Becoming Honey

Amber arrived at the Dog and Bone to find that the place was locked up, and as she knew that she had completely forgotten all about locking the door – and getting rid of the dead body, though it was not like she had any idea whatsoever how she would have gone about doing that – she assumed that Dave must have come downstairs during the hour or so it had taken her to get herself ready and to the pub, and locked the door himself.

She found the key in her bag and slid it into the lock, letting herself in. She had been in possession of a key for all of the years she had worked there. Even during those six months she had spent backpacking around Europe, during which time she had met Adam, Dave had never asked for the key to be returned.

Once inside she found that the lights were out, too, offering yet more confirmation that Dave had been downstairs. A glance to her right though, showed her that rather than Honey’s dead body slumped in the chair and the broken glass upon the table there was, well... nothing; no sign of either thing she was expecting to see.

Amber closed the door behind her and made her way over to the bar.

“I didn’t think it would be you.”

She had not seen Dave sitting there in the dim light, the drawn curtains ensuring that only the tiniest amount of sunlight filtered into the pub, and his voice startled her.

“Dave... what do you mean?”

The man did not reply straight away, instead her poured himself a large glass of whisky from the bottle beside him and took several quick sips.

“Almost three months ago, Ryan Smith came to me one night when I was locking up. You weren’t here so it was probably a Sunday, I know how much you hate quiz night. Anyway, he told me that he was going away, leaving the area, but that someday soon there would be a girl come looking for him, asking questions about him.” Dave sighed heavily and paused whilst he lit a cigarette. “I just wasn’t expecting that girl to be you, Amber.”

“He must have told you something else, Dave,” she said, taking a seat upon the barstool next to the landlord. “And whatever that something else is has got you in a bit of a state. I’ve never known you to be like this.”

“He did. He said that the weight of the world would rest upon the shoulders of the girl who came looking for him.” He paused again, chuckling. “I thought he was full of shit, figured he’d had one too many, y’know? But then he showed me something that made me believe...”

“What did he show you?” she asked, helping herself to a cigarette from the packet that sat next to the bottle of Scotch.

“This,” he said, taking a piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Amber. She accepted it and was shocked at how brittle it was. There was writing upon it, too, though it was in a language that Amber did not understand. In fact she was not entirely sure that it was a language. It looked to her like the drunken scrawl of someone trying in vain to sign their name at the bottom of a credit card receipt.

“What is it, Dave? Am I supposed to be able to read this or something?”

“Just wait,” he replied. “It’ll come to you in a few seconds.”

“What the Hell language is it?”

“Akkadian, apparently, though it might as well be Greek to me.”

“Wait, it’s changing...”

“Told you it’d come to you.”

Not for the first time in the last twelve hours, Amber was in open-mouthed shock, though this time more so than in any instance prior, as the apparently-Akkadian text transformed before her very eyes, the letters and words moving about on the paper until they appeared to her in perfect English.

“′...and she will have great strength of will, her life will be one of honour as she defends man from man by any means deemed necessary. Her life will be forfeit and she will die bloody.’”

“I just didn’t think it would be you, Amber,” Dave repeated, quietly. “I mean, I know it might sound odd but I’ve known you for so long, I’ve come to think of you like a daughter and I can’t think about you ′dying bloody.’”

“It’s something I have to do, Dave,” she said softly, placing her hand gently upon the man’s knee. “I made a promise, the kind of promise that I can’t break.”

“I know, just like I made a promise to Smithie that as soon the girl – you – came looking for him, asking questions, I’d also give her...” he paused with a lump caught in his throat. “You, this.”

He handed her another piece of paper, a yellow post-it note with a telephone number written carefully upon it.

“That’s Smithie’s number. He said that the phone will only accept a single call then the SIM card will fry, so I reckon you should make sure you find out what you need to find out from him before you hang up.”

“Dave, I...” Amber paused. She had no idea what she was trying to say, but she did know that she did not have much time at all to say it. She smiled, mostly because she did not know what else to do. “Thank you...”

***

Amber sat in her car with the window wound down, her mobile phone in one hand and the post-it note with Smithie’s number written upon it in the other.

