Spare Key Read online

  …Fuck it. What could he do? He needed the money.

  Nothing will go wrong, he assured himself as he pulled away into the night.

  * * * * *

  It took two trips to his beat-up Magna for Ben to move in. After pulling into the car park out the front, Ben made one trip to retrieve the inflatable lilo from the boot and a second to remove the two duffel bags from the back seat.

  Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t resist a peek on the last trip as he passed the chink in his neighbour’s curtain. He didn’t dare linger though and his glimpse revealed nothing more than a tantalising swath of colour. He needed to check things out first. Make sure she didn’t have a boyfriend like the last one. No one to disturb him. He needed to…

  … He needed to take his pills, he thought as the door slammed shut behind him, shocked at how easily he’d dropped back into the old thoughts and trying to suppress the doubts as they bubbled up. Of course the pills would work. He was just being stupid. What the fuck would Mandy know about medicine anyway? She was a fucking PA for fuck’s sake.

  Ben dumped the bags next to the lilo on the floor and crouched beside them. Carefully, he pushed the khaki one off to the side, wedging it against the wall. He still wasn’t certain why he’d retrieved it from where he’d stashed it. It wasn’t something that he’d need in his new life. When Slavia had finally signed off on his release from the clinic and he’d stepped up to the bus stop, he certainly hadn’t intended to get it. No, he’d headed straight for his brother’s house to begin getting his life back on track.

  It wasn’t until he’d overheard the argument, until he’d heard Mandy say the word placebo, that he’d found himself heading over toward the footbridge that crossed the freeway at the end of Hope St. He hadn’t known that at the time though. It wasn’t until he was clambering down the scrubby embankment and levering himself up the concrete pylon into the underside of the bridge that Ben had realised where he was going.

  What seemed a lifetime ago, he used to live in a small group of flats one block across in Cumming St. The spot where it had all gone wrong for him last time, and after the boyfriend had walked in to find him looming over her, he’d sprinted away desperately searching for a place to stash his tools before the cops caught up with him.

  And almost instinctively his feet had taken him to the footbridge.

  It was his special place from his childhood. Back when he lived in the commission house on Albion. An almost sacred place for him. The place where he’d hole up from all the unpleasantness; hide away from the horrible rasp of her voice. The place where he could just escape it all for awhile, daydreaming as he stared at the underside of the bridge. The place where revenge had first crossed his mind. Where the Red Room had first come to him, slowly coalescing as he’d stared in frustration at the lines of cigarette scars littering the lengths of his arms like sucker marks from a tentacle.

  His special, secret place that he had told no one about…

  And when he’d clambered up onto the concrete ledge, just over a year from the day he’d stashed his tools, he’d just known that they would still be there. I don’t have to use them again, he clearly remembered thinking as his hand had probed around the girder and found the crack in the cement underside. It would just be… nice… to have them. And he had felt a sort of completeness when his fingers had finally found the strap and he’d dragged the bag clear. A sort of completeness that now, as he stood peering at it against the wall, seemed totally unfathomable to him.

  He deliberately forced his eyes away from the bag even though his fingers were twitching to open it. To rummage through and pull out his playthings. Instead he yanked open the blue bag and removed a bottle of Southern Joy Bourbon and, after a bit of further pawing through the change of clothes inside, a small, orange, plastic vial of pills.

  Ben popped the top and looked at the little pastel pink spheres inside. He only hesitated briefly before shaking two out into his hand and washing them down with a swig of bourbon. He sat back for a moment and treated himself to a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket as he waited for them to take effect. Each drag, however, only seemed to lead to more doubts.

  Would they work?

  Of course they fucking would.

