The Crowmaster

One of Joseph’s eyebrows raised so high it almost disappeared beneath the brim of his hat. ‘I’m not saying he went anywhere.’

Joseph took a pace forward and swiped a credit-card sized piece of plastic across the face of the door control button. The light around the switch blinked from an occupied red to a vacant green. ‘Go on,’ he urged, stepping away. ‘Open it.’

I looked from the door to Joseph and back again, my mouth flapping open and closed like a fish out of water. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘You say I’m not helping you. That I’m doing nothing. I’ll show you,’ Joseph said. There was an authority to his voice I’d never heard before, even when he’d been dressed as the policeman. The bumbling oaf persona had slipped away, revealing a much more commanding presence lurking behind it. ‘Open the door,’ he said. ‘Open the door and see how I help you.’

‘By showing me fat people on the toilet?’ I muttered, but I was already staring at the circle of green. Already knowing I was going to do it. Already reaching for the button.

The door clicked off the catch as my finger brushed over the switch. The toilet door didn’t slide sideways like the others and I had to give it a push to start it swinging inwards.

The smell that rushed out to meet me stung my eyes and caught in my throat. My gag reflex kicked in and I had to pull my jumper up over my nose and mouth to stop myself throwing up.

As the door swung all the way open I felt my whole body go rigid. The sight I had expected to see when I opened the toilet door had been bad enough. The sight that did greet me was worse. Beyond worse.

Way, way beyond.

What was left of the mega-baby lay twisted on the floor, the vast flapping limbs contorted into impossible positions, the head bent awkwardly sideways, as if his neck was made of rubber.

He was slumped on the lino like a big wobbly blob. There was no rigidity to him. Nothing solid. It was as if something had crawled inside him and devoured every one of his bones. All that remained was a mound of blubbery skin. It swayed hypnotically with the movement of the train.

The man’s mouth was wide open, but his eyes were wider. They looked beyond me, devoid of life, but pleading for… I don’t know. Mercy or dignity or something.

There wasn’t a spot of blood anywhere on the floor or the walls. A broken window was the only sign of a struggle. The hole in the glass would have been too small even for me to fit through, so I didn’t know how it fitted in with the rest of the grisly scene.

My eyes met with his again, and I suddenly felt very ashamed for thinking so badly of the poor guy. I stood there, transfixed by the man’s mushy remains, until Joseph reached forward and swung the door closed.

I blinked, the spell broken. ‘He’s… he’s… dead,’ I whispered.

Joseph swiped his card across the door control button and the lock blinked red. ‘Well spotted,’ he said. ‘What gave it away?’

‘What did you do to him?’ I asked, missing the sarcasm completely.

‘Me? Nothing. I’ve been standing here with you. Nothing to do with me.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Long story,’ Joseph said. ‘And one you’re probably best not knowing for the moment. I’ll clean it up. I’ll take care of it. That’s what I do. That’s how I help you, Kyle. I tidy things away. I tie up the loose ends.’

I nodded, my eyes still fixed on the door. I couldn’t get the sight of the man’s remains out of my head. I think I muttered ‘OK’, but I couldn’t say for certain.

‘Go back to your seat,’ Joseph told me. ‘Try to act natural. You’ll be in Glasgow before you know it.’

I nodded again, too numb to do much else. The door to my left slid open and Joseph gave me a nudge to start me moving along the aisle.

Just before I started to walk, he put a hand on my shoulder. He may have been a small man, but his grip was like steel. ‘One thing you should ask yourself,’ he said, his voice quiet so no one else would hear. ‘Did that man die after he went into the toilet, or before?’

The hand withdrew from my shoulder and I stood in the mouth of the aisle, waiting for the sentence to filter properly through to my brain.

‘After,’ I frowned, turning on the spot. ‘I saw him walk…’

I left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air. The area around me was empty. Joseph had pulled his usual disappearing trick.

