DON'T LOOK DOWN Read online

  DON’T LOOK DOWN

  by

  Barbara Scott Emmett

  DONT LOOK DOWN

  Barbara Scott Emmett

  Electronic Edition published by Pentalpha Publishing Edinburgh

  Copyright 2011 Barbara Scott Emmett

  The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Other Books by Barbara Scott Emmett:

  The Land Beyond Goodbye

  A Novel set in Australia

  Drowning: Four Short Stories

  Wasps & Scorpions: Luv Pomes and Other Lies

  For Kathinka, with love

  ~

  Icicles, sharp as sharks’ teeth, glint in the moonlight. The cave is a dark maw. Hesitating at the entrance, she searches the blackness.

  Go in. Go in and look.

  She glances over her shoulder, shivering. Snow bleaches the hillside and a far off church bell tolls: Midnight.

  He’s gone. You saw him leave. Go in.

  But there might be others. It could be a trap.

  It isn’t. He’s gone. Go in.

  She ventures into the cave, the pulse in her throat violent. Edging across the rock floor she eases into the shadows. Her breathing is ragged, her limbs stiff.

  Call her name. Call out.

  No! He’ll hear me. He’ll come back. She moves forward. I’ll find her. She can’t be too far in.

  She feels her way into the cave, hands outstretched, eyes straining against the darkness. She holds her breath, pauses, listens: Silence, apart from the incessant thudding of her heart.

  As she inches further in, her foot catches on something and she sprawls forwards. But instead of frozen rock to break her fall, the soft give of cooling flesh yields beneath her palms.

  The scream is ripped from her. It echoes around the cave as she fights with the body. The corpse hinders her, clings to her, seeks to lock her in its embrace. She scrambles off it, pushes herself away, scuttles backwards. Get away from me. Get away. Get away.

  Shivering, she hugs herself, eyes wide. No. God. No. Please. No.

  When her whimpers subside, she gathers all her courage and crawls forward. The body lies face up a few feet beyond the wedge of moonlight. Don’t let it be her. Don’t let it be her. No please, not her. She reaches out to touch the limp fingers – a pale glimmer in the shadows – but hesitates. Stilled by the scrape of a step behind her, her hand hovers. Her breath is strangled in her throat, her scalp tingles.

  She crouches, afraid to look over her shoulder. Afraid to look up into cold, murderous eyes.

  ~

  One

  ‘Had your eyes tested lately?’

  The male voice at her elbow made Lauren Keane jump.

  ‘Wolf!’ Lauren bit back an obscenity. Just off the plane, she’d been scanning the arrivals hall expecting Katti to be there to meet her. Wolfgang Hauer was the last person she expected to see.

  She peered past him hoping to spot her friend’s Medusa curls bobbing through the crowd, her silver bangles glinting as she semaphored her presence. But though Nuremberg airport was teeming with visitors come for the Christmas Market, Katti was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘You looked right through me twice,’ Wolf said, his English as good as ever. ‘Too vain to wear glasses, ja?’

  ‘I didn’t recognise you. You’ve...’ Lauren flapped her elbows to indicate expansion. Katti’s half-brother had broadened a little, put on a little weight, but damn him if it didn’t suit him. He was pushing thirty now, as was she, but his hair still fell over his eyes in a rich chestnut tangle; his face hadn’t yet lost all the softness of youth.

  His lip curved into an approximation of a smile. ‘Pity I cannot say the same about you also.’

  He ran his brown eyes over her and she glared back, challenging him to comment further. He seemed to be criticizing all five foot six of her, from her boots and tight jeans to her messy auburn hair.

  ‘I might have known you wouldn’t be suitably dressed,’ he said. ‘Did you not check the weather reports?’ He slipped off his tan leather jerkin and thrust it at her. ‘Here, put this on.’ He grabbed her holdall with his other hand.

  ‘What, are we cross-dressing now?’

  ‘Amusing. Please put it on. You will need it for the motorbike.’ He turned and walked away.

  ‘Hang on. Wolfi!’ Lauren strode after him, clutching the jacket.

