One

Paul Clifford held the phone away from his ear as if it had been dipped in a caustic substance. His sister-in-law’s angry voice blared from the receiver.

“Do you ever bother using your brain, Paul?” Anne demanded. “Gerry’s the sick one, but I swear that you’re the one who ought to be institutionalized.”

“Well, that’s right nice, innit?” Paul fired back. “Did someone surgically remove yer tact, Annie, or were you just born evil?”

“I’m not the fucking idiot who told reporters which care facility Gerry was staying in, you fat-headed horse’s ass!”

“If you don’t change your tune, you can kiss my arse. I made a right fucking gaffe trusting a reporter, but I didn’t expect the bloody cunt to go announcing the name of the facility like the fucking town crier! He seemed a sympathetic sort, and I let my guard down. I’ll have to do some damage control, and I’m very sorry for the trouble my mistake has caused. I am out of my bloody mind with grief over what is happening to Gerry, and I’ve never been the most practical chap. But I will ask you kindly not to call me names. I’d never say to you what you just said to me.”

“I’ll only say this once, Paul,” Anne stated, her voice going from scorching rage to cold and quiet as the inside of a tomb. “When it comes to Gerry, my word is law. If you’d like to keep seeing your brother unsupervised, you’d best pay heed. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very,” Paul replied, mirroring the dead calm in Anne’s voice while clenching his fist hard enough to dig his nails into his palm. “As I said, I will run damage control. I’m sorry that I let my emotions zap me senses. Won’t happen again.”

Paul hit the end call button and slammed the phone against the padded arm of the chair.

“Yer lucky I’ve a sense of ethics and don’t perform a death spell on you, ya evil feckin leech!” he snarled. “Or, hell, kill you with me bare hands. You’ve more than earned it with all the years I’ve put up with you behaving like the biggest bitch in the Universe towards me or anyone else who gets in the way of your making Gerry yer bleedin’ marionette.”

Paul rose from his chair and called for his wife. He told Sophia that he was going over to Candlelight Ridge to see Gerry and to try to talk some sense into the reporters and fans who were gathered outside the place. Sophia said that she would join him. Paul requested an Uber, and the couple sat down to wait for their ride.

“How can I best help, Paul?” Sophia inquired.

Paul gave a wry smile and caressed his wife’s hand.

“Well, I’d not wish you to go to jail on my account, Love,” he chuckled.

“Anne?” Sophia surmised.

Paul nodded.

“Shall I poison her?”

“Yeah, and that wretched feckin’ rat of a reporter, if you would be so kind.”

“Which one?” Sophia asked.

“Willian Joretta,” Paul replied.

“Not sure I’ve heard of that one,” Sophia said. “What does he look like?”

“What do all of them look like? Ruddy hipster twat with skinny jeans, a baggy sweater, and glasses with thick black frames.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” Sophia agreed. “Well, black, white, Asian, or what?”

“Tall, very skinny bloke with pasty white skin and dyed black hair with long bangs. If he’s there when we show up, I’m going for the jugular.”

The sound of a horn let the pair know that the Uber had arrived.

Two

Candlelight Ridge was an upscale care home. It was a repurposed mansion at the end of the Holly Lane cul-de-sac. Paul recalled the mansion from his boyhood in Crouch End. It had remained empty for seventy-five years until being renovated by a mysterious benefactor in 2012. There was ample land surrounding the mansion, and there were several outbuildings.

Built in 1786, the mansion was rumored to be haunted and to have been the site of a cult worshiping the vampire goddess Mormo until 1940, when its final inhabitant, Francisco Koszorus, died under mysterious circumstances. Some said that Koszorus was, in fact, the mansion’s only resident over the years, his life having been unnaturally prolonged by arcane and unholy magic.

Paul thought that it would be a lark to summon some sort of unspeakable horror to swoop down and scoop up the vultures milling around the gates of Candlelight Ridge. Upon exiting the Uber and handing the happy driver fifty quid, Paul approached a reporter.

The journalist Paul chose was a petite young Asian woman with striking blue-black hair who was dressed entirely in black. Her manner was uncertain although she attempted to present with a knowing air. Paul gently touched her arm.

“Hullo, Miss, I’d like to grant you an exclusive,” he said. “What’s your name?”

Initially, the reporter didn’t recognize the diminutive, nondescript fellow addressing her. His wife was, by far, the more striking of the pair. At nearly six feet tall with long, flaxen locks, former model Sophia Clifford always stood out in a crowd. The journalist put two and two together as she gave the odd couple the once-over.

“I—I’m Larisa Saito,” the young woman replied. “I almost didn’t recognize you under the bulky parka with the knit hat, Mr. Clifford.”

“I get that a lot, really,” Paul said with a companionable smile. “I’d quite prefer the winter months because of the potential for anonymity, but the chill to me bones makes me long for warmer days. Which publication do you work for, Ms. Saito?”

“Oh, please, call me Larisa. It’s an indie rock blog out of London University of the Arts.”

