Brock Steele Sphere Page 2

  “Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”

  For goodness’ sake, this is the twenty-first century. Surely that gap should have been sorted out by now, he thought irritably.

  After a painfully tight squeeze in a boiling hot carriage and a quick Tube change—breathing in stale thin air the entire way—he finally reached the front door of a small house in Stratford, east of London. He scrunched his hand into a fist, banging on the door a couple of times, eagerly stepping back. Moments later, the door swung open and an aroma of beer hit him in the face. Dan, a well-built bodybuilder, stood over the doorway, his chest ripped through a tight white shirt.

  “Hey, how you doing, man? You look like how I feel,” Danny said, laughing.

  He was a regular at the gym and worked around the corner in some office. He beckoned Brock through a picture-laden hallway, wallpaper peeling off in places and flakes of paint littering the red carpet. The lounge wasn’t much better, stinking of beer with bare cream walls desperately in need of a lick of paint. People clustered around the bare brick fireplace, several hovering over a table at the end of the room. Brock gave each a nod, but his gaze caught Sarah standing tall in a beautiful pink dress chatting to her troublesome friend. Lacy stood out like a sore thumb in her dazzling over-the-top red dress and stiletto heels. Sarah noticed him and he shot her a smile, slowly heading over to her. His heartbeat began to thump faster, uncontrollably, as he neared her. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him away. It was Gunner, dragging him towards the other end of the room, pushing a bottle of Budweiser into his hand.

  “Didn’t mean to be rude but Sergei spoke to me as I left today. I reckon I might not have a job.”

  “Wouldn’t worry about him. He’s probably doing you a favour. I’m calling it a day there myself very soon.”

  Gunner sighed and Brock shot another glance towards Sarah. A short guy, bushy hair and of average build, wearing a smart black pleated suit, was blocking his view.

  “Er, I’ve not met you before, have I?” he said.

  “Are you a member of the gym?”

  “No way. It would be inconceivable to see me in a place like that. Anyway, I’m Meriden. Pleased to meet you.”

  He grabbed Brock’s hand, giving him a firm handshake, noticing his arm tattoo and beckoning him to sit in the armchair. Gunner stepped back.

  “This dagger tattoo upon your arm,” Meriden said. “It’s a bit worse for wear isn’t it? And why are the initials BH? The man over there said your surname’s Steele. Anyway, I’ll be honest, I’ve been hearing some chitter-chatter about you and wanted to come over and meet you.”

  Brock glanced up at him. A shooting pain pierced right through his head and he howled, bringing his hand up to rub it.

  “Are you OK, mate?” Meriden asked warily.

  “Nah, my friend was beaten to a pulp by some scummy thugs a while ago. Knocked him out and left him for dead,” said Gunner.

  “I said I’m alright, it’s nothing. Look, the head pains disappeared already,” said Brock.

  Meriden’s eyes widened as he shook his head, moving closer to him.

  “Forget it, it’s nothing,” said Brock.

  “You call being in a coma for three months nothing, man?” interrupted Gunner.

  “That sounds horrible. I do hope the police arrested them and they’re banged up for a very long time,” said Meriden.

  “Sadly not. Not even a lead. Anyway, it’s nice meeting you. I’m popping over there I’d like a chat with the girl standing by the fireplace. Catch you both shortly.”

  Sarah was by herself, standing tall, holding on to the bare brick fireplace for support as she necked down the last of her martini and slammed her empty glass on the mantelpiece. He made his way moving through people, shaking hands along the way until he had reached Sarah.

  “Can we talk?”

  She let go of the fireplace, stepping towards him.

  “I wondered if you want to go out for a drink sometime? You know, me and you?”

  She frowned and glanced up at him, opening her mouth to speak. As she did, Lacy dashed from the kitchen door with two full glasses gleaming at him like a poison chalice, placing herself between them. She grunted at him. “She’s unavailable.”