I skulked along the aisle back to my seat. I kept my gaze on the floor, avoiding all eye contact for fear of somehow giving away what I’d just seen. As I walked, all I could hear was Joseph’s final question, repeating over and over again in my head like the steady clattering rhythm of the train on the tracks.

Of course he’d died after going into the toilet. I’d watched him walk in. But the way Joseph asked the question, and the fact he’d even asked it at all, made me wonder if he knew something about the man-baby that I didn’t.

Chapter Five MEETING MARION

The change at Glasgow had gone smoothly enough, once I’d managed to find the other train station. It was hidden down a side street, and I’d arrived just as the dozen or so passengers were boarding the train.

The carriage I was in was virtually empty, and I’d found a seat with no problems. We pulled out of the station just a minute or so after I sat down. I gazed out through the grimy window, watching grey concrete tower blocks trundle slowly by. After the fifteenth or sixteenth identical block had passed, I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes.

Immediately I was confronted by the pleading stare of the mega-baby. Lost in the darkness behind my eyelids, all I could see was his wide face, wobbling atop his mushy remains like melted ice cream. His rubbery lips flapped open and shut, but no sound came out, just the choking stench of sour milk.

I opened my eyes again, and knew at once that I’d been dreaming. The housing estates had been replaced by rolling expanses of greens and browns. They stretched off in all directions, becoming trees and hills and lochs in the distance. The scenery where I live is pretty impressive, but the sights I saw through the train window were picture-postcard beautiful.

I’d sat there, admiring the view and slowly waking up, for something like ten or fifteen minutes. Eventually, a robotic-sounding female voice had announced we would soon be arriving at my stop.

As I heaved my bag down from the overhead luggage rack, I felt an uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. I may have left some dangers behind when I’d boarded the first train that morning, but who knew what waited for me up ahead?

* * *

Nothing. That was what waited for me. Nothing and no one.

The station was almost exactly how I imagined it would be – an old stone hut with a flimsy plastic shelter attached to one crumbling wall. There was also a clock mounted on the wall, but its hands were stopped at eleven fifteen. Moss grew around the clock’s face, so I’d be surprised if the hands had stopped at eleven fifteen any day recently. It had probably been frozen like that for months, if not years.

I listened to the clattering of the train growing fainter, and wondered what I should do next. Marion was supposed to be at the station to meet me, but besides the building itself, there was nothing but hills and trees for miles around.

I thought about phoning Mum. She’d given me the mobile phone she’d been keeping for my birthday, and topped it up with some credit so I could get in touch whenever I wanted. I think she was trying to reassure me she wasn’t just sending me away and cutting all contact.

And then I remembered that the phone hadn’t been charged up yet. The battery was completely flat, so calling anyone wasn’t an option. It didn’t matter. Marion was probably just held up somewhere. Stuck in a traffic jam or something.

My eyes wandered along the dusty, single-track road that led away from the station. Traffic jam, I thought. Yeah, right.

My bag almost knocked me off balance as I swung it up on to my shoulder. I immediately swung it back down again, realising I may as well leave it beneath the plastic shelter while I went for a look around. It wasn’t like it had anything worth stealing in it, and even if it had, there was nobody around to steal it.

The steps leading down from the platform were little more than cleverly arranged boulders. I picked my way down them, holding on to the rough stone wall of the station building for support.

There was no path at the bottom, but a track had been worn through the tangle of grass and heather that surrounded the building. A soft wind swished through the foliage, and I realised its whispers were the only sound I could hear.

I was completely alone – further away from any other human being than I had ever been in my life. There was nothing but me, the landscape and the flock of birds circling far, far above my head. It was strangely relaxing.

The track curved around the back of the station building. I followed it, almost skipping along, until I realised I wasn’t actually alone at all.

A battered old Morris Minor estate car stood in the small car park behind the station. The building shielded the four-space parking zone, making it impossible to see from the platform.

The car was dark blue, with occasional spots of brown rust. Its entire rear end was clad with panels of varnished wood, giving the impression it was half car, half walk-in wardrobe.