She took several deep breaths. She was not having second thoughts, there was no doubt in her mind that what she was about to do was the correct course of action, but she was very much aware that the phone call would change her life forever – not that it hadn’t all gone to Hell in a hand-basket already.

Carefully, slowly, making sure that each number was dialled correctly, she keyed Ryan Smith’s number and with a final, deep breath, she hit the call button.

It rang several times before the call was answered but when it did, Amber found herself somewhat taken aback.

“Hello, Amber.”

“Ryan?” She was shocked as to how the man knew that it was her calling, as she was sure she would have remembered giving her number to him.

“You’re wondering how I knew it was you?” he asked, not needing to be able to read her mind to know exactly why she was as shocked as she was. “As soon as I tracked Honey’s beacon to the Dog and Bone I knew it would be you. You’re welcome for the clean-up, by the way.”

“That was you?”

“No, but I know people, Amber.”

“What people?”

“This isn’t the time for that and speaking of time we don’t have much of it. As secure as this line is, it won’t take long before it’s hacked and tracked, putting us both in mortal danger.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Come to me, but you’re going to have to take a very roundabout route. Sorry, but that’s just the way it has to be.”

“OK, where are you?”

“In time,” he replied. “First, you need to get to my place in the village. In the cutlery drawer beneath the tray you’ll find several clean, cloned credit cards. Take them, they’re yours. You’ll also find the first place you need to go and when you get there, you’ll find further instructions. Clear?”

“Erm, yes?”

“Good...” A pause. “Shit! Did you hear that click? We’re being traced. Go now, Amber! Remove your SIM card and ditch your phone. Whatever you do, don’t dally!”

The call terminated immediately and Amber flicked the back cover off her phone, removed the battery and slid the SIM card out of its little metal holster. Placing it between her thumb and forefinger she bent it to the point of snapping, then dropped it and the remains of the phone out of the open window.

Turning the key in the ignition she dropped the clutch and put her foot to the floor. The tyres of her little Ford Fiesta screeched as she pulled away. Rather than heading back towards the main road as she had done the previous night, she turned in the other direction, down the lane that led to the village.

As she pulled away from the pub car park she thought that she heard the crack of a rifle, not uncommon by any means as everyone and their mums had guns out in the countryside.

Putting it to the back of her mind, she drove down the lane at speeds she would never before have entertained, keeping as close to the verge on the left hand side of the road as she could. The last thing she wanted to do was plough straight into one of the large blue and black tractors that were so popular in the south – or even worse – one of those bastard four-wheel drive vehicles whose drivers insisted upon sticking to the middle of the road.

As her car was so small with a low centre of gravity, she found that she was able to corner at speed, hardly touching her foot to the brake pedal at all and within a few moments the Nursery flew by on her left, a sure sign that she had just entered the village proper.

Ryan’s cottage was still some distance away, the better part of a mile and a half, but Amber covered that ground quickly, only braking when some idiotic man walking his Dalmatian let the animal stray out into the road whilst he picked up a pile of mess.

She did not pull into Ryan Smith’s drive as she suspected she was going to need to leave just as quickly as she had arrived. Leaving the engine ticking over, she flung the door open and leapt out, running as soon as her feet touched the gravel.

The front door was locked but that did not surprise her. It annoyed her though, that upon going around to the rear of the property, she discovered that the back door was locked, too.

“For fuck’s sake!” she said angrily, as she scanned the exterior of the house for any sign of a way in. Then she saw it; what she assumed to be the bedroom window. It was open just a crack and was only a storey and a half from the ground.

A quick scout around the reasonably sized garden did not reveal a ladder so she resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to shimmy up the drain pipe, something she had not done since she was a much younger girl.

Without so much as a second thought, she wrapped her hands as high up around the ceramic pipe as she could, placed a foot on the wall and pulled herself up. She found the going much easier than she had expected and soon she was level with the window ledge. Just another step up and she would be able to reach out with her left leg, then her hands, and pull herself across the foot and a half gap.