  It wasn’t long before the doubts forced him to his feet, dragging back deeper and deeper on his smoke until the last half disappeared in one suck. Frustrated, he dropped the butt to the floor and ground it into the carpet with his heel. He really felt like another but forced himself to sit back down and take a swig of bourbon instead. He was down to half a pack of smokes as it was and he had to make them last. He only had the hundred bucks his brother had snuck him while Mandy wasn’t looking to tide him over – the rest of his savings had been sucked dry by the bond – and twenty of that had gone on the bottle of bourbon. Who knew how long it would take to find work? It wasn’t something he’d had to worry about before.

  The alcohol helped a little and he sighed as his eyes drifted to the brittle and tattered cloth blind over the window. He saw the faint glow of the outside fluorescents around its rim and without a thought he was rummaging through his duffel bag again and removing a thick, silver roll of duct tape. The rip as he tore a strip free evoked earlier memories but the pills had made them blurry and indistinct: just the odd glimpse of flesh and the merest whisper of a strangled scream.

  Had they really though?

  When the curtains were all sealed shut, Ben sat back down and sighed in relief as he took a swig of his bourbon. The pills were making him feel a bit listless - see nothing to worry about - and it was a struggle to summon the effort necessary to blow up the lilo that his brother had given him, along with the cash, as a little gift to help him cope with the guilt of having kicked him out. Ben didn’t blame him though. He knew it wasn’t his fault. He could still hear her voice even through the fuzz of the pills: but he’s fucking creepy. How long is he going to stay? I don’t feel safe sleeping in my own bed…

  Wil was a good guy and despite the fact Ben couldn’t understand why he’d hooked up with such a bitch, he hadn’t wanted to ruin the life his brother had built for himself. Sometimes, looking at him, Ben couldn’t help wondering about how different his own life could have been.

  With another sigh, Ben leant his head against the wall and wondered once more whether he should have ever agreed to Slavia’s experimental treatment. It had led to his early release but maybe it would have been better for him to stay locked up in the psych ward. Maybe he hadn’t been ready? He’d already retrieved his tools. There had been flickers of the Red Room. Even just thinking about Mandy seemed to have lessened the effect of his medication. Things just didn’t seem quite so hazy and that scared Ben a lot because he did want this to work… Didn’t he? And then there were the thoughts he’d been having about Mandy herself… and she didn’t even really look like her.

  There was a faint murmur drifting through the wall and without thinking, Ben twisted his head and pressed his ear against it. The lady’s image floated up in his mind but despite his doubts, the pills had reduced it to a misshapen blob.

  The screams his mind summoned sounded more like the mewling of kittens than anything else.

  Still, he found his penis rising to life again.

  * * * * *

  Rachel kicked the door shut behind her and dumped the groceries on the couch, sighing in relief. As she stepped over to the kitchen for a glass of water, she flexed her fingers, wincing as the circulation restarted and pins and needles prickled down her hand.

  This is just getting ridiculous, she thought as she sculled down the water, leaning back against the counter. Surely it can’t take two weeks to change a fucking radiator.

  Fucking rip-off merchants.

  The walk from the tram stop was killing her. Although it was only fifteen minutes, after spending the whole day on her feet, bustling between tables, it was the last thing she fucking needed. And then there were the tram trips with the fucking inconsiderate f
ucks who just made you want to brain them for their fucking stupidity: blocking doors so you had to squeeze past them, not even caring if you were struggling with a full load of groceries. Sitting there playing their fucking ring tones to each other, the constant little bleats and bleeps, not even caring that they were slowly driving the other passengers insane…

  …Okay time to calm down, Rachel thought as she sculled another glass of water and made her way over to the couch to rest her aching feet. As she threw herself down, narrowly missing squashing the bag of oranges, she deliberately forced her mind away from the indignities of the tram trip and onto the man she’d seen next door.