  He turned at her use of his pet name, an eyebrow lifting. Lauren cringed. Better not make that mistake again.

  ‘Where’s Katti?’

  ‘You will have to make do with me for the moment. Come on. I wish to get home before the snow starts.’

  ‘Why do you always have to be so damned mysterious?’ Lauren followed him across the concourse, running to keep up. So this was how he was going to play it. A power trip to keep her in her place.

  ~

  The BMW bike slipped out of the car park, roared onto Marienbergstrasse and away from the lights of the airport. Lauren clung to the grip bars behind Wolf as he powered the bike along the B4 towards Nuremberg. Good old Nürnberg, she thought. My home from home. Once upon a time. She’d fallen in love with the mediaeval city the first time she ever saw it: the sandstone towers and gates, the two cathedrals, the cobbled market square.

  The sky was darkening now, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. Haze blurred the streetlights as Wolf wove through the traffic. Lauren felt safe enough behind him, though things were a tad too intimate for her liking. It was impossible to avoid touching him, dammit, perched as she was on the passenger seat. She balked at leaning into the tempting shelter of his back, the warmth of his bulky jumper. No way was she going down that road again.

  It was good to be visiting Katti again after such a long time. Why hadn’t she come to the airport, though? Katz adored trips to the airport. Her greetings were effusive, her partings tear soaked. Why would she pass up on emotion-fest like that?

  She let go of the grip bar a moment to turn her collar up against the wind. Wolf’s beat-up leather jacket was so big that even over her fleece there was room to spare. It whiffed of maleness – sweat and motor oil – and dragged her shoulders down.

  Lauren rode a motorbike herself, back home in London, though the BMW was a hell of a lot bigger than her old TZR. If she’d known Wolf was going to pick her up on it, she’d have brought her own leathers. See what he makes of my snake hips in those. She poked a burnished curl back inside her helmet – Wolf’s spare helmet – while the bike paused at traffic lights.

  When the lights went green, Wolf eased the bike onto the ring road. He cut a sinuous path in and out through cars and trams, and Lauren acknowledged his skill. He obviously hadn’t forgiven her for the episode with the French guy yet though.

  And he’d been altogether too mysterious about Katti. Why didn’t he tell her right out why she hadn’t come herself? What was it? A head cold? A hangover? A spot of over-indulgence in the home grown skunk? That wouldn’t stop Katti normally. She went everywhere in a light haze of dope.

  Headlights flared in the left-hand mirror as a car behind closed in to overtake. Lauren twisted to look over her shoulder. Her heart flipped as the vehicle drew within an inch or two of the rear wheel.

  ‘Jesus!’ She clutched at Wolf, feeling his body tense as the bumper kissed the BMW.

  Wolf yelled as the bike wobbled. Lauren screwed
her eyes shut and held her breath, waiting for the road to come up and smack them. It didn’t happen. Wolf leaned to correct the angle and the bike came upright.

  Guts churning, Lauren risked another glance behind.

  ‘Look out, Wolf!’ she shrieked as the car surged forward again. Blinded by the glare of the headlights, she turned away, burying her face in his jumper as they were rear-ended a second time.

  The bike danced across the road, tyres squealing. JesusGod! A kaleidoscope of fractured images – lights, cars, trams – flashed past as the bike skidded over the slick tarmac. Any moment now they would smack into another vehicle. Any moment now the car would ram them again. They’d be hurled onto the road with the bike on top of them, limbs crushed in tangled metal.

  Shit! Is this it? Is this the end? Lauren clung on, her gloved hands clamped around Wolf’s waist. Eyes closed, teeth clenched, she kept her head down, waiting for the next onslaught.

  It didn’t come. The tyres caught hold, the bike steadied and Lauren sagged with relief. Had the car gone? She peered over her shoulder – and jumped with fright to see it still close behind, inches from their rear mudguard, like an animal breathing on their necks, ready to strike. What was going on? Some kind of cat and mouse game? If their tormentors wanted to tip them over, they could have done it easily by now.

