But theres no light up here, only blood and smoke.
Im sorry, Father, Im sorry.
Another shake. Then dont make me tell you again.
A nod. Teeth biting his bottom lip. Blinking back the tears.
Father lets go and Justin runs. He runs out the back door and round the side of the house to the garage. Fights with the slippery doorknob. Stumbles into the darkness, wiping tears from his cheeks.
The ladder is bigger than he is, but he gets it down and hauls it out into the back garden. Sticks it up against the wall, so it reaches way up to the guttering. Shuffles his feet on the damp grass, his breath pink and cloudy in the fading light.
Father steps out onto the path. Looks at the ladder. Then looks at him. Well?
Justin stares at his trainers.
Up you go.
But the jackdaws hate me.
Of course they hate you. Youre destroying their home and killing their babies. Father smiles his nastiest smile. Why would they like you?
Theyll peck my eyes out and Ill fall off the roof and I dont want to The fist is nearly too fast to see, but it smashes into his cheek like a hammer, snapping his head away, making him stumble and fall across the damp grass. The world sounds like symbols and drums. Then all the air whoomps out of him as Fathers boot smacks into his tummy, lifting him off the ground and spinning him over onto his back. Rats gnaw through him, their little pink tails burning his insides.
He rolls over and curls up into a ball. Cries.
And finally, Father squats down beside him. Hey, come on, slugger. Dry your eyes, champ. Gentle hands wipe the tears away. There we go. All better. He helps Justin to his feet. Brushes the grass and dew from his jumper. You good?
Justin nods. Dont tremble. Dont cry.
Course you are: big boy like you. He guides him over to the bottom of the ladder. Now up you go, and dont forget to kill the babies, OK? OK.
He stands at the top of the stairs. Father mustve left the basement door open again, and a bare lightbulb casts sharp shadows on the rough brick walls.
Justins not allowed to step on the stairs. If he puts one foot on the stairs something horrible will happen. Father will make sure of it.
So he doesnt. He just stands there, with his face all swollen on one side and bits of stinky bird droppings and sticky blood on his hands. Looking.
New Mummy is there. Shes sitting on the dirt floor with her back to an old radiator all rusty and lumpy edges. Shes got her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, face buried in her yellow hair. Shoulders quivering as she cries.
New Mummy mustve been bad, because shes got no clothes on. She has to be naked and cold, because shes been bad.
Its like a lump of coal in the middle of his chest. You have to do what Father says. Thats the Number One Rule.
Justin moves his foot and the floorboard groans beneath him.
Mummy flinches, like shes been slapped. Then stares up the stairs, eyes wide and soggy, ringed with red. The gag in her mouth has darkened to a deep blood red where the tears and bogies have soaked into it. And the chain around her neck sparkles like no diamond necklace ever did.
She makes... noises. All muffled by the gag. Strangly, angry, pleading noises.
As if hes the one who can help her. As if he isnt every bit as trapped as she is.
Justin reaches out and swings the door closed.
Hes never making that mistake again.
Theres only one thing for it.
The God-In-Waiting is gone and hes not coming back. Oh, hell regret running away soon enough. Come crawling back, pleading to be released from his impurities, but as Mummy always found out, pleading never worked. Once you broke the rules you had to take your punishment, because thats how it works.
He had his chance at being a god and he threw it away.
Of course, theres very little chance of him being able to find his way back. The purification ritual is mind-expanding, but often makes the Gods-In-Waiting confused. As if their brains have been rewired to run on a foreign voltage. The signals from the real world get scrambled until they finally achieve divinity and all becomes clear again.
He wont be able to lead anyone back here.
Probably.
But probably isnt definitely, and that was one of Fathers many lessons. You never trust a probably, because Probably cant be trusted like Definitely can. A thing is either dead or its not, probably dead isnt good enough.
So yes, theres only one thing for it.
He unscrews the cap of the petrol canister and pours it down the basement stairs.
It cascades like a little waterfall, making the air swim and wobble in front of him. The sharp heady scent of pear drops and sweet vinegar.