  Grabbing Sarah by the arm, Lacy slowly pulled her towards the kitchen. Sarah looked back, widened her eyes, and mouthed “one minute”. Both disappeared into the kitchen and the door slammed shut. Brock nodded at a couple of gym-goers, who were in such deep conversation they appeared not to notice. A pat on the shoulder made him jump and he swung around. Meriden pushed a Budweiser into Brock’s hand. Brock nodded, taking a big gulp and then another.

  “You must be parched. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from. So, these animals are still at large in our community?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The criminals who attacked you and left you for dead.”

  “Oh yes, mate. Still running loose out there somewhere.”

  Meriden was silent, staring at him.

  “Err, I was distracted earlier. Tell me, how do you know everyone here?”

  “Oh me? Work in the same place as Dan over there. Boring computer job, I’m afraid. Tell you the truth, I have a few problems there, but let’s not go into that. Are you not worried these people will strike at you again?”

  Brock sucked in a breath and his body tensed. Putting the Budweiser to his mouth, he downed it all and placed the bottle on the worse-for-wear mahogany table.

  “To be honest, it’s a long story, of which sadly I cannot remember a damn thing,” said Brock.

  Meriden threw his head backward with laughter and Brock took a step back.

  “The baseball bat hit my head so hard it’s knocked out my memory,” he said.

  “Amnesia . . . that is so interesting,” a woman’s voice said.

  Brock’s eyes widened as a woman in her forties dressed in black with a black hat turned around, her eyes wide open.

  “You have amnesia,” she said.

  Brock clenched his jaw, fidgeting with his hands. Meriden mumbled to the woman—something about his job. Brock wasn’t interested, instead glancing around for answers. But there were none. His gaze hit Sarah’s beautiful pink dress and she signalled him over.

  He stepped away from Meriden, pushing through some people in the direction of Sarah, knocking his leg into the dilapidated coffee table and nearly tripping.

  “Lacy said you’re not available. Is that true?”

  “Lacy doesn’t speak for me, so ignore her.”

  “Oh, speak of the devil.”

  Lacy appeared, nostrils flared in full thrust, and bent over to reach into her handbag.

  “Hope that’s not a gun.” Brock laughed.

  She pulled a face at him, barking a false laugh and raising herself from the ground.

  “Your glass is empty,” she said. “I suppose I’ll have to get you both a drink.”

  Brock raised his eyebrows at her as she scuttled off like a witch into the kitchen.

  “She’s OK, don’t worry about her. She’s a good friend, always looking out for me. She took me to my favourite place today with her dog.”

  “Nice. I could take you there if you want,” said Brock.

  “You could, but you don’t know where it is. Look, Brock, I think you’re a nice guy, it’s just my career …”

  The kitchen door swung off its hinges as Lacy appeared storming out of the kitchen as though she owned it, holding a black tray with two glasses of wine and a bottle of Budweiser. As she stepped closer, she swung the tray up towards Brock, giving out an unusually innocuous smile.

  “Drinks, guys. I would like to apologise for my behaviour earlier, how rude of me. Enjoy your drink, Brock.”

  He didn’t believe a word that girl said. She dragged Sarah ac
ross the room and Brock sensed someone behind him. He swung around and Meriden appeared.

  “That horrific ordeal…I mean it must have been horrendous.”

  Brock nodded at a guy in the corner, a regular gym-goer and someone who always spoke to him.

  “Hope I didn’t bore you earlier with my problems at work,” Meriden went on. “I’d inputted some coding into this program today and unknown to me it ruined the whole thing. Knocked everything off completely. I’ll never be forgiven. It was quite bad.”

  “Computers are not my thing. Hate the damn things. Hope you manage to fix it.”

  “Sure they will, eventually. Your parents must be horrified and worried sick, not knowing if you would—”

  “Sadly they never came.”

  Meriden paused, staring into Brock’s skull as if looking for answers inside. He shook his head and Brock spotted a couple of free armchairs.

  “I need to sit down over there. I’m feeling a little light-headed.”

  “Of course. Brock, are you feeling OK?”

