5
There was a streak of red across the phone's plastic screen guard.
Davidson felt the back of his neck, saw the blood on his fingers and spat out a curse.
There was a half empty box of tissues within easy reach of the bed. He tugged one out and pressed it to his nape.
He checked the screen again.
It insisted it was dialling, but he was beginning to have grave fucking doubts.
He returned the handset to his ear again, just in time for a garbled screech to come blasting out of the earpiece.
He hissed sharply, yanking the phone away.
The noise kept coming, screaming and squealing like a dial-up modem, growing louder and more frenetic with each second that passed.
Davidson jabbed the icon to hang up, but the din didn't stop. It was the same sound his old ZX Spectrum used to make as it tried – and inevitably failed – to load a cassette, only this one wasn't stopping.
The call had been ended.
The screen was back showing the list of missed calls. But the noise kept coming.
"Shut up," he muttered, tapping the screen and jabbing at the buttons to try to mute the racket. "Shut up!"
In the olden days, of course, you could have just yanked out the battery, but that was before some fucking bright spark had decided the battery should be sealed up.
No matter what Davidson tried, the screeching didn't stop.
He resorted to shaking the phone vigorously and slapping his hand against the screen, but neither one made any difference.
With a cry of frustration he rammed the handset under his mattress, muting the din if not silencing it.
He left the bedroom and pulled the door closed, dulling the noise further. His eyes fell on the broken window and he stared, as if seeing it for the first time. The body was gone, but he could still picture it there.
A man.
No, a teenager, he thought.
Eyes open, mouth slack, brain oozing out of the hole in his mangled skull.
Davidson shook his head, trying to push the image away. He checked the tissue.
There was blood, but not too much, thankfully.
The initial shock was beginning to fade, and the first few rational thoughts came creeping in. He'd seen definitely one possibly two bodies come plunging past his window. Or into his window in one case.
It was only now that what should probably have been his first question reared its head.
Where had they come from?
Slowly – ever so slowly – Andy Davidson's eyes went to the ceiling.
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The Flat Above
16 MINUTES EARLIER
"Aye, but I like you. I really like you. I've fancied you for ages. And you like me, don't you?"
Perched on the edge of her bed, Cheryse nodded.
"Well then. What's the problem?"
Cheryse lifted her head to look at the boy beside her.
Lenny smiled.
He had a nice smile. It was mischievous yet somehow honest at the same time, and made his dark eyes crinkle to narrow slits. He was seventeen – two years older than she was – and she still couldn't believe he was interested in her. Her!
"You trust me, don't you?" Lenny asked. He made a move to stand up. "Because if you don't I'd better—"
"Don't go," Cheryse said. The pleading tone in her voice surprised her. But then again, not really. Half the girls in school fancied Lenny, and if he walked out the door she had a feeling he'd never be back.
The bed groaned as he sat down beside her, close in so his leg was touching hers.
She hesitated, chewing her lip and then rested her head on his shoulder. They didn't talk, just sat there listening to the tinny tones of Ed Sheeran struggling from the speaker of Lenny's phone, and the creak creak creak of the bed next door.
"Sounds like someone's having fun," Lenny whispered, his breath hot against Cheryse's neck.
She giggled nervously.
Samuel, Lenny's friend was in the room next door with a girl in Cheryse's year. Ashleigh something or other. Cheryse didn't know her well. She was one of the quiet girls who hung out in the library every break time.
At least she was normally quiet. Now… not so much. She yelped in time with every creak, a high-pitched yap of pleasure or pain or something in between.
"She sounds like a monkey," Lenny said. He scratched himself under the armpits. "Ooh, ooh, ooh!"
Cheryse lifted her head and laughed.
She turned to Lenny, and first his eyes then his lips met hers. He felt warm against her.
She shivered as his fingertips traced the contours of her back through her t-shirt, and as they brushed against her bra strap she felt her blood bloom up her neck, making her face go red.
The strap tightened a fraction, then went loose as Lenny unclipped it through the thin cotton top. His lips brushed more firmly against hers, and she felt the tip of his tongue explore her mouth.
He twisted towards her, using his weight to gently guide her down onto the bed.
She squirmed as he turned her head away and began to nuzzle at her neck. Her fingers gripped her Star Warsduvet and scrunched it tightly.
The button of her jeans loosened with a pop and Lenny's hand thrust down inside, his gentle touch becoming more forceful. Through the wall, the headboard began to thud against the wall and Ashleigh-something's yelps were drowned out by Samuel's breathless grunts.
"Wait," Cheryse said. She caught Lenny's wrist. "Stop. My mum and dad."
Lenny drew back. "They're in Spain."
"I know but… I promised them I wouldn't... That nothing would..."
"They'll never know," Lenny insisted. He kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his jeans, never once removing his hand from Cheryse's.
He leaned into kiss her again, but she shied away.
Lenny yanked his hand free and frowned at it, rubbing it like it had hurt him all of a sudden.
"Jesus," he snapped. "What are you, fucking twelve? I thought you said you were grown up? You're a wee kid."
"I'm not."
"Well quit fucking acting like it, then," Lenny said, all softness gone from his voice. He pushed down his boxers and stepped closer.
"Put it in your mouth," he urged.
Cheryse shook her head and quickly turned away. Her eyes burned.
She dug her fingernails into her palms and chewed on her lip. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry.
"Fuck's sake," Lenny barked. He kicked her desk, knocking over the laptop he'd first contacted her on. "Give me my phone, I'm phoning Ella."
Cheryse watched him snatch up the phone and shut up Ed Sheeran. She kept her gaze fixed on his top half, not letting it wander down there.
"Wh-who's Ella?"
"She's in my year. A fucking adult, no' a silly wee lassie. She knows the score."
He made a show of scrolling through his contact list.
Cheryse let out a shaky breath. "Was she your girlfriend?"
Lenny laughed. "Fuck me, you really are a kid, aren't you? Was she your girlfriend? Get with the fucking program, sweetheart, eh?"
"Ow, stop!"
Ashleigh-something's voice was sharp and sudden through the wall. The headboard had stopped thumping, but Samuel's grunts came fast and loud, forming almost one continuous growl.
"Stop, Samuel, stop please!"
Cheryse stood up. Lenny blocked her path.
"Leave it," he said.
"But she's—"
"She's fine."
"Samuel, please. Jesus! You're… stop! Stop! Don't!"
"She's not fine," Cheryse said.
Lenny loomed over her.
"They're having fun," he said, looking her up and down with contempt. "At least someone knows how to."
Cheryse met his gaze and held it. Half the girls in school fancied him.
What were they thinking?
"Fuck you," she said, and she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. His breath exploded from his lungs in a short sharp gasp and he sort of melted down onto the floor, clutching his groin and wheezing.
Cheryse stepped over him.
She was halfway to her bedroom door when Ashleigh's screaming started. Not the pained protests she had been making, but full scale screams of panic.
"Ashleigh?" Cheryse shouted, racing into the narrow hallway. She made for the door to her parents' room where Ashleigh's screams had risen to fever pitch. "Ashleigh, are you—?"
The door exploded outwards, filling the flat with the sound of splintering wood.
A limp shape came hurtling through.
It hit the laminate flooring, bounced once, then slid to a stop by Cheryse's feet.
Ashleigh was dead.