Marcus Sheppard flicked his cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it as DCI Burnham parked up in front of him. In truth, he’d only lit another whilst waiting for her as he didn’t know what to do with his hands otherwise. He climbed into the car and saw she was wearing one of those silly little surgical masks, and chuckled slightly. 

‘Roll the window down if you’re not going to wear a mask,’ she said, moodily.

He did so, but not as far down as she’d have liked, so she wound her own all the way down, and the car got cold very quickly. 

‘You smell like an ashtray,’ she told him. 

‘You used to smoke, guv.’ 

‘Yeah, and now I’ve stopped, I know how bad the smell is. I can’t believe that used to be me. Besides, they say that smokers are higher risk, y’know.’ 

‘Higher risk for what?’ 

She pointed at her mask, and he sighed. 

‘Don’t laugh,’ she told him coldly. ‘This is serious.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just like swine flu was, eh? World ended in 2009, didn’t it?’ 

‘Stop it. It’s different this time. Just look at how quickly it’s spread.’ 

‘Bunch of rubbish. It’ll be over in a couple of weeks.’ 

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Marcus. They’re gonna lock us down, y’know.’ 

‘Yeah, and in a month’s time they’ll be talking about what a bad idea that was and how we all overreacted and how we’ve now got to plug a hole in the economy by forcing everyone to stay at home for two weeks. Ridiculous, if you ask me.’ 

‘Well, maybe it’s good no one is asking you then.’ 

‘Whatever.’ 

Marcus took another cigarette out of the packet, something he did anytime something annoyed him, and stuck it in his mouth. 

‘Don’t you dare light that,’ Burnham told him, her eyes fierce behind the mask.

‘Why not? The window’s down, isn’t it?’ 

‘This is a company vehicle, paid for by taxpayers.’ 

‘I’m a taxpayer. Shouldn’t I get a say?’ 

‘You light that shit and you’re on desk duty until Christmas.’ 

‘Unless they cancel Christmas, eh.’ 

‘Don’t joke about that. Just keep your mouth shut, okay?’ 

Marcus chuckled to himself, and watched the city race by him as they made their way to the estate. No need for the blues and twos, the streets were almost empty now. Everyone was buying into the panic it seemed, which Marcus thought was ridiculous but eight years on the force had taught him plenty about human nature. It made sense; people liked to think they were invincible when everything was going well, but when the chips were down they ate each other. People couldn’t be trusted.

They pulled up in a courtyard littered with rubbish, and the first thing Marcus saw was some hoodie having a piss in the corner. Silvia closed the windows and picked up her paperwork while Marcus got out of the car and lit his cigarette. They were here to deliver a notification of death; a girl had been found in a car park with her throat slashed ear-to-ear, and the most troubling thing was that the wounds appeared to be self-inflicted. The only remaining family she had was a paternal grandfather who lived on the top floor of the tower block they now found themselves at. Marcus hated what he referred to as “death-o-grams”, and was happy to let Silvia do the talking. He just wanted this day to be over already. 

‘Aren’t you gonna take the mask off?’ Marcus asked his boss, who was already making for the stairs. 

‘No point,’ she told him. ‘We’ll be inside again in a minute. You coming?’ 

‘I’ll take the lift and meet you up there, guv.’ 

‘It’s those smoker’s lungs of yours,’ she said gleefully, and started upwards. 

Marcus took a deep drag of his cigarette as he scowled at her. Pompous bitch. He went over to the elevator and pushed the button, as the man who had just decorated the side of the building in urine walked past him. Marcus noticed he was holding a stick and feeling about at the ground with it. He was blind, but Marcus didn’t move until the stick tapped his foot.

‘Watch it,’ he grumbled at the man. 

‘Sorry fella,’ the man said cheekily. ‘Didn’t see ya.’ 

‘And I’m guessing you can’t see what kind of car that is over there either, right?’ 

‘No. Is it a nice one?’ 

‘Nothing fancy. Just a little Vauxhall with “POLICE” printed on it.’ 

‘Ah, so you’re the police?’ 

‘That’s right. Didn’t care much for your little display on the wall over there. I could nick you for that.’ 

‘Oh, that would be a shame.’ He sounded unfazed. ‘Sometimes I get caught short and can’t make it to the bathroom, and it’s not like I saw you there. Won’t you overlook it on this occasion?’ 

