Anne.
-Take this.
Christie thrusts the package into my hands.
-No! What? No way! Where are you going?
-Nowhere. I need you to hold it. For a second.
I completely don't trust this situation in any way, shape or form. This man is obviously a criminal and I think what I'm doing constitutes aiding and abetting whatever it is he's got planned.
-Christie, we need to know what's going on.
-I've explained it to you. God, could you people be any slower? Oh wait, it's just the rest of the species that just can't quite seem to keep up with me.
The arrogant prick to end all arrogant pricks is here, in front of me.
-Life goes on, I suppose...
He sighs like a pantomime dame, and sweeps off into the distance. Anton spots his disappearing figure first and we have to run after him, yet again. Cassie is now holding 'the thing'. I'd guess that he wanted to get rid of it, passing it on to us and running off like that, but it's quite evident by the way he's so confidently leaving that he knew from the start that we wouldn't leave it behind. I don't understand why he can't hold it, though. It's very suspicious.
We resume this crazed pathway through a tangle of backstreets until finally we get to a place where Christie seems happy to stop for breath. Or something. He snatches the package from Cassie without warning, opens a door to a building we weren't expecting to go into and starts up the dark stairs.
-Christie, wait-
He spins round with such a cold look in his eye I'm not sure Anton will have the nerve to continue.
-Why here?
-Because this is the right place, Anton. Because this is where someone is going to pay me money in exchange for this. And this is important. Because money is important. Do you want money, Anton? If you want money, you have to stop asking stupid questions.
He ascends the pitch black staircase without waiting for progression after Anton's dumbfounded and incredulous look.
I feel distinctly dirty here. The situation has made the fateful transition from very surreal and slightly awkward to very awkward and far too real. There is poison in Christie's voice. His motives are too selfish for this to be any fun. He's fixated on some cash prize that he's risking everything for, and I don't even know why he's brought us along.
I'm seeped in this solemn reverie when I hear a loud crash. I'm very much in two minds in the following seconds but decide, after exchanging confused glances with Anton and Cassie, to charge up the stairs myself. It is not a sensible thing to be doing.
At the top, something brushes past, then a hand grabs my wrist and drags me back down. In the little light there is from a window in another room, I see broken glass on the hallway floor. As I'm violently pulled down the staircase and the darkness shrinks to behind us, Christie is pulling off a mask with one hand, shaking his hair as it comes loose.
He is still holding the package.
-That wasn't a good noise, Christie.
-Trust me, darling, there are much worse noises in the world.
He flashes a smile as we step through the doorway and I'm one hundred percent sure I should never believe a word he says ever again.
Anton looks angry and Cassie looks nervous. When Christie steps out, impeccably elegant with a cheshire cat smile on his face, Anton eyes the parcel in horror.
-Why do you still have that, Christie?
His voice is low and quiet with what I presume is his most vicious brand of anger. He's like a feral cat, hissing at Christie, daring him to come any closer. Christie ignores him theatrically and turns to me instead.
-I'm so sorry you have to see them this way my love, Anton isn't usually this...uptight...
He snakes an arm round Anton's shoulders in a very sleazy manner, squeezing him close to him while Anton quietly counts to ten, his eyes closed after rolling at Christie's showiness.
-And Cassie...well, Cassie's just the life and soul, any other day!
He skips to her side, far too close, but not touching her. Cassie doesn't look like she'd mind if he did, and when he moves away, he trails his arm down her back, inciting a shiver and the look of someone who knows they are in love with a monster. When he leaves her side to resume tormenting Anton, the look in his eye is knowing, and the look in hers is desparate. For Anton it is merely vitriolic.
-Don't worry ladies, it gets better. I promise. I'd never bring you all out anywhere and have you bored, after all.
Cassandra seems tired now, in her eyes, at least. As if she' s just undergone a thought process so exhaustive, so draining...I'd not be surprised if it were merely half a minute of wondering where she stands with Christie. Where anyone does. Where we're all going...
I empathise with her after just a tiny amount of time considering these questions.
I look around at us all. Dressed up and worn out. We look half-closed. Half-dead. Half-hearted. I don't know why any of us are here and I'm getting cold. It's that inevitable moment of realisation that comes in every ridiculous situation- the part where you take a step back from yourself, see it so objectively, and recognise that you can't remember how or why you got where you are. Self-consciouness kicks in and you feel a deep sense of regret, no matter what's going on. An awkward moment.
