12 Steps Page 4

  And it could end up being me. As much as I want to get out of here, I don’t fancy getting stabbed. Even though I probably deserve it.

  I deserve worse.

  “We should look out the windows,” said Betty. “There’s nowhere to hide out front, so let’s see what we’re dealing with before running around like lunatics.”

  Adam thought it was a good idea. “The building backs onto woodland, but you’re right about the car park, Betty. There’s nowhere to hide out there.”

  “Tea’s ready,” said Patrick, his voice a high-pitched whistle. “Come get it while it’s hot.”

  Adam found Patrick’s fixation on making hot drinks a tad bizarre, but it was probably just his way of coping. To help facilitate, he took a mug of tea from the table and asked Patrick how he was doing.

  “Oh yes, I’m fine, thank you, Adam. I just don’t like violence. Y-You know I used to beat my first wife, yes? I’ve shared that in the group?”

  Adam winced. “Yeah, Patrick. We all know about that, but that’s not you any more, right? That was the alcoholic you left behind eleven years ago. It’s in the past. The distant past.”

  Nothing’s ever truly in the past. We carry our actions with us wherever we go – a scorecard of our soul.

  Patrick blinked as if he’d just woken up. “Yes, you’re right. I’m not sure why I just brought it up. Samantha and I have been married for four years now, and I’ve never once raised a hand to her. I can barely believe I ever did such vile things. I tried to make amends to my first wife, of course, following the steps and all that, but she told me the only way I could help was by never coming near her ever again. She had every right to say that, I suppose. Still, I tried.”

  “It’s not always possible to make amends,” said Adam, wondering why he was suddenly counselling his counsellor. “Some crimes can’t be forgiven. We just have to live with them.”

  Or die with them.

  “Yes, of course, but after trying so long to find inner peace, violence makes me feel rather ill. I can’t… I can’t deal with it very well at all. I can’t be around it. It brings back too many memories.”

  Adam put a hand on Patrick’s arm. “You’ve been clean and sober for a decade. You haven’t raised your hand in anger once since getting clean. You’re in control, Patrick. Just stay calm and help the rest of us like you have been doing week in week out. You’re a good man and we trust you.”

  Patrick looked Adam in the eye. “I’m not a good man. I’ll never get to be one either, will I? Not after the things I’ve done. Even if it’s in the past.”

  Adam raised his tea and took a tiny sip. The warmth gave him a little tickle along his spine. “Stop wallowing, Patrick. Wallowing is what made us alcoholics in the first place. We’re going to take a look out the windows and see what we’re up against, okay? Then we’ll face our problems head-on.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m with you, Adam. All the way.”

  With a mumbling curse, John turned and looked at them from further along the picnic table. He appeared concerned. “I think you should both check this out.”

  Adam shuffled over. “What is it?”

  John pointed. “The brownies. After what happened to Kevin, I wanted to see if they were really as dry as they appeared. I broke off a piece and… Well, just look.”

  It was hard to see with only the harsh glare of the nearby mobile phones, but with a slight effort Adam’s eyes adjusted and he could make out the plate full of sugar-free snacks. True to what John had said, one of the chocolaty squares had been snapped off at the corner. A filling oozed out, fizzing as it reacted with the air. Adam lifted the brownie to his nose and sniffed. The smell was peculiar but not unpleasant – a mixture of cocoa and… almonds?

  “You think someone poisoned the food?” asked John.

  Adam rubbed his forehead and tried to figure things out. “Did anyone have the doughnuts or muffins?”

  Patrick had been listening and he nodded. “I had one of each before the meeting started. Betty had a muffin too.”

  “And Tasha had a doughnut,” John added.

  “It was just the diabetic brownies then,” Adam deduced. “The thing only Kevin would eat.”

  Did somebody want him dead?

  John folded his arms and glanced back over his shoulder. He spoke in a whisper. “You think this is all about Kevin? But he was harmless.”

  “He was an alcoholic,” said Patrick. “Who knows what misery he’s caused.”

  Adam didn’t like the theory, even though it was valid. All alcoholics had the capacity to cause pain, even lovable ones like Kevin. “He came here because he realised he was killing himself with food and drink. He drank at home with his wife, so what harm could he have caused?”

  Patrick sighed. “One thing I know about alcoholics is that they keep secrets and tell lies, even to themselves. We have no idea who Kevin was outside of this group. Clearly, someone planned to murder him – successfully, I might add.”

  Adam closed his eyes and took a needed breath. Were they really talking about murder? Was it an actual possibility?

  This is all going to click and make sense in a minute.

  It has to.

  John sipped his tea and frowned. “If this was about Kevin, then why stab Costa?”

  “To keep us from getting help,” said Adam, staring into his mug and wishing it was a portal home. “There’s a chance whoever was outside is gone now, which is why we need to look out the windows and make a plan.”

  John nodded. A second later so did Patrick.

  Adam turned back to the others and noticed Betty was wrapping Costa’s arm with a pair of tights. When she saw Adam’s questioning expression, she shrugged. “At my age, it always pays to carry spares.”

  I don’t even want to know why that is.