‘Count yourself lucky I’m here for something else.’ 

The lift opened at that moment, and Marcus tossed his cigarette. 

‘Policemen shouldn’t litter, y’know.’ the blind man said wryly. 

‘Shut the fuck up.’ 

The blind man laughed. ‘Fair enough, I better get going anyway. I hear it’s going to rain.’

Marcus spat in the blind man’s face, who barely flinched but his smile faded immediately.

‘Yeah, I hear it’s started already,’ Marcus said, before getting into the lift and pressing the button for the top floor. Cunt, he thought on the way up. 

Silvia was waiting for him at the top, rivulets of sweat pouring down her forehead from the climb, and Marcus thought the word again. They made their way round to flat 836, and Silvia knocked on the door. An old man answered, but there was something strange about the way he looked. Marcus couldn’t put his finger on it, but he looked like a child’s drawing of an old person, strangely symmetrical and smooth around the edges. 

‘Hullo?’ he croaked. 

‘Mr Leere?’ Silvia asked him. He nodded. ‘I’m DCI Burnham and this is DI Sheppard.’

‘Is it about next door?’ 

‘Why?’ Marcus asked him, suddenly sharp. ‘Is there something we should be investigating next door?’ 

‘Just noise. Music mostly, but shouting sometimes too. I reported it all to the council.’ 

‘We’re not here about next door,’ Silvia told him. ‘Do you mind if we come in?’

Mr Leere nodded apprehensively and waved them through to the living room, where Marcus expected to smell that old person smell, but the flat was strangely fresh like it hadn’t been lived in. There was an armchair by the window that the old man sat in, rubbing his hands over his lap nervously. The only other furniture in the place was a small table with a chair sticking out of it where Mr Leere presumably ate his meals, so that is where Silvia sat. Marcus remained on his feet, slowly pacing around the very empty-looking flat. 

‘Is everything alright?’ Mr Leere asked them, as Silvia opened the folder in her lap. 

‘I’m afraid not, Mr Leere.’ she told him frankly. ‘It’s about your granddaughter, Maggie.’ Marcus saw some fire kindle behind the old man’s eyes then, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow it was staged. Perhaps he’d become too suspicious of people in general, but he’d learned to trust his instincts, and right now his instincts told him that something was wrong. 

‘Is she okay?’ 

‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, Mr Leere, but I’m afraid Maggie passed away some time this morning. We believe that she may have taken her own life.’ 

Mr Leere broke into a gasping kind of sob, and started to cry just a little too perfectly, but Silvia wasn’t sensing it like Marcus was. Oddly, it made him think of that scene from The Search for Spock where Captain Kirk loses his son, not that the acting was as hammy as Shatner’s, but both broke the illusion of genuine grief. 

‘DI Sheppard,’ Silvia’s voice broke his focus, ‘could you please get Mr Leere a glass of water.’ 

Marcus slipped into the small kitchenette behind the living room, which felt like stepping into an Ikea showroom. Clean. No little stains or marks from previous meals or cups of tea. All of it made Marcus feel uneasy, and he just wanted to be away from here. He looked in the cupboards in search of a glass, but every one of them was empty. Next he looked in the drawers, and there was nothing in them either. Even the fridge was bare when he looked inside it, and without any smell that hinted that something was once in it.

Marcus backed away from the fridge, his spine tingling and palms sweating all of a sudden. He started to wonder whether the girl’s death really had been a mystery to Mr Leere, but there was no evidence in a lack of evidence, so he went back into the living room to question him directly. Silvia greeted him with a what-the-hell-took-you-so-long look as he came back in, and Mr Leere was staring, teary-eyed out of the window. 

‘Sorry,’ Marcus said, looking him over, ‘I couldn’t find any glasses. Would you mind showing me where they are, Mr Leere?’ 

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Silvia told him, closing the file in her lap. She looked very irritated, like someone does when the room is too hot. ‘We’d best be on our way.’

Marcus knew it was best not to argue with her, and the old man wasn’t going to be of much use while he was still weeping. Or pretending to weep. Silvia gave Mr Leere her card and asked him to call her if he had any questions. 

‘When can I see her?’ he asked them, wiping his face with a handkerchief. 

