BOILER

Chapter 35

The lady from reception at Pleasant Place wasn't in. The sun was at the very end of its life, somewhere behind the trees and while there was plenty of birdcall, there wasn't much at all left fluttering about. He got out of the car and looked around at the homes and the grassy paths that lay between them. He looked between the trees, into spaces that were just black holes of nothing, just gaps left in the drawing of the world. He looked with all the certainty that a man was staring right back at him.

He needed better control of his heartbeat if he was going to hear anything more than its last bump. He took the gin bottle from the driver door card, drank from it, and smoked one cigarette to its end and lit another.

Electric light fell out of the homes. The country was a canvas of no detail below a moonless sky. He knew he wasn't leaving, and the thought of it made him sick.

Can't be helped.

He brought out his pistol, slid out the magazine, and checked it for a dent in the casing that sometimes jammed its operation. He swapped the magazine out for the spare and chambered a round, and then he started walking.

He walked with the dark of the wilderness to his right and the homes to his left. He walked by two rows and crossed a small road. There was some pressure from the dark, like it had its hands around him. The last row of homes came up, and he stopped when all of them were in view. He stood on the corner and listened.

The homes at this extreme edge of the plot were almost in with the pine trees and that had been terrible for their state of composition, with not a single panel escaping the creep of nature. Toland scouted along them from his spot when he suddenly felt the urgency to move. He looked again at the treeline. Pott was here, waiting. Toland wasn't gonna know where until he stepped on him.

He dropped his cigarette and took the numbers from the two homes he could see. He counted along to 70 and started walking.

Some of these homes were missing entire walls. All of them looked to have something living in them. 70 didn't. Toland was stood with his toes on the lawn and looking up at the window. He thought about when and remembered every time he'd felt this. He looked back the way he came, but there was nothing for it. He looked up at the window and then he went to the door.

He tried the handle and the door opened and kept opening when he let it go. He held the pistol up and walked into the living room. The place was bare and clean in the dark at least. There was only this room and the kitchen at the back that he could see to. One more room, the bedroom, through one door that was closed. He went to it and pushed the door open. He leant in and then he walked in with the gun always ahead of him. He carried on around to the bathroom and then came back out to the living room. He looked out the door as streetlight around the plot flickered for a moment and flashed out and then came back with its light a only a muted glow. Someone else breathed outside the door. Toland watched as breath drifted in from outside.

'It's James, right?'

'Yeah.'

'And we know you know who I am. I mean, why else would we be talking? Why don't you say it?'

'Pottinger.'

'That's right. Been a while since I heard all of it. Most people call me Pott. You can if you like.'

Toland could hear him smiling all the way from the door.

'It was the girl, right? The girl that got you to me?'

'Yeah.'

Pott breathed. 'I knew she'd come back to haunt me. Oh well. That was a younger me, and I hadn't learned yet. Even so, I knew when I had my hands around her throat that I was making a mistake. I was telling myself to stop, but it just wasn't to be. Killing on emotion is a bad idea. Anyway, why all this fuss over me? You got all you need in town.'