Her breathing quickened as she balanced there, her feet upon the ledge that was only an inch or so in width, her fingers grasping whatever they could find as with her elbow and knee she managed to open the window wide enough for her to fit through and she fell inside, straight onto the bed.

She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as she caught her breath.

“Get up, Amber!” she berated herself. “You don’t have time for this shit!”

She forced herself to get up from the bed and quickly found the flight of stairs. Taking them two at a time she found herself in the kitchen rather quickly. She did not know what she had expected to find in Ryan’s kitchen but she had to take a brief moment to look around. She was surprised at how normal it seemed, considering the fact that the man appeared to be some kind of secret agent. The country kitchen contained everything one would expect to find, even down to the wood-burning stove.

Amber shook herself and set about locating the cutlery drawer. Even that was right where she would have expected it to be, therefore it was the first place she checked, the drawer next to the sink.

As she was in a rush and she highly doubted Smithie would be returning any time soon, she removed the cutlery tray and flung it to the floor, where it landed with a clatter of plastic and stainless steel upon the tiles.

The drawer now only contained two manilla envelopes. Amber tore open the first to find four credit cards, all belonging to different women. She stepped forwards slightly to retrieve the second envelope and it was a good job she did, else the bullet that embedded itself in the wall beneath the clock would have done so in her skull.

She grabbed the envelope and dropped quickly to the floor. As best she could tell, judging by the fact the clock was situated upon the wall facing the rear of the house, the shot had been fired from that direction which meant, she hoped, that the front of the property would be clear, enough for her to sprint to her car.

She fancied that she could hear movement out the back of the cottage and therefore Amber figured that she really did not have much time at all.

Keeping as low as she could, she ran for the front door. It was equipped with a bolt at both the top and bottom so she shot those back and flung the door open, stepping to the right to permit her exit as another bullet hit the heavy oak of the door. She slammed the door behind her and ran, again keeping low to the ground as her feet crunched across the gravel.

Thankfully she had left the door open and she threw herself inside, not even bothering to close the door as she sped off, leaving what could quite easily have been the scene of her demise behind her. She drove with such speed that within seconds the door shut itself.

She had no idea whereabouts she was supposed to be heading, of course, but discovering what was in the second envelope could wait until she was certain she was not being followed.

Amber drove for miles at speeds that would most certainly have drawn attention had she not been sticking to lanes and back roads. At every opportunity she checked the rear-view mirror, every time praying to a God in whom she did not believe that there would be nothing but tarmac and hedgerows behind her, and every time, those prayers were answered.

She had driven for almost thirty miles before she felt it was safe enough to pull to the side of the road and open the second envelope. She turned the engine off and took a deep breath of fresh air as she opened the door. Sensing a churning in her gut she ran for the hedgerow and bent double as she vomited.

Standing up straight, Amber wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing at the taste of bile. She lit a cigarette in the hope that it would rid her of the foul taste, and carefully tore off the top of the envelope.

Inside was a scrap of paper upon which was written, ′M25 services. 0314.′ There was something else inside and she tipped the key out into the palm of her hand, staring at it for a moment before it dawned upon her exactly what it meant. It was, of course, a locker key. The issue was that the M25 motorway housed four separate service stations. Judging by the faded penmanship that told her where she needed to go, she assumed that she could discount the most recently built of the four as the note was clearly written more than a couple of years ago, which left her with three options. The first thing she needed to do though, she realised once she was back in the car with the engine running, was to put some fuel into the tank. The needle was in the red and that meant that there was definitely not enough fuel for her to reach the M25.

Having lived for the majority of her twenty-one years in the area, Amber knew the lanes and back roads incredibly well. In fact, she realised as she pulled away, she had lost her virginity in the very lay-by in which she had just vomited. That night six years prior was not one she had any intention of revisiting though.

The closest petrol station in the direction she was heading was in a village about ten miles away and she took it easy, driving much more sensibly not least for the fact that she was fairly certain that if she continued at the speeds she had been driving, then she was going to run out of fuel.

The lanes were pretty clear apart from the occasional dog walker and the normal weekday afternoon school run; mothers in their four-by-fours thinking that they owned the road and on more than one occasion during that ten mile drive, Amber hurled a wide variety of expletives out of the window.