Christie is aware, I notice, when I see his face fall. It falls, and then rises again, into a very austere determination. His mouth is a straight line as he observes us, his position in the current scenario emphasised by the way he stands on the doorstep of the house we just left, above all of us, and staring at all of us. He faltered for only a split second- there was only ever that one fraction of a hint, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, that I managed not to miss, where I saw his face open. Open and honest for a tiny moment of doubt and understanding of how we all feel right now. He's too clever for this- he recognises how we currently perceive him, and as he assembles a look of resolve he knows that he's been too harsh, too outrageous- he never wanted to be seen as a tyrant. He doesn't like the fact that we see him so negatively.
I wonder if this is my own construction of the setting, just a very relative intepretation, almost optimistic of his character, just me trying to draw out a logical back story to this whole thing, but the thing is, I'm often very right about things like this. It takes practise to maintain a mask of social aptitude convincing enough to disguise how hateful I truly find everything; it takes skill to keep everyone in that understanding. I learnt from the best, after all; I learnt from other people.
I think I'm right.
-Right. We should go now. We need to go somewhere else.
When Christie breaks the silence the fatigue is in his voice as well as our heads. I was right. He still starts without us, but is walking at an almost-human pace that we don't have to sprint to keep up with. No one is saying a word.
We eventually stop outside another door.
-Cassie, I need you to go in now.
-What for?
-It's you they want, Cassie.
He smiles at her, alligator-like and irresistable.
-Christie- I didn't say yes to this.
-You didn't say no, Cassandra. It won't be that bad. I'll be here, they won't-
-They? Christie, they?! No, I won't...
The grotesque truth of the situation creeps into my head. This is wrong.
-What are you doing, Christie?
I keep my voice low and predatory. There is passion in the threat that I didn't know I was capable of.
-I'm making things work, Anne. Everyone works for someone else. Different things work for different people. I know about people, Anne.
-I know that people aren't to be sold, Christie.
My tone is vicious, to match the way I stare him down.
-I don't know what you are, but I wouldn't have come here if I had.
-Yes you fucking would have, Anne. You know that. You don't care about anything, you don't have anything to lose. Why are you bothering? You don't know Cassandra. Maybe she's the same as me. Whatever you think I am, whatever gargoyle you take me for, maybe that's her aswell. Maybe that's all of us.
The deadly intonation in his voice fades towards the end as he turns away from me and locks caring eyes on Cassie.
-I'll give you the choice, Cassie.
-You'll be here? You'll be out here, waiting?
-Of course.
I'm disgusted by the look of forced sincerity he gives her. I've seen that look before, drenched in dirt in a red light universe. I know the feeling of someone promising you purity. I know why she walks into the house without another word.
When she runs out about two and a half minutes later, she looks pretty exhilarated.
-Come on, we've got to run!
Christie says this from behind me, and grabs my arm.
Once we're a long way out of sight, we stop, gasping for breath as Christie walks around, turning sharply every so often, in no way exhausted and moving his head like a radar looking for signal.
-That was quick...
-Well, you have to be, with people like that.
-People like what, eaxctly?
I have no idea what's going on and it's an unusual feeling for me. I hear Christie laughing in the background.
-My god, Anne, how depraved do you think I am?
-What were you sending her in there for, then? What did you think it looked like?
-I sent her in there to pretend to be a prostitute and get some more money for us by holding them at gunpoint, obviously.
-Obviously.
-Yes, obviously. Right, now that's sorted, we need to meet our actual artiste.
He gives a flourish of his hands, and lights a cigarette in a flash, and all I can see in the darkness under the trees planted in the bricks and distant lights reflected in the muddy river that looks gorgeous at night time is the glow of the end of it, illuminating a secret smile as he takes a triumphant puff.
The 'artiste' arrives ten minutes later, and my mood has changed dramatically. The evening careered off its nose dive and made the transformation from horrific to surreal once again. It is made more so as the smell of lavender and tobacco drenches us all from behind.
-You brought company, Christopher. Why?
-I had other things on my itinery this evening, I can always do with a few extra hands.
-Or legs, as it often seems, Christopher.
The tall, thin figure in dark, velvety colours eyes me and Cassie with distinct ennui.
-Oh, now, please don't think me so crass, Mr White, I'm only dealing with the practicalities...
The corners of Mr White's mouth turn up underneath his moustache, and he plucks Christie's cigarette from his fingers and takes a puff, before replacing it in Christie's mouth. This world has a lot of screwy secrets to hide, I'm starting to think.
-Christopher, I don't have time for niceties tonight, I'm afraid. Have you got the, uh...piece?
-Yes, of course. And can you pay?
-I'm insulted you even asked, Christopher. Here...
he waves a small bag over Christie's hand, reaching for the package with the other.
I suspect that this is what some might define as a privileged customer in Christie's business.
He leaves, Christie starts walking in the opposite direction.
-What now?
-Now we go home.
And so we do.
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