The Midnight Men and Other Stories Read Online Free Page B

dies!”
    Nathan’s eyes grew wide.
    Poison?
    A stab of terror slicing through his heart, Nathan uttered the words: “Terry . . . Carson . . .”
    Then he doubled up in a series of heaving coughs. Watery liquid flew from his mouth onto the glass-top of the coffee table. And when the coughing stopped, he saw that his spittle was streaked pink. He wiped his mouth with a hanky and then stared at the young thief with an angry squint.
    “You little bastard,” he hissed.
    Kane was rubbing his bony hands together agitatedly. In a strange way, Nathan enjoyed seeing that again. It reminded him how things usually were.
    “I’m sorry, Mr Parker,” Kane said in a quiet voice, the arrogance gone. “If I’d told you they was poisoned before, you never would’ve done it, would you?”
    Nathan didn’t answer, but he had to admit the boy was right. Killing someone from a distance was fine and dandy, but risking your own life to do it? That was another game altogether.
    They sat in silence for a while.
    “How long does it take to work?” Nathan asked.
    “Instantly, as far as I know.”
    Just on cue, a distant cough of thunder filled the night.
    After a few minutes had passed, Nathan got up and walked back to the bay windows. The Carson house looked quiet, apart from the muffled sound of a blaring television. The lights from the living room spilled onto their front lawn. Then the back door of the house opened with a shrill squeak. Mrs Carson stepped out calmly, a shawl wrapped round her shoulders. She lit a cigarette and began to blow silver ghosts into the night sky. There was no scream of horror from Mrs Carson. No overwhelming show of grief. Nothing.
    He turned to the young thief. “It hasn’t worked, Kane,” he said in a petulant tone.
    Kane was about to offer a defence when a new sound reached their ears. They both held their breath and listened intently. Yes, there it was, the distant whine of an ambulance siren. Getting closer all the time.
    ***
    Over the course of the next half hour, Nathan watched the events unfolding below in numb silence. The ambulance had indeed stopped outside 136 Clarence Avenue, and the two paramedics had entered the house immediately afterwards, with Mrs Carson leading the way. There was no urgency in their movements, which confirmed in Nathan’s mind what he feared.
    Terry Carson was dead.
    And Nathan Parker had murdered him from his living room.
    When they brought the body out on a stretcher, covered by a simple white sheet, Nathan expected to feel a swell of guilt; but instead, he felt a different emotion. Mrs Carson was standing on her garden path, staring after her husband’s body with a rigid, emotionless air. Looking down at that frail young woman, who had suffered mental—possibly physical—abuse at the hands of Terry Carson, he felt a curious sense of pride. He had used this evil magic to help another. All right, that had not been his intention when he uttered Carson’s name—in fact, if he was honest, he’d only called out the bastard’s name to save his own skin at the very last minute—but now that he had done the dirty deed he was actually beginning to feel good about himself.
    Or was that the feeling of absolute power kicking in?
    Nathan watched the ambulance disappear into the night. No sirens, no flashing lights. It was all too late for that.
    In the silence which followed, he heard the sound of a leather jacket slipping over a cotton shirt and turned to see Kane preparing to leave.
    “And where do you think you’re going, young man?” he said.
    Kane shrugged. “What? I’ve proved to you that the merchandise works. What else do you need me for?” He clapped his hands together. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like my money and—”
    “You’re not going anywhere just yet.” Nathan walked over to the coffee table and stared down at the two remaining pieces of shrivelled pink flesh.
    Kane rolled his head on his neck in frustration. “Ah, Mr P, what you do