‘We’re not sure,’ Silvia said. ‘With everything that’s going on at the moment, it might be a few days before we ask you to come in.’

‘Yes, of course. Do you think they’ll lock us down? That’s what everyone’s been saying.’ 

‘If I had to guess, I’d say that’s likely.’ 

‘Scary business, isn’t it? I haven’t seen anything like this in my lifetime.’ 

‘Neither have we,’ Marcus added, ‘but I guess there’s a first time for everything, eh?’ Silvia looked angry when he said that, but he couldn’t be entirely sure with that nappy strapped to her face. 

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Leere,’ she said, and motioned towards the hallway. Marcus followed her reluctantly, but before they left, the old man called after him. 

‘Take care, DI Sheppard.’ 

Something about the way he said it made Marcus grind his teeth. I’m definitely coming back here to search the place, he thought. There’s no way you’re not involved in this. 

Back in the car, Silvia finally removed her face mask and Marcus realised just how tired she looked. She knew something was on his mind, so when she asked, he told her. He explained everything that happened in the kitchen, and the strange vibe he’d gotten from the apartment. She didn’t look too impressed. 

‘Maybe he’s senile,’ she sighed. ‘Some old people aren’t allowed to have things like glass and knives if they’re a risk to themselves. Or maybe he’s just poor. I’ll try to arrange for someone to look in on him, though that might be difficult considering everything that’s happening.’ 

‘I’m telling you, guv. Something’s off about this guy. I want your permission to search his flat.’ 

‘Tell you what,’ she relented, ‘if you really want to pursue this then fine, but not today. We’re gonna have a lot on our plate come the morning.’ 

‘Why? What’s going on?’ 

‘I lied to him. Lockdown’s coming. You know just as well as I do.’ 

‘Oh, those stupid fuckers! It won’t solve anything.’ 

‘How would you know?!’ she said sharply. ‘No one knows anything, and no one’s got any better ideas right now.’ 

‘A lockdown for a cold… a cold.’ 

‘Just shut up, Marcus. Okay? Just shut up.’ 

‘What’s up with you?’ 

‘I’m tired, and I’ve got a headache. And I just want all this to be over quite frankly.’

Marcus finally did as he was told, and Silvia put the car in gear and began to reverse out of the courtyard. The blind man was sitting up against the wall beside the elevator, grinning at them. Marcus vowed to return, with or without a warrant. 

Marcus always found himself waiting in the car anywhere between five and fifteen minutes before finally going into his house, and tonight was no exception. If a lockdown was coming, he was about to be stuck with these people for some time, and the idea of that made him shudder. He paused again for a moment on the doorstep, taking as much time as possible to put the key in the lock, and breathing deeply like he was decompressing. No sooner than he’d crossed the threshold into the living room, he was accosted by the eldest of his two daughters. Her name was Nina, but Marcus often referred to her as Nagger inside his head.

‘Mum’s changed the fucking Wi-Fi password and won’t tell me what it is!’ 

He made no effort to comment on her vulgar language, and to be fair he was probably her inspiration, but he still didn’t like it. 

‘On what grounds?’ the cop in him asked. 

‘Nothing!’ she shrieked, defensively. ‘I’ve done nothing!’ 

‘Where is she?’ 

‘In the kitchen. Hurry up, cos I need the Wi-Fi for a project I’m doing.’ 

Since when is Netflix a project? 

Nagger scurried back upstairs without another word and slammed her bedroom door behind her. Marcus pulled a face towards the top of the stairs; he was absolutely sick of the girl, but he could never say how he felt in this house. He dragged his feet to the kitchen, where Helen, his wife of fourteen years was washing dishes. 

‘You’re home,’ she stated, not turning to face him. 

‘I am.’ 

‘I take it she’s already spoken to you.’ 

‘More like screeched, but yes. Says you won’t give her the Wi-Fi.’ 

‘She’s nineteen. She can make her own money and pay for her own damn internet.’

‘Shit. I never knew that was an option. I’m definitely owed some back-pay then.’ 

She turned then, looking at him almost distastefully. Clearly it wasn’t the time for jokes. ‘Do you know what that girl’s been up to?’ she asked him. ‘Do you have any idea at all?’ Marcus slowly shook his head. ‘I found a pregnancy test in her room.’ 

‘What?!’ 