  Costa was grunting in pain, and he looked away as if he couldn’t face the sight of his own wound. For an ex-squaddie, he was apparently squeamish. “Is that thing still outside?” he asked.

  Thing? Does he really think it’s a thing? We’re getting hysterical.

  I’m getting hysterical.

  “We’re about to go check the windows,” said Adam. “See what’s out there. Tasha, you up for that?”

  Tasha stood and nodded. “I’ll go check out the window over there.”

  Adam watched her head over to the far side of the hall, near the entrance. For a young girl – and an alcoholic, no less – she seemed to have her head screwed on, but she didn’t seem to consider the risk of her actions. She was rash. Angry.

  Like a lot of us when we first join the group.

  Alcohol loves an angry host.

  Patrick and John were checking the windows near the kitchenette, so Adam took the wide double window at the centre of the front wall. Rain cascaded hypnotically down its glass, tracing patterns from top to bottom, silver streams cutting through the black beyond. Its large panes made Adam feel vulnerable as he approached, and his anxious mind conjured the image of a terrible monster smashing through the glass and dragging him out into the night.

  I’m being ridiculous. Let’s just deal with things one step at a time. I’m good at following steps.

  Step one: I am powerless over alcohol.

  No… No, I’ve been clean for one whole year. I’m not powerless any more.

  But I am getting cold. Brrr.

  Even with his jacket on, Adam was shivering. It occurred to him that, with the power off, the heating would’ve probably died too. November wasn’t a great month to be stranded in the dark without warmth.

  He made it to the window, the toes of his trainers touching the wall. Nothing moved outside besides the rain. Their cars were all parked off to one side, impossible to make out beyond a murky block of shadow. An old elm tree grew ten metres from the entrance, enclosed in a circular brick wall. Its thick branches swayed like some eldritch abomination, but it was familiar enough not to frighten Adam, so he looked past it.

  Nothing there. No white face. No dang
erous psychopath. Just an empty car park.

  “Hey,” he shouted to the others. “Anybody see anything?”

  “No,” said John. “Looks clear to me.”

  “Same here,” said Tasha.

  Patrick let out a loud sigh. “Do you think it means we can get out of here? Is it safe?”

  Adam pressed his nose against the glass and squinted. “Maybe whoever was out there ran away after they—”

  A stark white face appeared at the window, its nose separated from Adam’s by only half an inch of glass. He leapt back and screamed, mortified by the featureless mask staring back at him.

  What the hell is it? What the hell is it?

  Everyone else started reacting to Adam’s fear, screaming and chattering over one another. “What’s happening?” Patrick wailed. “Please, will somebody tell me?”

  Adam turned to them, hoping his expression conveyed his horror. He pointed at the window behind him. “There’s a… there’s a…” He turned back, but the face had gone. This time there was no doubt in his mind about what he’d seen. “There’s something out there. It was right at the window. A face.”

  Thunder boomed. Close. Loud. It made everyone flinch.

  Adam repeated himself, making sure everyone heard. “There’s something out there.”

  And it’s terrifying.

  “I’ve had enough of this.” Tasha marched over to the double doors and yanked them open, rattling them on their hinges. Rain rushed into the foyer, almost like it was falling sideways, but the girl stepped out and let it soak her. She screamed into the night. “Who the fuck is out there? What the hell do you want? Come on and show yourself, you pussy.”

  “She’s mad,” said Betty. “Mouthy and mad.”

  John folded his arms and shrugged. “She’s got backbone, though, you have to admit.”

  Adam raced across the wooden floor and grabbed Tasha, pulling her back from the foyer. “What are you doing? You want to get yourself killed?”

  “Killed? I ain’t getting killed by some dickhead hiding in the bushes. Enough with this shit. Kevin’s dead and Costa’s hurt. We need to put an end to this shit and leave. Come on, let’s group together and get to our cars.”

  “There’s something out there,” said Adam. “It was… frightening.”

  I sound like an idiot.

  “Some loser in a mask? As long as we’re all cowering in here, he’s winning. We’re only afraid because he’s playing mind games with us.”

  Adam put a hand on her shoulder, perhaps to keep her running off. She was so angry, and it was making her behave rashly. “Why are you so eager to take a risk?”

  Do you want to be punished for something?

  I get it, but you have to fight it.

  She shook her head at him, annoyed. “Because letting fear control you gets people killed. My brother died in an accident because the people he relied on were running around like headless chickens instead of dealing with the issues in front of them. If we had kept our wits and faced things head-on, maybe my brother would still be alive.”

  She blames herself for his death. Poor kid.

  “I’m sorry. What happened to your brother? How did he die?”

  “Long story, and probably not one you’d believe.”

  “Try me.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Just over a year ago, we went exploring with some friends at an abandoned theme park. The whole place was run-down and in the middle of nowhere, but we thought it would be a laugh. There was this old dark ride we broke into so we could drink and party. It was dangerous and stupid and we paid the price – my brother most of all. He got trapped inside the ride and… he never made it out. Your typical tale of foolish young people trying to get a buzz. It’s so cliched, it’s fucking tragic.”

  All death is cliche because it happens so often. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can see how you might blame yourself for not being able to do anything, but this is different. Someone is targeting us.”