  New neighbour… She thought as she pondered the odd look he’d been giving her. Hopefully he’ll be a little better than the last one… not that he could really be much worse. At least this one looked relatively normal. A bit dishevelled and could certainly do with a shave and a haircut but he was sort of cute, she supposed. If you were into the scruffy type. There had been holes in the knees of his pants and the jacket he’d worn could only be described as threadbare but at least it was better than the freakish get-up the last guy got around in: the leather pants and mesh shirts, showing off the ridiculous tattoos he had. The make-up he’d worn. The patently absurd eyeliner and his, clearly dyed, black hair. And then the piercings…

  But his appearance hadn’t been the worst bit; Rachel liked to think she wasn’t that shallow. It was the way he glowered at you, trying to make out like he was some sort of tough guy; edgy and all that, but really just coming across as a complete and utter tosspot…

  And then there was the fucking music: blaring out of the speakers at all hours, the fucking parties that went on to the early hours of the morning. As far as she’d been able to tell, he’d had no job and when she thought of the hours of sleep he’d cost her; the zombie-like days she’d spent at work; it made her blood fucking boil…

  But you don’t have to worry about that now. He’s gone so there’s no point letting it get to you…

  It was difficult though. It was beyond her comprehension that people living in such close proximity could be so inconsiderate of their neighbours. At least the new guy looked semi-normal, although the way he’d stared at her had been mildly disconcerting. It would be just her luck that after two months of blissful peace from next door she’d get another freak moving in.

  Come on, be charitable, the voice chirped up and Rachel acquiesced. She pushed off the couch, snagged the bags of shopping and hefted them to the kitchen to put away. You only saw him for a second. Who knows, maybe he’s just shy or something?

  That’s true, she admitted. At least he smiled back at her. It was better than the leering glare and cat-call she got from the last prick.

  Rachel winced as she saw the mouldy remnants of last week’s vegetables in the bottom of the crisper. She knew she should really get around to cleaning it but at the moment she just couldn’t be bothered. She still had to wash her uniform, ready for tomorrow, after that fucker at table twelve had spilt soup all over her; no doubt, Maree, her bitch of a supervisor, would give her hell if there was even a hint of a stain.

  Better do it now, she thought as she lobbed the fruit onto the bottom shelf instead and stacked the remaining groceries away neatly in the cupboard. Even with the thought fresh in her mind, she paused briefly to open the bottle of white wine and take a quick swig. For fortitude, she grinned even though she had been trying to cut back. She just hadn’t been able to resist the lure of all those shiny bottles when she’d stepped out of the supermarket and passed the liquor store. It didn’t really matter if she got a little tipsy anyway - it wasn’t like there would be anyone to judge her. Besides it was, and had been for a while now, her deep-seated belief that alcohol was the only thing that allowed human beings to tolerate each other in close proximity. The only thing that allowed them to overcome all the petty annoyances. It had certainly saved that bitch Maree from a slap or two. Somehow, after a nice bottle, throttling the whining tart just didn’t seem worth it.

  Rachel could already feel the calming effect of the alcohol and as she headed for the washing machine - despite her recent resolution to drink less - she made a conscious decision to polish off the bottle that evening. It’s just what I need, she thought as she stripped off her skirt and lifted the stained shirt over her head, a nice night on the couch, a couple of DVD’s and a bottle of wine. Should tide me over nicely until the weekend.

  As she stood in her underwear, pouring detergent into the machine, her mind drifted back to her new neighbour. He really wasn’t half-bad looking. She recalled his muscular frame and his intense blue eyes. Maybe a session with Walter would be in order as well tonight, she thought as she realised she was dwelling a little excessively on the man. Must be getting a little antsy… Well it has been three months.

  DVD first though, she thought, that’ll put me in the mood.

  She left the washing machine to its chugging and headed back to the kitchen for a wine glass.

  The light was flashing on the answering machine as she passed on the way back to the couch and even though she doubted it would be good news, she pressed the button. When the thickly-accented, over-loud voice of the mechanic boomed out of the speaker, Rachel had to resist the urge to hurl the glass into the wall. Instead she forced herself to sip slowly at the wine as she listened to him rabbit on about how there had been yet another delay with the parts and hopefully they’d arrive tomorrow.