‘It was negative.’ Marcus’ heart rate went down a little then. ‘Thank god. But I have no idea who she’s been seeing, or how many there even are. And she won’t tell me, so I won’t tell her the Wi-Fi password.’ 

‘Don’t you think this warrants something a little more serious?’ 

‘What you gonna do, Marcus?’ she said wryly, mocking him. ‘Arrest her? Take her to an interrogation room and get a confession out of her?’ 

‘You know what I mean. We need to talk to her properly.’ 

‘And why would she listen to us, eh? You know damn well she doesn’t give a shit what we think. And why should she?’ 

He didn’t dare take the bait, instead he just looked away and sighed. 

‘Where’s Daphne?’ he asked her eventually. Daphne was his youngest and not so secretly the only one in the house he liked. 

‘In bed,’ she told him. ‘She’s not feeling well.’ 

‘It’s not COVID, is it?’ 

‘I don’t think so, but who knows. She said she had a headache.’ 

He left her there abruptly, not saying anything else. He was already halfway up the stairs when he heard his wife utter the word “dickhead” without trying to hide it. 

Daphne was asleep when he went into her room; she hadn’t been showing any symptoms of the virus but it was standard procedure at the moment to send kids home if they were in any way feeling sick. Marcus sat down on the edge of the bed as she began to stir, and felt the warmness of her brow with his fingers. 

‘Hi, Dad,’ she whispered, eyes still closed. 

‘Hi, honey,’ he said softly. ‘How are you feeling?’ 

‘I don’t know. Had a weird dream.’ 

‘Oh yeah? About what?’ 

‘About Mr Crawley.’ 

‘The neighbour?’ 

She nodded. ‘I dreamt that he was crying. But not in a sad way.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘I don’t know how to explain it. It was just weird.’ 

‘It was only a dream, honey.’ 

She opened her eyes then, staring straight into him. 

‘Mum said he hasn’t been in the garden today. He’s always in the garden.’ 

‘Maybe he’s gone out?’ 

‘Will you go check on him, Dad?’ 

‘Later, darling. Get some rest.’ 

Marcus got up and went to the door. 

‘Love you, Dad,’ she said before he left, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to close the door again and stay with her. This was the only place he felt welcome anymore. 

‘Love you, honey,’ he said and left. 

As soon as he was on the other side of the door, he started thinking about Mr Leere again. The thought was a stabbing sensation in his brain, and he couldn’t shake it off. He kept thinking of that face that was just a little too perfect, and imagined that it might have edges to it that peeled off like a mask and revealed his true form. Once or twice, he managed to shake the thought off, but sooner or later it came back again. Something’s wrong with him, and whatever happened to his granddaughter… he knows something. It’s going to happen again unless I can stop it. I have to go back to that flat. He was across the hall from Nina’s bedroom, and had he been in his right state of mind, he might’ve gone in and demanded to know about the pregnancy test. But he didn’t, and a part of him was glad. Marcus heard a voice from downstairs and recognised it as someone else he didn’t like, but he went down regardless.

The thought of Mr Leere was temporarily parked at the back of his mind but would be revving up again shortly. Helen was sitting on the sofa, glued to the television screen, and he realised the time had finally come. On the screen, Prime Minister Boris Johnson appeared with none of his trademark voyeurism, and confirmed exactly what Silvia had already told him. 

‘…From this evening I must give the British people a very simple instruction – you must stay at home…’ 

He looked tired; Marcus was going to say as much until he realised Helen was crying. Instead he just stood there, listening to Johnson go on about the spread of the disease and how it was going to be a national effort, yada yada yada. Then Mr Leere was back in his head again, looking at him, laughing. 

‘…And therefore I urge you at this moment of national emergency to stay at home, protect our NHS and save lives. Thank you.’

Neither Marcus or Helen said anything afterwards – but to be fair they now had all the time in the world. Helen combed her hands through her hair and for a moment Marcus almost felt sorry for her. She picked up the remote, muting the television but not turning it off. It was like she wanted Marcus to say something, maybe even try to comfort her. But they were years past being that sort of couple, and he could think of nothing worse than being stuck inside with her. Even if he had still loved her, he wasn’t convinced he could comfort her right now. He felt like a driver without breaks, forced to be responsible but powerless to do anything more than watch the car crash. This house had always felt like a prison but now it really was one, by order of the state. There was only one thing left that he had any control over, and that was what he was going to do about Mr Leere. 

