Voices 1 : Sugar Strands

He dialled a number he knew by heart and waited for the pick-up. “Langham.”

The strong male voice flipped his stomach.

“Uh, it’s me.”

A sigh, then, “All right. What have you got?”

“Dead body.”

“Now there’s a surprise. Where?”

“The field on the Keach Road turnoff. Female. About 30.”

“Right.” Another sigh. “Wait for me there.”

“I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?” Langham was getting testy. Not a good thing.

“Because there’s a car parked a way behind me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Oliver! Would you just stop visiting the damn sites? Just ring me when you get the information.”

“I can’t help it. I have to visit. It’s how I connect. How I get the bloody information that helps you break the case and makes you look like a damn superstar.”

“Fuck you.”

“Backatcha. So, you coming out here or what?”

“I’d like to say ‘or what’ but—”

“Look, do I wait here or go home?”

“Wait. See if the car moves.”

“And if it does? You want me to follow it?”

“Fuck, no! Just take the damn license plate.”

“Right. You staying on the line? You want some company while you get yourself out of bed?”

“I’m already out of bed, already dressed. I’m just getting in my car.”

“Well, aren’t you just on the fucking ball?”

“Your language, Oliver, is disgusting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Deal with it.” He looked at the rear-view mirror again. The light flickered once more and headlights burst into life. His guts twisted. “Um, Langham?”

“What?”

“The car’s ready to roll.”

“Shit. I’m ten minutes away. Get the license plate.”

“But what if it isn’t headed my way? It’s still back there, just the headlights on. What if it goes the other way?” The car nosed onto the road. “Uh, scrub that. It’s heading toward me.”

“Good, sit tight.”

“No can do. I mean, it’s heading toward me. For me.”

“Then get the hell out of there, man!”

Oliver wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear and eased onto the rain-slicked road, headlamps on low beam, their rapiers of light cutting into the darkness. A quick glance in the mirror told him the car was gaining on him at speed. He accelerated, hoping to make it to a farmhouse standing in the distance, lights on, creamy squares of hominess that called to Oliver, made him want a normal life with a family that gave a shit whether he lived and breathed. His? They’d cast him out the minute he’d hit eighteen, telling him never to bring his weird arse back because he wasn’t right in the head. Yeah, well, they ought to try living like he had as far back as he could remember. Having dead people in your bloody head, asking for help, taking you places you never thought you’d go. Seeing things you never thought you’d see. Having mad people follow you in their cars in the middle of the sodding night.

“Don’t even go there,” he snapped, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. “Too much thought makes Oliver a cranky bastard. Being followed by a possible killer makes Oliver a frightened bastard.”

“You talking to me, the victim, or yourself?” Langham asked.

“Myself. Nothing unusual. Nothing to fret about.”

“Right. Give me an update.”

“Whoever it is…well, let’s just say I think they know I’ve seen them. They’re right up my arse. I’m heading west. Farmhouse ahead. The road bends, leads to—”

“Crooks Lane. Yeah, I know where you are.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you interrupting was rude?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you you’re an infuriating man-bitch?”

He laughed quietly. It helped to calm his taut nerves and adrenaline-fuelled blood. “Yeah, plenty, but never by anyone I gave a shit about.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to say that. Shit, fuck and damn. “And that was fear talking.”

“You’re scared?”

“Hell yeah! I’m human. It’s natural when being chased by someone. You ought to try the feeling on for size sometime. It’s a good thrill.”

“Much as I’m enjoying this interaction, Oliver, we’ll have to continue it some other time. I’ve just turned onto Keach. Couple of minutes away. Road’s long. Uniforms will be here in a bit, but not in time to deal with this fucker. What’s going on?”

He eyed the mirror. “The car’s right up my arse.”

“Uncomfortable.”

“Very fucking funny.”

“The farmhouse?”

“Still too far away.”

A smack to the back of Oliver’s car had him shunting forward.

“Shit! Shit!”

“What? What’s happening, man?”

“He’s bumped my tail.”

“Well, drive faster!”

Oliver shook his head and stomped on the accelerator, irked that Langham had a habit of stating the obvious too. Maybe that’s why they got along—after a fashion. He pelted down the road, creating space between his car and the other. Adrenaline flowed faster, and he coached himself calmer, only to have his nerves jangle as the car pulled across the road and sped up, riding alongside him.
“He’s beside me, Langham.”

“Yeah, I see that. I’m a good way back, but I see your taillights.”

“Well, driver faster!” he mimicked, smirking despite his fear.

Oliver glanced sideward. The driver stared at him.

“Um, Langham?”

“Yep?”

“You know I said he’d bumped my tail?”

“Yeah…”

“Make that a she.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Some chick. Black hair. Either that or it’s an effeminate man.”

“Don’t joke about it. Stranger things have happened.”

“Don’t I know it.”

The other car suddenly slewed toward Oliver’s car, the side of it crashing into his. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead, driving faster in an attempt to get away.

“Shit,” Langham said.

A siren split the air, and a red strobe of light illuminated the interior of Oliver’s car. He looked at the other driver, the woman’s face clearer now. Her hands clearer—great big hands that had no business being on a female. After checking the road ahead, Oliver stared back at the car.

“It’s a damn mask,” he said. “The driver’s wearing a damn mask and wig.”

“Yeah, and that driver’s going to be moving pretty fast away from me any…second…now.”

The driver didn’t. The car crashed into Oliver’s again, an almighty whack that jolted Oliver across the road and onto the verge. The uneven ground beneath his tyres made for a bumpy ride, and he struggled to control his vehicle. Panic threatened to overtake, and he fought to remain alert, on target.
“Oliver, watch yourself.”

“I’m trying!”

“There’s a damn tree ahead. Move over. Now!”

“I can’t! Can’t you see the other car’s stopping me?” Oh, fuck. Get me out of here. Please, just get me out of here safe.

The tree loomed up ahead, and Oliver yanked the wheel hoping to make it past the wide trunk in time. He did, but his front tyre clipped an exposed root and his car overturned, rattling his teeth and bones. His head smacked the side window, dislodging his phone, and he held back a string of curses. The car kept on rolling, and he heard Langham’s voice, tinny and distant, coming out of his phone, wherever the hell it had fallen.

“Follow her!” Oliver shouted. “Or him. Don’t worry about me. Just go!”

His car came to a lurching stop. Upside down. He hung, hands still on the wheel, heart beating like a bitch with a score to settle. And shit, he had a score to settle now. Not only did he have a killer to catch, but someone who had also tried to kill him—and pissed him off into the bargain.
When his car had spun, he’d felt one of his fingers break.

And that was enough to make him see red.