  Great, another day of tramming it, she thought, biting back her irritation. Come on now, none of that, don’t let it ruin your evening, the voice gave its usual pep talk and Rachel determinedly picked up the DVD case and read the back. Slaughter Orgy, it proclaimed in lurid green font. It was a film she’d been wanting to see for a while and as she read the back, she had a fair idea who she’d like to see participating in the film’s antics.

  Fucking mechanics, she thought as she made her way to the DVD player.

  * * * * *

  Ben sat on his inflated lilo, his back pressed to the wall, studying the bottle of pills as he slowly rolled it back and forth between his fingers. He knew he should take more soon but instead took another swig of his bourbon. The images were gaining clarity in his mind and he was intrigued by their slowly sharpening focus. There was a growing feeling of giddiness in his stomach; a gnawing excitement that was thickening his penis and leaving his mouth dry. The red was bleeding through the blurred edges; exhilarating as it suffused into the fog and even though he knew it was wrong, that it was how he used to be; Ben couldn’t bring himself to stop it. He just wanted to enjoy it for a moment longer. Then he’d take his pill. Maybe just until the eyes formed; until he could see that glorious look of recognition, that now it was her who was powerless in front of him. Not vice-versa. She was at his mercy and he could do what he pleased to her…

  … And then the red began to seep, running through the fog and as it coalesced into shape - a hint of cornice, the vague outline of a light fitting - Ben’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t been here for so long; not since he’d stood over the last one and watched her breathe deeply in sleep.

  The Red Room.

  He felt dizzy as it crept down, the red dripping like fresh blood, spreading out to form a roof, rivulets snaking down gradually revealing walls and the figure was becoming clearer now, twisting and thrashing in its centre, its face an overlayed collage; a mesh of all their faces, all of them screaming and screaming and…

  Sweat soaked Ben’s face and his cock felt like a length of hot iron along his thigh as the knocking boomed and he snapped back, starting up so he was on his feet before he even realised he was moving.

  He searched his mind for it but it was gone again - had it even reappeared? It shouldn’t be possible. Slavia said it was gone forever. His great success story, that’s what he called him before he’d signed him out. His greatest success story…

  The knocking continued, the beats forming a vaguely familiar tattoo and slowly Ben turned t
o the door. His breathing slowed as he listened, his thumping heart gradually settling back into its normal rhythm. And the knocking just went on and on… Ben didn’t want to answer it. What he really wanted was to sit and think but it was unrelenting and he couldn’t form a coherent train of thought with it pounding away in the background.

  His erection still pressed against his thigh as he stalked over and cracked the door, squinting out at the short, old man standing half-turned away from the screen door.

  ‘Oh hello.’ The man turned to face him and Ben could instantly tell what he wanted by the way his neck craned. He was snooping, ‘I’m Theo, I live up at number twelve. Saw you moving in today, just thought I’d drop in. Say welcome and all that.’

  Ben deliberately positioned himself between the gap in the door as the man’s neck craned further, trying to see into the flat behind him. Ben couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even heard of the concept of subtlety.

  ‘Sooo… welcome to the neighbourhood.’ Theo’s thickly accented voice was beginning to bear signs of irritation and Ben realised that obviously some sort of social interaction was expected.

  ‘Thank-you,’ he murmured and Theo grinned toothily at him as an uncomfortable silence descended. Ben could clearly see the silver fillings that dotted his teeth. Judging by the man’s fidgeting, he was expecting further conversation or maybe even an invitation to enter but Ben didn’t have the energy to talk to him and there was no way he was letting him set foot inside.

  ‘Okay then.’ Theo’s head was still bobbing and weaving as he tried to peer past Ben and he had to resist the urge to slam the door in his face. ‘Just trying to be friendly. Be seeing you. Welcome again!’

  Ben almost grinned as Theo stalked away, his body language clearly stating to anyone who cared to notice: I’m in a huff!