  Pressing herself against Wolf’s back, she braced herself for another impact. Before it came, Wolf urged the BMW forward and the bike roared away down an open stretch of road, leaving the car behind. Lauren looked back. Oncoming headlights flashed off the car’s distinctive grille. It was a Mercedes.

  Wolf pulled out to overtake a truck. Ahead, a tram bore down from the opposite direction, catching them in a pair of stark white lights. Wolf twisted the bike to the left and, cutting in front of the tram, mounted the kerb and swerved onto an open grassed area. The tram clanged to a halt, sparks flying from the overhead wires. Horns blared and headlights flared.

  Lauren’s teeth rattled as the big bike juddered over the rough ground. A wall loomed ahead. ‘God. Jesus. No.’

  Wolf swung the handlebars and brought the bike slewing to a halt sideways on. Branches whipped the side of Lauren’s neck and shoulder, rat-a-tat-tatting against her helmet. Not a wall, thank God, but a dense evergreen hedge.

  Wolf propped the bike up with his outstretched leg and Lauren could feel his chest heaving, see his leg twitching. She felt a sense of unreality, as if everything had been in slow motion yet speeded up at the same time. For a second the blackness was lit with a startling clarity. All the leaves of the hedge were silhouetted in sharp relief, every blade of grass stood stark and threatening.

  She clung to Wolf, breathing in the damp wool odour of him and hearing the thud of his heart, the rasp of his breath. As she leaned against him a rush of heat seared through her. The feel of him, the smell of him, the memory of his body, brought blood to her cold cheeks. Snapping out of her dreamlike state, she jerked away as though burned.

  In the distance, beyond a knot of onlookers, the tram was stationary, the traffic in a tangle. People ran towards them shouting, their shadows stretching across the grass, made long and sinister by the orange streetlights. Jolted by a rush of panic, Lauren shrieked. ‘They’re coming for us, Wolf. Run!’ She struggled to disentangle herself from the hedge, to get herself off the bike.

  ‘Calm down.’ He slid off the BMW. ‘They are not from that car. They are coming to see if we’re hurt.’ Removing his helmet as the first helpers arrived, he raised both hands in a placatory fashion. ‘Keine probleme,’ he said. ‘No problem.’

  Lauren stood panting, trying to follow the energetic conversation. Her German was good but not good enough to follow the rapid exchange. As she took off her own helmet, she realised she was trembling.

  Wolf turned to her. ‘They think I did this on purpose,’ he said, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist. ‘I told them about the car – but no one else saw it.’

  ‘Die Polizei,’ a voice said. ‘Ein Handy?’ Someone else produced a mobile phone in answer to this request.

  ‘Scheisse,’ spat Wolf. ‘They are going to call the police.’ He jammed his helmet back on his head and tried to haul the bike out of the hedge. He was breathing raggedly, tugging at the heavy machine and cursing. Lauren moved in to help. He glowered at her through his visor but she ignored him. Bracing herself, she grabbed the grip bars and counted: One Two Three. Together, they lifted, hauling the bike free.

  As soon as it was upright, Wolf flung his leg across the broad tank, pressed the ignition and sparked it into life. Lauren scrambled up behind him. The BMW shot forward, swerved around the gathered onlookers and sped away, bouncing over the turf and back towards the road. The bike skidded onto the tarmac and was away, weaving in and out of the traffic while horns screamed and headlights flashed.

  Wolf took the first side road available, coming up to it at speed, skittering the bike around the sharp corner. They were skirting the old town now, following the line of the walls, passing the various towers and gates. Trams slowed and stopped at the stances in Plärrer; started up again with rattles and clangs as Wolf edged the bike around them. At Spittlertor he swung the bike towards the town centre, swerving into a cobbled alleyway just inside the walled city.

  When he brought the bike to a stop, Lauren let out the lungful of breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in. She was clutching Wolf again but for the moment was unwilling to let go.

  ‘Well, that was some welcome!’ She shuddered out a sob, not sure if she was about to laugh hysterically or break down in tears. ‘Did you lay it on specially?’