“Splendid, the very thing. You and I will have a fine conversation after I finish addressing this lot. Sophia, Love, would you mind sticking to the lass, so she don’t get lost in this sea of arseholes?”

“It would be my pleasure, Paul,” Sophia replied.

Paul pushed his way to the front of the crowd of reporters and doffed his hat.

“Right, you bloody vampires, clean the wax out of your ears,” he shouted. “I’m already catching a cold, so I don’t wanna stay out here longer than absolutely necessary. I want the lot of you to listen and not ask questions, ‘cause I ain’t gonna answer ‘em.”

Paul waited for the rabble to calm themselves before continuing to speak.

 “I granted an interview to one of you cunts in good faith. I spoke about me brother’s deteriorating health. I let my guard down ‘cause I was feeling fuckin’ sad and lost, and this right bastard took advantage of that. I gave away the location of this place without thinking things through. If you lot find yourselves asking ‘why don’t the Cliffords trust reporters,’ just look at Willian Joretta and you’ll know.”

Several of the crowd turned to glance in the direction of Willian Joretta, who had started making a name for himself over the past year as one of several journalists for the gossip blog Dirt.

“You can shut yer hole, Joretta,” Paul barked as the reporter’s lips began to move in protest. “I told you where Gerry was staying in confidence. I didn’t expect you to release that information, which makes me a right stupid arsehole. Oi, you lot, shut up and listen! By gathering out here like a bunch of ghouls in a graveyard, you are obstructing the operations of this place. You are frightening the residents and making it harder for the staff to do their job. If you’ve decency left in any nook or cranny of yer wicked, hardened souls, you’ll fuck off and let the good folk who work here take care of them that is at the end of their march. And if you think I’m gonna grant any of you lot further interviews, you’re even stupider than you look.”

Paul turned to the gate guard, who had come out of his shack to see what the ruckus was about.

“Open up the gate, Mate,” he said with a grin. “We’re coming in. Oi, Sophia, am I mistaken, or does that sound like a line in a song?”

“It sounds excellent,” Sophia agreed. She turned and reached for Larisa’s hand.

“Come on, Dear,” Sophia encouraged. “I know it seems confusing, but I also know that Paul had a good reason for picking you out of that crowd. He is generally an excellent judge of character, but sometimes he tends to ignore red flags because he wants to believe the best about everyone.”

Three

Paul signed in at the front desk. He flagged down a pair of orderlies.

“Dino, Antoinette, how are ya? This is Larisa. She’s gonna be joining us this afternoon. Is Gerry up?”

“Yes, Mr. Paul, he’s up and at it,” the short, boxy Italian man affirmed.

“Is he behaving himself today, or…”

“Mr. Paul, your brother is perfect gentleman,” the tall, sturdy woman replied. “He don’t ever grab where he shouldn’t, not like some of these fellows here.”

“Well, I’m glad of that, Miss Toni,” Paul said, embracing the companionable orderly. “I know he don’t tend to get fresh, but sometimes he gets a bit confused and paranoid.”

“Not too much,” Dino said. “Anyway, we do what you say. We say, ‘Mister Gerry, I wonder if you can help us with something.’ Then we take him and give him something to do with his hands, build a something in the workshop or such. We put on a little swing or old rock and roll. He behaves himself very good.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. If you want to bring him to the lounge, we’ll sit in there and take a little tea. I want to thank you all so much for what you do.”

Four

Larisa followed Paul and Sophia into the lounge area. A few minutes later, Antoinette arrived with a pot of tea and three cups. Dino brought Gerry into the room. Gerry smiled when he saw his brother. Paul rose and hurried to hug Gerry, who stumbled in Paul’s exuberant embrace. Sophia rose and hurried to steady her brother-in-law before he fell and knocked both himself and Paul over.

“Paul, you are like an overgrown puppy,” she admonished. “Here, Gerry, come sit down. Did one of you put the ice cube in Gerry’s tea?”

“I did, Miss Sophia,” Antoinette replied.

“Excellent. Thank you, Dear.”

“We check on you in a while,” Dino said. “You shout if it’s anything you need, we come a-run!”

“Are they related?” Larisa asked as the pair of orderlies departed.

“They’re married,” Sophia said. “Best friends turned lovers. Very romantic!”

“Us short blokes are full of surprises,” Paul said. “The ladies all think they want tall, dark, and handsome, but once you go short and goofy-looking, you never go back. Oi, Gerry, this is Larisa. She’s gonna be joining us this afternoon.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marisa,” Gerry said, extending his hand. “Did you just adopt this one, Paulie? I’m sorry, Love, but I don’t remember you. Me memory is quite rubbish these days.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Clifford,” Larisa said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Gerry seemed terribly fragile and didn’t look at all well. “I’m a reporter, actually.”

“Hand-picked,” Paul said when Gerry shot him a glare. “I have a sense about this one, Ger. That’s why I brought her here.”