The living room smells of cloves and smoke, with its open fireplace full of twigs and bones. The jackdaws always win in the end. But they wont be back this time. He covers the mouldering furniture in unleaded, sploshes more on the dusty carpet. Pours whats left across the bathroom floor and into the kitchen. Upends it and gives it a little shake, getting the last dribbles out.
Steps out of the back door and into the rain.
Father would not be happy if he could see the garden. His precious vegetable plot disappeared under a war zone of brambles and nettles, battling it out for the last scraps of nutrients from the dark thick earth. The trees heavy with unclaimed fruit, rotting and wasp-riddled on the branches. The garden shed, where so many nights were spent learning not to be a bad little boy.
He dips a strip of fabric into the empty plastic container, strikes a match and puts it to the hanging end. Still enough petrol in there to soak through the scrap of T-shirt and turn it into a torch. Then the whole thing goes in the kitchen door, tumbling over and over, making the same fluttering roar as baby jackdaw wings when theyre caught in their nest.
It bounces off the wall, and lands halfway between the kitchen and the living room. Blue flames rush across the floor in both directions, eating their way into the house. Popping and crackling like a baby jackdaws bones when you hold one of their fluttering little bodies in your hand and squeeze.
Two minutes later the basement goes up, growling out its decades of pain.
He waits until the fire has taken hold, then goes back to the van.
It doesnt matter if the ex-God-In-Waiting leads them back here there will be nothing left to find. And he will have moved on to somewhere new.
The only thing left to do is find someone else to take their place.
22
Hold on, Ill put you on speaker. Dr McDonald stood in the middle of the filthy room, dressed in the full-on Smurf outfit: booties on her feet, gloves on her hands, mask, and safety goggles covering most of her face. She had an oversized smartphone in one hand, held out at head height.
Scenes Examination Branch had left the windows alone still covered with their layers of hardcore pornography, blocking out the evening light, leaving them to the mercy of the single lightbulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling. Theyd left everything else as it was as well the ladder, the wallpaper table, the power tools, the radio. The stack of empty cans in the kitchen and the half-full bong.
Most of the flies were gone from the floor though, so at least every step didnt scrunch.
And Callums ear throbbed. So much for local anaesthetic. No one said the sodding stuff would wear off in less than an hour.
McDonald poked at her phones screen and a semi-posh Scottish accent crackled out of the speaker. Can you hear me?
Franklin stood in the corner, notebook at the ready. But Callum leaned back against the wall, by the porn-covered window, with Cecelia. All of them done up in blue Tyvek oversuits with matching accessories.
Cecelia made a raspberry noise behind her facemask. To be perfectly honest, I find this more than a bit insulting.
Callum shrugged.
My teams been over this flat with the proverbial nit-comb. We did our job. She folded her arms, her suit making crinkling noises with each movement. And for your information: Tinas confronting Yashnoor about having an affair on Enders tonight. In ninety minutes.
He groaned. Youll be back in time for EastEnders.
I better be.
Dr McDonald did a slow pirouette, showing the phone the flat. Say stop if you spot anything.
Ooh, is that pornography on all the windows? I wouldnt mind a gander at that.
Cecelia shook her head. Pervert.
Who said that?
Hold on... Dr McDonald turned the phone around, so they could see the screen.
A creased face blinked out at them steel-coloured short back and sides, two prominent grey eyebrows, a matching moustache lurking beneath a puckered golf-ball nose. Little rectangular glasses. Greetings, minions of Police Scotland! Fear not, for your salvation is at hand.
Bernard, this is Cecelia Lynch, head of the local Scenes Examination Branch. And standing next to her is DC Callum MacGregor and DC Rosalind Franklin. Everyone, this is Professor Bernard Huntly hes a physical evidence specialist. A bit of an acquired taste, but hes annoyingly good at what he does so we put up with it.
Quite right too. He gave them all a grin. Can you turn me up a bit, Alice?
She poked at the controls and Huntlys voice got louder.