We're Not Strangers Anymore

Chapter Thirty One - The Long Walk Home

Steven lit another cigarette, blowing the smoke up towards the clear sky.
'So I walked into the front room, completely unaware of what to expect. I thought his house was gonna be a complete tip, but to my surprise he'd done a good job of it. The upstairs, that is. He wanted to show me the basement, and this seemed like some sort of a burning desire. Off we both went, towards the basement door opposite the television set. He held the door open for me and we walked down, and even though there was a light switch on the wall, he insisted that we use torches. Made it more authentic, he says. I followed him down and as we walked I just couldn't get the taste from out of my mouth... It was one of those bitter aromas that you can taste in the air, it was 'orrible. Anyway, as I got to the bottom step I just gasped, and Martin looked almost pleased with himself. I stopped dead in my tracks, and that was when I saw him; that little boy from the papers, Bercow something or other. He was tied to the wall, all bloody and gruesome. Looked like he'd had his head kicked in a few times, my stomach practically did a somersault.'
'Mrs Bercow's son,' Charlie muttered, 'that's him. I thought it was him, but I wasn't sure.'
'What do you mean, Charlie?'
'Well, when I looked into the basement through the window on that particular day, when I spotted you for the first time, it was him that I saw. And I remember thinking to myself.. that's him.'
'Do you know what? I agree with you. I agree entirely. It's got to be him, that Bercow's boy. He's sick, he's twisted, he's a monster. He needs to be locked up for the rest of his days. Why didn't you just call the police, Charlie? I'm glad you didn't call them, but why?'
'Because I wasn't sure what I'd seen. I didn't want to run home and call the police on the telephone, only to get them out and witness nothing. I'd see different things each time I got a glimpse at that house, I even started questioning my own sanity.'
'That's a dangerous hole to fall into. But he needs to be stopped, and that's for sure. Turns my stomach just thinking about being near him.'
'Why didn't you ever call the police?' Charlie asked. 'And why are you glad that I didn't?'
'Because he would've killed me, and if he would've killed me then he would've killed you too. Back in the early seventies, when someone called the police on the both of us for arson, this was back in my troublemaking days you see, he had the man killed. He moved to a different town before eventually moving back here, but in the original town he ended up paying someone off to kill the guy. The bloke had a family and everything, but did Martin care? Did he hell. Just had him killed, thrown onto the pile with every other snitch that's ever crossed him. He's a maniac Charlie, so don't ever get going round there. I'm begging you.'
Charlie stood to his feet.
'Steven, we can't let him get away with this. He needs to be brought to justice.'
'And he will be,' Steven reassured him, 'just not by us. We've both met him, he knows us, therefore it's dangerous. Okay? We're at risk. And yes, sometimes it's nice to play the hero, but not when it gets you in trouble, or even worse... in danger.'
Charlie nodded. 'Okay, whatever. Look, I'm gonna head home. It's getting late.'
'Yes, I think that's wise,' said Steven. 'But please, think about what I've said. Agreed?'
Steven climbed into his car, turned on the ignition and began to drive.
'Yeah, I'll think about it,' Charlie muttered under his breath, tossing his rubbish into a nearby bin and turning away.
I know exactly what I'm doing. There's no doubt in my mind.

The walk home seemed a long and strenuous one, and Charlie couldn't rid the thought of tonight's events from his mind. It seemed too good of a chance meeting, too odd; too strange.
With this, Charlie thought about the phrase it's a small world.
'It certainly is,' he said aloud, scoffing and kicking a small tree branch through the exit gate of the business park.
Nature had always fascinated Charlie, from a very young age. The way that flowers grew and flourished in summer sunlight was a topic that interested him greatly, and as a result of this interest he had spent most of his childhood playing out in the garden, observing the bugs and wildlife whilst scribbling his findings into a small notebook. The empty business park seemed darker than usual on this particular night, more depressing in atmosphere, and Charlie didn't know whether that was because he himself was feeling low, or whether it was just the darkness of the night. He had chosen the long way home tonight, as he always did. Usually this was just for the scenic sights, a big nature lover like Charlie was almost certain to opt for the scenic route, but tonight was a different story altogether; he needed to gather and collect his thoughts. After all, a calm and clear mind was essential for an adventure like tomorrow night. It was now less than twenty-four hours away, and Charlie was certainly feeling the nerves. If anything he should be feeling more nervous, he supposed. Tomorrow would hopefully mark new beginnings, but most importantly, a new beginning for his friend.

By the time Charlie had reached his front door, it was almost ten o'clock. He reached into his coat pocket, rummaged around for his key, unlocked the door and went inside. As he came into the hallway, he listened out for his mother's voice; total silence.
He decided to call out. 'Mum?'
No answer.
Again, but this time louder: 'Mum? Are you home?'
Still no answer.
Hmph. That's weird.
Charlie went through to the kitchen, removing the kettle from it's base and filling it up with cold water from the tap.
A piping hot cup of tea could wake anybody up with a smile, Charlie thought.
Once the kettle had made that familiar clicking sound, a sound that was frankly music to Charlie's ears, he filled the cup half way with hot water. Irene took her tea with lashings of milk and in fact, Charlie had once calculated that fifty percent of the entire mug was made up of milk. This mere fact made Charlie feel nervous; tea was a passion to him, and he took little to no milk at all. He held the cup and wondered, debating whether or not a hot cup of tea would be the solution to their prior argument. Eventually he decided that yes, it would indeed be enough to sort things out non-verbally. They were British, after all.
Charlie proceeded up the steps of the creaking staircase, being particularly careful not to spill any of the drink. His dear old mother would kill him if he did that. He stood at the top of the landing now, and he felt more alert than ever. He listened out, but there was nothing. Not a single sound emerged from the darkened bedroom of Irene Broomer, and Charlie was growing increasingly worried.
Weird. Not like our Mum to be quiet when she knows I'm home. Usually she makes a right fuss.
Before entering the bedroom, which was darker than it had ever been before, darker than he had ever remembered it being, he stood outside the door and listened. Nothing.
Out the corner of his eye, Charlie noticed that the little lamp on the bedside table was switched off. This was strange to him, almost a completely alien concept, as his mother often liked to read the morning's newspaper in bed before she slept, that or a cheesy romance novel from the local charity shop. The problem was that it was nighttime now, and the light was off. Charlie fumbled around for the extension cord for a good ten seconds, trying to find the plug that activated the small lamp.
Got it, he thought, thoroughly pleased with himself. Hope you're ready for a nice hot cup of tea, Mum.
He quickly plugged it back in, switched it on and stood back. What he saw in front of his very eyes was set to scar him for life. Charlie Broomer screamed.