Marcus got up and went to the door, already fishing a cigarette out of his coat for the drive ahead. He didn’t look back until Helen asked him: 

‘What are you doing?’ 

He considered lying, then realised there was no point. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s something I need to do.’ 

‘Are you fucking kidding me?!’ she screeched at him. ‘We’ve literally just been put under fucking house arrest and you’re going?! What the fuck, Marcus?!’ 

‘I can’t tell you. But it’s urgent, I swear.’ 

‘When will you be back?’ 

‘I don’t know.’ 

‘You fucking piece of shit. Go then! I hope it’s worth it cos you ain’t coming back here!’ She followed him to the doorstep, hurling insults at him, but he was unmoved. He unlocked the car, and turned to face her again, not caring what she said but wanting her to shut up at least. He went to say something, but then stopped when he saw the ambulance parked outside of Mr Crawley’s house. The paramedics were wheeling a gurney out of his front door, carrying a full, zipped-up body bag. 

Daphne’s dream. Oh god, it was true. How could she… 

He heard Mr Leere laughing inside his mind, and nothing else mattered again. Helen could scream for all of Britain and he wouldn’t hear her right now. He slammed the car door shut, started it up, and reversed out of the drive. He never looked back. 

Marcus broke the speed limit through the empty streets, watched by no one. By now the town would be bracing for the impact of the lockdown, but that was his advantage. Mr Leere had nowhere to go, and no one else would be able to get in Marcus’ way. When he eventually pulled up to the tower block, he could see that the blind man was still sitting up against the elevator, his blank eyes somehow fixed on the car. Marcus got out and tossed his cigarette, then walked over to him. 

‘I knew you’d be back,’ the blind man said almost smugly. 

Marcus grabbed him by his jacket collar and pinned him against the concrete wall, exhaling the last of his smoke into his face. 

‘You’re supposed to be inside,’ he said, twisting the collar. 

‘So are you,’ he said, seemingly enjoying this. 

‘I’m police, so shut the fuck up. Or I’ll arrest you.’ 

‘I wouldn’t go up there if I were you.’

Marcus paused, his heart pounding in his chest. 

‘What are you talking about?’ 

‘I’d leave the old man alone if I were you. It’s not worth it.’ 

‘How do you know what I’m here to do?’ 

‘Because you’re not the first.’ 

Marcus let go of him and backed away from the wall. 

‘What do you know?’ he demanded. 

‘Only that it’s a bad idea.’ 

‘Why?’ 

The blind man fell silent. Marcus’ rage flared then and he punched the man hard in the ribs, forcing him to keel over. He didn’t smile again after that. 

‘When I come back down,’ Marcus told him, ‘I’m arresting you as well.’ 

He didn’t reply, instead he writhed in pain, holding his sides. Marcus called the lift and got in when it opened, leaving the blind man in the dirt. 

He banged on the old man’s door when he got to it, like an addict in need of a fix. Mr Leere opened it with the chain still across, and peered out. 

‘Yes?’ he said sheepishly. 

‘Good evening, Mr Leere. I’m DI Sheppard. I was here earlier with a colleague of mine.’ 

‘Oh, yes. What can I do for you, officer?’ 

‘I know it’s late, but I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s okay.’ 

The old man hesitated, that smooth face of his seemed to glow in the encroaching moonlight. ‘Now’s not a good time,’ he said. ‘My granddaughter just died.’ 

‘I completely understand.’ Marcus’ knuckles were gripped so tightly they were turning white. ‘But really, it is important. I just want to ask you a few questions and then I’ll leave you in peace. I promise.’ 

He looked uneasy now, and stepped back a little. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I can’t right now.’ 

Before he could shut the door, Marcus kicked it so hard the chain snapped off and Mr Leere fell backwards into the hall, groaning. Marcus stepped in and closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath. Mr Leere staggered up and made a dash for the living room, but Marcus seized him by the shoulders and shook him. 

‘Get off,’ he croaked. ‘I’m calling the police.’ 

Marcus smiled a sickly smile. ‘I am the police,’ he said, and pushed the old man onto his armchair. ‘Now sit down and shut up!’ 