  Brock sank into the seat, gulping the last of his beer. Meriden tapped his foot anxiously.

  “Let me get you another Budweiser?”

  “I’ll give it a miss.”

  There was a long pause. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Lacy turning up the music. He pulled himself up, but as he tried to get out of the chair, he became so dizzy, it was as though some part of his body had left him.

  Meriden stared at him. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

  “For what?” asked Brock.

  “You parents. You must be going through hell being attacked like this and everything.”

  “Oh them. Haven’t a clue where they are. Been tracking them down for months with absolutely no leads whatsoever.”

  “That sounds messed up. I have a friend who might be able to assist you. She’s a bit of a bossy so and so is our Audrey, but she works at some sort of agency tracking people down. She’s exceptional at her job, comes highly recommended. I’ll give you her number if you like.”

  Meriden reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out his mobile phone. His phone lit up as he tapped in a few keys.

  “Found her. It’s the Bureau for Missing People, I think. Take the number. Actually don’t bother, I will call her now.”

  Meriden stuck the phone close to his ear.

  Brock leaned heavily on the chair, the music deafening. His head whizzed as though the room was spinning around and dizziness encircled him.

  What on earth is happening to me?

  “She never answers the phone. Are you sure you are OK, Brock? You have gone a little pale.”

  Brock fell back into the chair. His focus had become unusually sharp. And the walls around him seemed like there were about to crash on top of him.

  Somehow, he had managed to pull his phone from his jeans. Meriden screamed the number over the loud music, but Brock couldn’t hear a thing. Without warning, Meriden snatched his phone, pressed digits into it, and threw the phone back to him. Brock grabbed, but the springy upholstery of the chair suddenly felt like it was preventing him moving. Hyperventilating now, he sat upright, trying to focus around the room. Everything was blurry, but he could just make out Sarah in deep conversation with somebody he didn’t recognise. The room was spinning like a roundabout, his brain malfunctioning, and Meriden hovered over him like the Grim Reaper. Meriden’s voice hit the air as though it was travelling much slower.

  “You’re acting strange, Brock. Anyway, I’ve saved Audrey’s number in your phone. Another drink perhaps?”

  A sudden and overwhelming sense of dread set in and dizziness ran through Brock’s head like a ride on a roller-coaster. With all his strength, he pulled himself onto his feet. Carefully, he calculated the distance of the hallway, staggering towards it, slamming one foot in front of the other like a child learning to walk. He was overwhelmed by a sense of urgency to leave. Passing slowly through the hallway, he grabbed at the walls for support, finally emerging at the front door. The music blared into the hallway and he was sure he heard Meriden’s voice. He slammed his hand on the handle, turning it full force, pulling the thick wooden door towards him and ripping off the handle. He stepped through it and ran into the street.

  Chapter 3

  Grey clouds appeared in the night sky as glowing lamps lit up the streets. Cars drove past and the autumn leaves blew into his face. He’d walked several streets, which appeared to take him an eternity, as though time as he knew it had slowed. He leaned his aching body against a lamppost, pausing and taking a breath of the cold air. He stepped into the road and noticed a blue Nissan turning over its engine, accelerating forward, heading straight towards him. It got closer and closer; the driver had seen him now. Brock picked up the pace and his heart started to race. The car was going to hit him.

  The engine roared, picking up more speed, travelling faster towards him as Brock’s brisk pace turned into a sprint. The car slammed into his thigh, throwing him to the ground. Pain shot through his leg and an uncontrollable scream forced its way out of his mouth. The car doors flung open and Brock instinctively jumped up, hobbling the across the street in the opposite direction. The agonising pain rippled through his leg as he disappeared into a driveway. He limped across the bramble in the back garden and onto a neatly cut lawn, heading towards a tall wooden fence at the bottom of the garden. Clambering over, he dropped onto a concrete road below, pain surging through the length of his leg. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he limped across the road and climbed over some cold metal railings into a tree-lined park. He staggered over to some scented foliage and collapsed behind it.