  Wolf put his hands over hers where she clung to him and after a moment, eased her fingers free. ‘All part of the service, Lauren,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘All part of the service.’

  Two

  Sammy smears the opium on the cigarette paper. Black and viscous it spreads into a oily stain. He teases tobacco over it and rolls it up. Smiling down at the woman lolling against him, her eyes half closed, her mouth slack, he applies a match to the roll-up and draws in deeply.

  ‘Here,’ he says, blowing a stream of smoke into her face. He hands her the spliff. Keep her dreaming. Keep her quiet.

  ‘Time is it, babes?’ she slurs, looking for the bedside clock he doesn’t possess. And as her eyes adjust to the darkness:‘Where are we? Don’t remember coming here.’

  ‘Time don’t matter, Pussycat. Nothing matters.’

  ‘I’m…supposed to meet someone... be somewhere...’

  ‘Nope. Only here. Here with me.’

  ‘Whass this?’ She holds the roll-up in front of her face. ‘S’different. Not hash?’ A fragrant cloud wafts across the room, hanging heavy in the chilly air.

  ‘Better than hash.’ Sammy guides her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’ waste it. Make you dream, Pussycat. Dream of us.’ He tucks the quilt around her and kisses her damp forehead. His gaze drifts over the sparse room. Should he phone? Or write a note? Whatever he decides, he’ll do it tomorrow. No rush.

  They’ll be out of this shithole country soon enough.

  Three

  Wolf led the way up the twisting stone staircase. Shadowy and narrow, it breathed an atmosphere of history. Possibly bloody history. Lauren shuddered. She could do without getting the mediaeval creeps right now. The modern day ones were more than enough.

  Footsteps echoed on the stone steps above them. Someone was coming down. On the second flight she and Wolf squeezed back against the powdery walls as two people passed – a man and a woman. A girl, really, Lauren thought, peering at her in the gloom. Lank hair, sallow skin. Unhealthy. Or was that just the light? The man was a lot older, broad, squat, bald head pressed down in his shoulders like a dumpling on a soup plate. He muttered something in passing and Wolf nodded in response.

  On the second floor they stopped outside a studded, wooden door. Wolf dropped Lauren’s hold-all to the floor. ‘Mein Schlüssel,’ he said, fumbling for his key.

  ‘You liv
e here as well?’ Lauren said, surprised.

  He stared at her. ‘This is my flat. Where else would I live?’

  ‘You live with Katz?’

  ‘Katti has her own place. Upstairs.’ He pushed the door open and stood aside to let Lauren step in first. ‘Her father owns this building.’

  Lauren hung back, reluctant to enter Wolf’s own domain. The Lone Wolf, they’d called him. She and Katti, giggling. She had no desire to visit his latest lair. ‘Why don’t I go straight upstairs then?’ she said.

  ‘Do as you wish. But you will be on your own up there.’ He motioned her to enter. ‘To the end, on the left.’

  Lauren negotiated her way down the hallway. She edged past a bicycle, several piles of books, and a couple of large boxes. The metallic tang of engine oil almost hid the smell of mice. ‘You’ve just moved in, right?’

  ‘No. I moved in at the same time Katti did. Two years ago.’ Wolf followed her into the living room, stepping around another pile of books. He cleared a space for her on the elderly couch, throwing papers and clothes onto the floor.

  Mmm. Nice, she thought, wrinkling her nose. No sign of Katti though.

  Squeezing past a low table, Lauren plonked herself down on the couch. A spring pinged . ‘Come on then, Wolf. Spill. What’s going on?’

  Wolf loomed over her, bear-like in his thick jumper, with his hair disarranged, his cheeks and nose red from the cold wind. She rubbed her own face and ran her fingers through her hair. She must look pretty rough herself. Her neck stung where one of the branches had scratched her between the helmet and her jacket collar. Still, she had to admit Wolf looked cute with his rosy cheeks – like an overgrown schoolboy. Maybe the weather had had the same skin-freshening effect on her.

  ‘Coffee?’ he said. ‘There is no milk. You will have to have it black.’