“Yeah, she seems all right,” Gerry agreed, looking Larisa up and down. “She’s young enough that maybe she ain’t lost her decency yet. I apologize if I seem insensitive, Darlin’. That lot of ogres has been lurkin’ outside this hotel ever since we got here. I dunno, Paulie. This place is like lipstick on a pig. It seems quiet enough and all, but then you have all them reporters trampin’ around outside the gate, and things are just weird. Anyways, I’m real glad you could join us, Anna. Feel free to ask any questions you like. If Paul says yer good, then yer good enough fer me.”

Larisa was overcome with emotion. She took a swallow of tea, cleared her throat, and dabbed her eyes.

“Bloody cold weather,” she demurred. “I’m afraid I’m coming down with something. I hope I don’t pass it to you.”

“If I’m gonna get it, I’ve already got it,” Gerry countered. “Half the lot in this place is sneezing and hacking. No offense, but this hotel is utterly bollocks. There are gates all over the fucking place!”

“Well, don’t worry about that right now, Mate,” Paul said. “You can show me later.”

“I’ll be back in just a moment, Mr. Clifford,” Marisa interjected. “I’ve something in my eye, I’m afraid. I shouldn’t be long.”

Five

As Larisa was about to depart Candlelight Ridge, she felt Sophia’s hand on her arm.

“It’s hard for me to see him like that too,” Sophia said gently.

Larisa burst into tears. Sophia led the young reporter into an empty room so she could compose herself.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Clifford,” Larisa apologized. “I’m afraid I’ve well and truly bollocked this grand opportunity. I think perhaps I’m not cut out to be a reporter. It was awful of me to come here in the first place, but I did come as an observer rather than to harass. I supposed I’d catch a glimpse of Paul or of Gerry’s children, perhaps capture a blurry picture or two, add those to the college’s silly blog, and that would be the entire story. In truth, Paul and Gerry didn’t seem real to me until this moment. I love the music of the older bands. I know you might expect me to say that it was my parents who got me started on it, but it was my older brother and his mates.”

“How old is your brother?” Sophia asked.

“He’s nineteen years older than I am. I’m the youngest. I’m twenty. My father is a record producer for several Japanese bands. He divides his time between London and Tokyo. I’ve mostly lived in London. You’d think having a record producer for a father would mean that I’d met all sorts of musicians, but I haven’t. Father wanted to keep me away from men with sex on their minds.”

“Well, there are certainly enough of those,” Sophia agreed.

“Paul and Gerry are good ones, though,” Larisa said. “I always enjoyed reading about them and their big family. I wish I could say that my father was as good a husband as Mr. Leo was to Paul and Gerry’s mum, but he wasn’t. He’s more like Ray Charles. I have six siblings and seven half-siblings. I suppose my mum stays because my father offers her a good life. She wants for nothing, but I couldn’t stand being married to a man like him. To be honest, I hate them both sometimes. Blimey, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I just want you to understand that I meant no harm, and I’d never do anything to hurt any of you. I’d ask your permission for anything I wanted to publish. I’m not like that bloke who spilled the name of this place. I’d not do that.”

“I know you wouldn’t, and Paul knows you wouldn’t, or he wouldn’t have asked you to join us. Gerry may say odd things sometimes, but he still has a good sense about people, and I can see that he thinks you’re trustworthy as well. You may have to re-introduce yourself to him, but if you would like to spend the afternoon getting to know the boys, you’re more than welcome.”

“It’s just so sad seeing him like that,” Larisa admitted. “I know he was always terribly shy, but he had a commanding presence about him nonetheless.”

“As Paul would say, sometimes Gerry can be a right cunt,” Sophia chuckled. “But I think you’ll find him likable overall. Exasperating at times, but likable. My dear girl, the decline of Gerry’s mind is nothing short of tragic. But it makes him unhappy if we cry, so we always try not to. Still, a few tears maybe before we return, just between us girls.”

The Japanese reporter embraced the French former model, wondering if she hadn’t fallen asleep on the bus back to college and was dreaming the whole impossible scene.

Six

“Well, now that you ladies have finished powdering your noses, I thought we might have a walk ‘round this place,” Gerry suggested when Larisa and Sophia returned. “This is really the most peculiar hotel, Sophie, and I would suggest that we tell that road manager not to book us here again. Maybe Paul has told you, but this place is positively rife with gates. Come, I’ll show you.”

Gerry took Sophia’s hand and led her down the hall. Paul fell back to talk to Larisa.

“I’m sorry if I dragged you into a situation that made you uncomfortable,” he apologized. “I do have a feel for people, though. You reminded me of a lass who was great friends with our Odinn. She was working on his biography when he died. She thought the project was finished, but Gerry and I agreed to help her ‘cause she was sincere. I saw that same quality in you.”

“I promise I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations, Mr. Clifford,” Larisa swore. “I’d rather report truth than scandal.”

“Well, sometimes the scandal is the truth. However, all told, you’ll likely find the lot of us to be right bores.”

“I doubt that very much,” Larisa remarked. “I think I will always look back and see this as the day my life changed forever.”

Acknowledgments

The Crouch End referenced in this piece was inspired by the Stephen King short story of the same name. It is not representative of the actual London borough.