  “Exactly. It’s just a person out there. Our fear is allowing him to fuck with us, but if we man up and head out in a group, what’s he going to do? Stab all of us?”

  Maybe. I’m not much of a fighter. “I… don’t know.”

  “I say we do it,” said John from a few feet away. “I don’t enjoy being a victim, and my family will worry when I don’t come home.”

  Adam blinked slowly, not understanding why everyone was so eager to take a risk. “When you’re late, they’ll call the police. We should wait here.”

  “I agree,” said Betty. “No point running into trouble.”

  John shook his head. “How long would you wait before you called the police? They’ll worry, sure, but they won’t call the police until they’re absolutely positive something is wrong. It could be past midnight by the time they finally dial nine-nine-nine.

  “It’s freezing in here,” said Patrick. “I don’t think we can stay much longer.”

  “I’ve survived colder than this,” said Betty. “Mankind survived a long time without central heating, you know?”

  Mankind survived a long time without deodorant. Doesn’t mean we should let ourselves stink.

  “You should all stay,” said Costa. His arm was completely bound in Betty’s tights now, but blood stained his clothing. Luckily his leather jacket had been red to start with.

  “Should we vote?” asked John.

  “No,” said Tasha. “This isn’t an assembly. I’m getting the hell out of here and I think you should all do the same. What if this maniac sets fire to the place with us inside?”

  Adam shivered and had to look away to keep the image of roaring flames out of his mind. He suddenly felt very afraid. Close to panic.

  Don’t think about fire.

  “I’m staying put,” said Betty, folding her arms and looking away. “I’m too old to risk going out there. I can’t fight or run or do anything that would help.”

  “I’m staying here too,” said Costa.

  John rubbed his eyes and then cleared his throat. “Well, I say we confront this head-on. If we arm up and leave together, we’ll be more trouble than we’re worth, surely? Besides, whoever’s out there isn’t here because of me.”

  Patrick pushed his spectacles further up his nose and folded his arms. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I don’t get involved in nonsense like this.”

  Costa grunted. “And you’re saying I do? I didn’t deserve this.”

  John shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I don’t really know you. This is somebody else’s mess. I don’t intend on getting caught in the middle.”

  “Okay,” said Tasha. “Who else is with me and John?”

  “I am,” said Patrick. “I think I’ll go mad if I stay cooped up in this dark. Adam, you should come as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the strongest here. You work with your hands.”

  Adam pulled a face. “I’m a part-time carpenter, not an coal miner.”

  “But he’s right,” said Tasha. “You’re fit and healthy, and the more of us that go the better.”

  “What about Betty and Costa? We can’t just leave them here alone.”

  Maybe I should stay here with them. You can all take the risks and I’ll wait for you to bring help. That’s cowardly, right? Yeah, definitely cowardly.

  Or is it smart?

  Costa stood. He looked better than he had since staggering in bleeding, but he was still unsteady on his feet. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ll close the doors after you guys leave and block them with some chairs.”

  Adam glanced at the windows and wondered what was out there. A disembodied face of a ghost? Or a nutcase with a knife? “Okay, fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “This is the stupidest idea ever, but I want this nightmare to end. Grab whatever you can find. We’re heading out.”

  This is a really bad idea.

  Most of what they found came from the storage room at the back of the hall. They searched the
space with their phone torches. Other than a locked fire exit, the space had no windows or openings, which gave the illusion of safety. Adam considered staying put and waiting there until someone came along in the morning to let him out – perhaps Margaret, the caretaker. Surely she would come by eventually to check on the place. But then he decided being trapped wasn’t such a good idea. What if the psychopath outside torched the place like Tasha had suggested?

  What if I burn to death like…

  Like they did.

  Adam armed himself with a metre ruler he found leaning against a stack of shelves, while Tasha pulled the handle off a broom. Patrick found an unwieldy pole used for opening the high windows in the hall and John grabbed a metal leg that had fallen off one of the chairs. Together they resembled a group of medieval pikemen.

  If imagined by Monty Python.

  It was time to go, but Adam spotted something else of use that caused him to pause. He grabbed the thick brown blanket from one of the shelves and took it to Betty and Costa, who were still sitting outside in the main hall, illuminated by their mobile phones. It was getting colder and the blanket might take the edge off Betty’s old bones.

  Costa looked a lot better now, and he nodded to Adam as he approached. “Any trouble, run right back inside. Whatever, or whoever, is out there isn’t playing around.” He lifted his bound forearm as an example. “Maybe I should go with you.”

  Adam shook his head. “You’re hurt, and we can’t leave Betty on her own. I’m sure an ex-soldier is the best person to protect her, anyway.” It still surprised Adam to hear about the young man’s service record, and it made him realise how little they all knew about each other besides what they chose to share at the group. “Did you, um, leave the forces to look after your mother?”

  Costa sighed, his dark eyelashes lowering. “By the time I got out, she didn’t have long left. She’d been ill for months without telling me. If I’d known sooner…”

  “You did the right thing as soon as you knew it needed doing. I’m sorry you lost her.”

  Costa nodded. “Be careful out there, man.”