It was not at all long before she reached the village and with it, the petrol station. Annoyingly she had to wait for a pump to become vacant and she gripped the wheel tightly in irritation as a woman Adam would probably have described as a ‘milf,’ tottered across the forecourt in ridiculously tight jeans, a top that no self-respecting woman outside Newcastle should ever be seen dead in, and heels so high that Amber wondered if she would actually be able to drive.

Amber had actually been on a couple of nights out in Newcastle, as one of her school friends had attended university there, and it really was true what they said; Geordie women have no concept at all of temperature.

Finally the woman pulled away and Amber released her brake, thus allowing the Fiesta to roll slowly forward until she was in line with the pump.

She watched as the pounds rolled over and over, more out of habit than anything. It was not as though it was her money she was filling up with, after all, but regardless of who was paying she liked to know how much it was costing her to fill her little one litre vehicle.

“Number two and forty B&H Silver,” she said to the cashier as she entered the tiny building that served not only as the petrol station shop but the village shop, too. “And a packet of Nurofen, please.”

“Eighty-two eighty,” the woman replied, and gestured that Amber should insert her card which she did, realising that she had no idea at all what the card’s PIN number was. “Check the amount and enter your digits.”

Amber thought for a second and then it hit her. She entered the four digit code written on the scrap of paper, and handed the PDQ back to the cashier.

“Lovely,” the woman said, smiling as she pushed the cigarettes and pain killers across the counter. “Card and receipt. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks, you too,” Amber replied as she took her goods and exited the building. She walked quickly to her car and soon she was on her way, smoking a cigarette with the window at half mast as she drove.

***

Traffic around the M25 was an absolute bitch and it was almost dark by the time Amber reached the first service station. Having located a parking space, which was most definitely not an easy task at any time of day, least of all during rush hour, she made her way inside.

The concourse was packed with people, not that Amber was going to complain about that. She was almost certain that no one had followed her but if they had, the chances of them shooting at her again with so many people around were slim. That did not stop her rushing though, as she sought a wall full of lockers. She did not find what she was looking for in the general public areas so the way she saw it, the next place for her to look was the lavatories.

The Ladies was her first port of call, naturally. She soon found what she was looking for and scanned the lockers for the number 0314.

“OK, so that’ll be 314,” she whispered. “No zeros first.”

She soon found the number she was looking for but found that the locker was open with the key in the lock, ready for someone to come along with a pound coin and make use of it.

“Damn. Guess it’s the Gents then.” She chuckled lightly. “This could be awkward.”

Leaving the Ladies restrooms behind her, she crossed the concourse to the Gents and ignored the questioning glances from many a shocked male as she made her way down the short corridor. As with the Ladies, the walls were covered in rather disgusting turquoise tiles whilst the floor was tiled white. A notice on the wall at the end of the corridor read, ′female attendant on duty.′ At least she was not going to be the only one feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

Unable to help herself, she smiled at the row of gentlemen standing at their respective urinals as she headed past them, past the more familiar cubicles and to the locker section beyond. She found 314 easily as the layout was similar to the ladies. Thankfully, that 314 was locked as she had expected it to be, so she removed the key from her pocket, slid it into the lock and turned.

The door swung and she peered inside. It was at her head height, as if Smithie had chosen 314 with foresight, although she highly doubted that was the case. She removed the bag that turned out to be a large hold-all affair, black in colour, and beneath that she discovered another manilla envelope, exactly the same as the two she had found beneath the cutlery drawer back at the cottage. This particular envelope most definitely contained a key though, a car key Amber realised, having ripped the envelope open. There was nothing to indicate which car the key belonged to though, but it did have a button that Amber suspected once pressed, would cause the car’s lights to flash.

With the key in hand and the empty hold-all over her shoulder she made her way out into the parking area. Once there she pressed the button as she scanned the hundreds of cars, looking for flashing lights.

It took a few minutes and a little walking, but eventually she found the car that Ryan Smith had left for her. It was a little flashier than her modest Ford Fiesta, but being forced to drive an Aston Martin was something that Amber was never going to complain about.