‘You can’t just break into people’s homes like this! It’s not legal!’ 

‘Log a complaint for all I care. But first, answer my questions. Then I’ll leave you alone.’ 

‘You promise?’ 

Marcus nodded. 

‘Ask me then,’ he yielded, crossing his arms. 

Marcus took a moment to compose himself, and then he began. 

‘When was the last time you saw your granddaughter, Mr Leere?’ 

‘I went over this with your boss,’ he said defiantly. 

‘Then it should be easy for you to remember, shouldn’t it?’

‘Thursday. In the afternoon.’ 

‘Had she been acting unusual at all the day you saw her?’ 

‘Unusual how?’ 

‘Distracted somehow. Unwell maybe. Anything.’ 

‘Nothing out of the ordinary, no.’ 

Mr Leere started to sob again, but Marcus wasn’t buying the act. He moved around the living room now like a vulture circling wounded prey. 

‘How long have you lived here, Mr Leere?’ 

‘In Hayworth?’ 

‘No. This flat. How long?’ 

‘Seven, eight years maybe.’ 

‘Why then, is this place so god-damn empty? Considering you’ve lived here for as long as you have.’ 

Mr Leere gulped and rubbed his eyes, but he didn’t answer the question. Instead he gazed longingly out of the window before asking a question of his own. 

‘Do you have children, Mr Sheppard?’ 

‘That’s DI Sheppard, and none of your fucking business.’ 

‘Well I won’t answer your question until you’ve answered mine.’ 

Marcus was so surprised he actually laughed a little. ‘That’s not how this works.’ 

‘Why not, eh? What you’re doing can’t be legal. So if you want me to answer then you’ve got to give me something in return. An answer for an answer. Seems fair.’ 

Marcus shook his head in disbelief. ‘You don’t seem to understand. If you don’t answer, I’ll…’ 

‘You’ll what?’ he probed, there was courage in his voice now. ‘Hurt me? Go ahead. There can’t be any pain that’s worse than what I’ve already been through.’ 

‘In my line of work, you’d be surprised.’ 

‘Still, I’ll die before I tell you anything for free. And then you’ll never get your answers, will you?’ 

‘There are other ways of making you talk.’ 

‘Any of them quicker than just answering my question?’ 

Marcus studied the old man’s face for a moment; as the clouds parted and it was bathed in moonlight, he looked almost mystical. 

‘Yes, I have children,’ Marcus said. ‘Why is this flat so empty?’ 

‘I suffer from depression,’ he told him. ‘That’s why I couldn’t care less about catching this virus. Can’t make me feel any worse than I already do. But anyway, a few months ago I’d had enough. Tried to end it. Used a knife from the kitchen. Made a terrible mess of it. She found me. And after that she took away all the knives and anything else I could hurt myself with. That’s why.’ 

‘Everything? I find that hard to believe.’ 

‘Is this hard to believe?’ He raised his arm and the sleeve fell down, revealing a scar on his wrist from a deep wound. ‘They only let me be on my own from last month. But they won’t give my stuff back yet. I’m still on ready-meals and takeaways for now. Using plastic bloody forks.’ Marcus scoffed – he had to give the old man credit for the story.

‘Check the bin if you don’t believe me,’ Mr Leere said. ‘Dan only brings me the shit stuff. Not even the nice ready-meals.’ 

‘Who’s Dan?’ 

‘My case worker. Dan Crawley. It was all in your boss’ paperwork. You telling me you didn’t know any of this?’ 

A grain of doubt had dropped into Marcus’ mind, but his thoughts were cut off by the buzz of his mobile phone in his pocket. He took it out, saw it was an unknown number, and let it ring out. 

‘Stay here a moment,’ Marcus told him. ‘Don’t you dare try and leave.’ 

Mr Leere remained silent as Marcus stepped into the kitchen and called back the number on his phone. As it rang, he opened the pedal bin in the corner of the room and sure enough, it was filled with food-stained, plastic containers and forks. He let the bin close and sighed. Fuck. I’ve made a terrible mistake. Fuck. I should’ve stayed with Daphne.

A man picked up the phone on the other end, breathing heavily. 

‘Hello?’ Marcus said into the phone. ‘Who is this?’ 

