Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [27]
what used to be his arms - and sent tendrils into the corpse that was no longer his. He was becoming one with something he recognised, something that had always lived within him.
Shooting. Branching. Searching for a new purity, a new way of living.
He was Jack‟s, and Jack was his.
The crunch of gravel underfoot sounded like a thousand marching soldiers. Matthew Hatch reached the door of his parents‟ home and fumbled in the pocket of his suit for the key. They would be enjoying their regular summer trip to Rimini now and the house would be deserted. Perhaps Mrs Barnwell, the cook, would have left a light supper for him in the kitchen, just as she had in the past. Hatch remembered arriving back from university at obscure hours of the morning and finding a little note to „Master Matthew‟ folded neatly under a large plate of ham-and-cheese sandwiches.
Music was coming from the drawing room. Hatch moved cautiously to the door, one hand gripping the frame, the other searching his jacket pocket for the handgun Trevor Winstone had given him six months ago at a clandestine meeting in a smoky room in South Kensington.
As Hatch shifted his weight the floorboard beneath him squeaked in protest.
„Come in.‟ The husky female voice cut through the industrial sounds of the band Stillborn on his parents‟ CD
player. The record clearly did not belong to them.
„Nice tune,‟ he said, strolling into the room, „but haven‟t you brought along any Jesus and Mary Chain? You know I can‟t stand anything post-1990.‟
Rebecca Baber lay on a blue velvet couch, naked but for a bright plastic watch and a pair of spectacles. She peered over the tiny round lenses at Hatch, dropping the thin paperback she was reading to the floor.
„I‟ve been here for ages,‟ she said coyly. „I thought you were never going to come.‟
„I had business to attend to,‟ replied Hatch, moving over to the CD player and turning it off. „I‟m a busy man,‟ he announced, with just a hint of self-mockery.
„And a grumpy one,‟ said Rebecca, strolling over to his side and running a hand down Hatch‟s cheek. „What‟s the matter?‟
„Nothing that can‟t be dealt with,‟ he said. „I know how to deal with things. Dealing with things is my job.‟
Rebecca closed her eyes as Hatch pulled her closer.
„I think we‟d better adjourn the meeting in favour of some informal interaction behind closed doors,‟ he whispered, his lips just brushing her ear. „What do you think?‟
„Anything you say, Minister,‟ said Rebecca, walking nonchalantly past him and towards the stairs. „Will sir be requiring minutes to be taken?‟
„Get up those stairs!‟ said Hatch with an animal grin.
* * *
Ace was woken by blinding sunshine, church bells and birdsong. So much for the peace and tranquillity of the countryside.
„Shut up,‟ she said.
She waited for her mind to sort fogged images and memories into order. Rebecca had left the pub... A teacher, she had said, but you couldn‟t hold that against her... Then the note had been passed to Joanna, and some lad had tried to chat her up, and she‟d said, „If you don‟t get your hand off my leg, Worzel, I‟ll shove your brand-new combine harvester so far up your arse you‟ll have to use the windscreen wipers to brush your teeth.‟ Then a drunken collapse into bed, and... Sleep. And screams.
Ace sat bolt upright. The Doctor still hadn‟t returned, and the screams had been real.
She ran to the window, and pulled back the curtains. She remembered having gone to the window in the night, although the recollection was blurred by sleep.
The green extended from the front of the pub to the edge of the lane that most of the cottages were clustered around. It was lush, despite the dry weather, and billiard-table-flat.
Ace peered more closely. Right at its centre, like some childish stick drawing, lay a humanoid shape. It was made of threads of brown and yellow, clumsily clothed in what appeared to be striped pyjamas. The face was a grotesque parody of human features, all skewed by rough branches and knotted stalks of corn.
Ropes held the scarecrow