  Hours passed as he lay slumped among the damp grass, his head still reeling. Eventually, he forced his eyes wide open and peered into the peaceful greenery of the quiet park. Moments passed, and he heaved his aching leg and body up, peeking over the tall foliage for the blue Nissan or anything out of the ordinary. Everything appeared normal. There was no sign of the vehicle anywhere. He fell back to the ground, digging his hand into his jeans pocket for his mobile phone. According to the mobile, it was four in the morning.

  Brock checked what Meriden had entered into the phone. Sure enough, Audrey’s number appeared, and so too did Meriden’s. Brock lay back in the grass and gazed into the night sky, watching the whole universe pass by.

  Another hour passed and he decided to make a move. He yanked at his leg and pulled himself up from the cold wet grass. The night air blew past him in a cold surge. His clothes were soaked, and as he stood, dizziness ran around in his head. The nagging of his leg bothered him, but he was desperate to get home. Gloomy grey clouds appeared in the night sky, and the wind blew harsh across his body, chilling the damp clothes even further.

  He couldn’t explain it, but his senses thundered on high alert. Spots of rain slashed his face and the wind whistled through the park, blowing the distant trees from side to side. A wave of fear came over him as he stared into the distance at the unusual shapes of the trees, like soldiers standing tall holding onto heavy machine guns. Droplets of rain hit his face, dripping into his eyes as he slowly shuffled around the foliage, heading towards the gate. He swung his body over the gate into the road. The dull streetlamps lit the way as he limped through the street, eventually reaching a brightly lit bus stop covered by a metal shelter. Brock perched on a plastic seat as the rain splattered on the bus shelter like a machine gun letting off its rounds. Eagerly waiting for the night bus, he reached out to the shelter wall for support. The rain continued to pound, and wind swirled like a mini-tornado. Out of nowhere, a lad appeared in front of him, his dark-blue anorak dripping. He faced Brock, pulling his hood down. It was the young man he’d met in Leicester Square yesterday—Ty.

  “You again.”

  “I really want to talk to you. Please take my number this time.”

  Brock barely understood what he meant; hi
s head was so feverish. A red bus pulled along the shelter and its doors squeaked open. On autopilot, Brock climbed on board. The doors banged shut and he shot Ty a glance through the window. He bore no familiarity to anyone he knew, and Brock slumped into a seat, racking his brains.

  The slow bus journey eventually came to a halt at King’s Cross Station. He stepped into the giant glass building, limping through its brightly lit concourse with its closed shops. Several people darted in different directions and two security guards paced through on their rounds. He’d crossed through St Pancras Station and turned right into the road when he noticed a tall man in a black jacket, who appeared to be following him. Brock sped up, but the man gained on him. Reaching a fully locked-up churchyard, Brock clambered over the black wrought-iron gate, limping through the pitch-black eerie churchyard. Gravestones stood tall across the quiet grassy landscape, and Brock turned into the darkness of the graves, glancing back at the man climbing across the gate. He ducked behind a gravestone, stretching his aching leg.

  The man paced across the path, taking cold, sharp glances across the churchyard’s landscape. Brock, in no fit state to put up a fight or make a run for it, wasn’t taking any chances after the hit with the blue Nissan. He carefully observed as the man persistently and methodically checked the entire cemetery. A good half an hour passed and the man seemingly gave up, pacing down the path near to Brock. As he slipped by, Brock inspected his face. Darkness covered it, but it appeared similar to the man he’d seen on the train the other evening. But he couldn’t be sure.

  The man leapt over the gate, disappearing into the opposite road. Brock waited, then jumped up and tiptoed across the path to the opposite side of the cemetery, jumping a wooden gate to get back onto the street.

  He finally limped into Camden Avenue, passing several parked white vans, likely from the market sellers loading their stuff before traffic wardens came on duty. Brock hovered in front of his door, digging his hand deep into his pocket, feeling around for the key. It wasn’t there. He sighed and jumped over the wall, scurrying along the path, picking up a loose brick and slamming it into the kitchen window.