‘It’s Owen,’ the man said, sounding distressed. ‘Silvia’s partner.’ 

Marcus had maybe met him once or twice, but couldn’t think why he’d be calling. Unless… 

‘Is she alright?’ 

‘I’m at the hospital,’ Owen told him. ‘I dunno what happened. She was saying some really weird stuff, man. I don’t know why. That’s why I called you. She was at work with you and then she came home saying she wasn’t feeling well, and then the next minute she was… she was just crazy.’ 

‘What has she done, Owen? Has she been hurt?’ 

‘She cut her face,’ he said and started crying. ‘She took a knife from the kitchen and tried to cut her own throat. If I hadn’t stopped her, she probably would’ve, but she wouldn’t let go of the knife and she caught herself in the face.’ 

‘Is she okay?’ 

‘She’s alive, but they’ve had to sedate her. She was still talking crazy when we got her to the hospital. But what happened, Marcus? Did something happen at work?’ Marcus noticed that Mr Leere was now looking straight at him from across the room, a nasty little smile painting itself onto his face. 

‘I’ll call you back, Owen,’ Marcus said down the phone. ‘Take care of her.’ He hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket, heart thumping in his chest again. ‘What?’ he said to the old man. 

‘You should’ve listened to the blind man,’ he said, and chuckled. 

Marcus was frozen where he stood, but knew he’d have to force himself to move or the old man would sense his fear, feed upon it even. He dragged his feet into the living room, and another connection was made in his mind. 

‘Dan Crawley?’ he uttered. ‘My neighbour?’ 

‘Not anymore, I’m afraid,’ Mr Leere smiled a devilish smile. ‘A shame. He was a nice bloke really, though his taste in food left a lot to be desired.’ 

‘What did you do to Silvia?’ 

He raised his hands sarcastically. ‘What do you mean? I was right here.’

‘Earlier, when I was out of the room. What did you say to her?’ 

‘I gave her information.’ 

‘What information?’ 

‘Are you sure you want to know?’ 

Marcus wasn’t, but this was everything now. ‘Did you give this information to your granddaughter? And Dan Crawley?’ 

‘I did. But not because I wanted to, but because I had to.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘I’m very sorry, Marcus, but there are other worlds than this, and what yours is currently experiencing is a… cultural exchange. So to speak.’ 

‘You’d better start making sense, or…’ 

‘Enough,’ the old man raised his hand, fully in control. ‘There is nothing you can threaten me with. Just ask Enoch.’ 

‘Enoch? Who?’ 

‘The blind fellow downstairs that you’ve been giving quite a rough time to.’ 

‘Did you blind him?’ 

‘No, he did that to himself. I simply showed him something.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘My face. My real face.’ 

‘I knew it…’ 

‘Yes, it seems some people can. Enoch was like you. From the moment he saw me, he was obsessed. He knew there was something off about me. Some people are able to scratch the surface a little deeper. They can see things, hear things, even dream about things before they happen. But that’s an occupational hazard. Can’t be helped.’ 

‘What are you?’ Marcus started to tremble, and Mr Leere got to his feet and started moving towards him. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ 

‘I want to give you a choice, Marcus. Would you like me to tell you what I told the others? Or would you like to see my face? Choose one, or you’ll get both.’ 

Marcus backed himself into the kitchen as Mr Leere drew nearer, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing in this room he could harm the old man with. And even if there was, he had no idea if he even could be hurt. As Mr Leere closed in, Marcus saw that he wasn’t casting a shadow, despite the moonlight shining in through the windows.

‘Before I answer your question,’ Marcus said, ‘will you answer one of mine? An answer for an answer. Seems fair.’ 

Mr Leere laughed a horrible laugh, and nodded. 

‘Go right ahead,’ he said, and folded his arms. 

‘This virus. This COVID thing. Does it have anything to do with you?’ 

‘No. It’s nothing more than a virus, I’m afraid. Completely of your own making.’ 

Marcus nodded. It was good to know; even if this virus destroyed the world eventually, whatever was happening with Mr Leere was only happening here, and if he could stop him then no else needed to be harmed. He thought of Daphne, the only thing worth fighting for, and finally answered Mr Leere’s question. 

‘Let me see your face,’ he told the old man, who smiled at him. 

Let me see your face so that I can rip it from your head with my bare hands.