Page 41 of Now Comes the Dark

Kat had been as much a part of the place as Phil in all the time Roman had been coming here. “A little over two years, I think. The biggest problem I found—that I still have—is hearing the orders when the bar is jammed and the music is blasting, but even then you’ll get good at lip-reading. I don’t make that many mistakes these days.” She chuckled and removed her coat. “This way. I’ll show where you can leave your things.”

She gave him a brief tour of the downstairs area. There wasn’t much to see. Behind the bar there was a long stock room, with coat hooks on one wall and a tiny table with a kettle and pots of tea and coffee. “The cellar is down there,” she pointed to a hatch. “I’ll let Phil show you that part. I hate going down there. Cellars are just so creepy. And the ceiling is low, so you’ll have to watch your head.”

“I’ll manage.”

Kat returned to the main bar and turned on the overhead lights. “Were you out last night?”

“No. I stayed in, knowing I was coming here today.”

“You won’t have heard then? Another man was attacked at the far end of Broad Street.”

He sighed. “Not another one.”

Kat nodded grimly. “Badly this time, too. They had to take him away in an ambulance. Three fuckers laid into him with metal poles. They beat the poor fella to a pulp. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Three?” Roman immediately flashed on the faces of the men who had attacked him last October. Were those same guys still cruising the streets, looking for new victims? If they were, their methods had escalated. And if they were out there every weekend, how the hell hadn’t the police caught them yet? Theywere hardly lying low. “Bastards. Do you know who it was? The guy they assaulted?”

“No. A few names have been passed around, but there’s nothing definite. I’m sure we’ll find out later today.” Kat switched on all the lights for the bar fridges. “Why don’t you make a start filling these in? You’ll find all the stock you need back there, and it will give you a chance to get used to where everything is. Beers, ciders, white wine are all in the chillers here. Spirits and mixers are either on the counter or in one of these lower cupboards. Take your time and get a feel for the place. I’m going upstairs to see what’s keeping Phil. He’s usually down by now. When I come back, I’ll show you how the till works.”

Roman nodded. He was already familiar with the layout of the fridges and stock in Julie’s. He’d spent enough time standing at the bar waiting for drinks to get a good idea of where they kept everything. He found a notepad and pen beneath the counter and started compiling a list of what they needed. The fridges hadn’t been restocked at the end of the busy Saturday night shift and were almost empty of bottled beer and cider. He scribbled down what was required and went into the stock room.

He found a mixed case of bottled cider and carried it back to the bar. The fridge shelves had all been carefully labelled, so it was easy to know what went where.This isn’t too bad, he thought, remembering his time at the student union bar. Though he predominantly worked there for the cash, he had enjoyed it—the camaraderie of the staff, the banter with the customers. Tips had been a rarity, but he couldn’t deny enjoying himself. He hoped that would also prove to be true of working here.

He already knew most of the staff by sight, if not by name. They were a friendly bunch, and he was sure he would fit in easily.

A loud scream from directly above caused him to freeze.

It sounded like Kat.

There came the thud of footsteps across the ceiling then another, more desperate scream.

“Roman. Oh, my God, Roman.”

He put down a bottle and hurried across the bar. Kat had gone through a door in the corner of the stock room. It was open, and he followed into a dimly lit passageway. There were stairs to the left. Roman raced up, two steps at a time.

He found her on the landing. She was on her hands and knees, gasping for breath. There was barely any light. Four of the five doors that came off the landing were shut, with just a wedge of dull grey light coming from the open door. He scrabbled around the walls until he found a switch and turned it on. He dropped to his knees, beside Kat. Her entire body trembled when he laid a hand on her shoulder.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Between gasping for breath, she made a strange, high-pitched keening noise. Roman had never seen anyone in this state before. Was she ill? Was she in shock? He glanced towards the open door but could see nothing inside beyond the bottom corner of a bed.

Ice cold fingers of dread skittered along his spine.

“Kat,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt. “What is it?”

“Phil,” she gasped between breaths. “He’s in there… He’s… I think he’s dead.”

Oh God. Panic surged all through his body and threatened to overtake him. He fought against it. Kat had lost it. He owed it to Phil to keep it together. “I think he’s dead,” she had said. She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure. Phil could be ill. He might have had a heart attack. There was a chance it might not be too late.

Roman rose unsteadily. Kat was a mess, but she was breathing and making plenty of noise. She was all right for now. Phil was the unknown. Phil needed his attention.

He hurried to the bedroom door.

Roman knew, in the leaden grey light of the room, that it was too late.

The figure on the bed did not move. There was something eerily unnatural about the angle in which he lay. There were no sounds, no breathing. Roman moved his hand up the wall, searching for the light switch. He found it. He closed his eyes a millisecond before turning it on.

His heart pounded and seemed to fill his entire chest. He felt it was going to crush his lungs.Open your eyes. He hesitated. Couldn’t do it.Open your fucking eyes. You might still be able to help him.

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