Free Heathen/Nemesis by Shaun Hutson Page A

the screen - something he’d been doing quite regularly lately. It irritated him, and when he got to bed he always had trouble sleeping properly. Better to doze in the chair, he told himself.
     
    When his wife had been alive she had always woken him if he’d dropped off. Woken him with a cup of warm milk and reminded him that it was time for bed. He thought fondly of her as he moved towards the door. The loud banging continued. It seemed like only yesterday that she’d shared his life and he sometimes found it difficult to accept she’d been dead nearly twelve years.
     
    ‘All right, all right,’ he called as he approached the door, anxious to stop the pounding. He slipped the chain and pulled the door open.
     
    ‘What the fuck is going on?’ snapped the tall, dark-haired man who confronted him.
     
    Mercuriadis eyed the man inquisitively, irritated by his abrasiveness. It was too early in the morning for profanity, the older man thought, although he was only too aware of this particular tenant’s penchant for it.
     
    Brian Monroe stood before him in just a pair of jeans, fists clenched and jammed against his hips.
     
    ‘I’m trying to fucking sleep and someone’s creating merry hell in the room next door. In number six,’ Monroe persisted angrily, rubbing his eyes. He looked as tired as his landlord.
     
    ‘What’s going on, Mr Monroe?’ asked Mercuriadis.
     
    ‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ the younger man told him, running a hand through his short hair. ‘I’m trying to sleep and there’s banging and crashing coming from the room next to me. I’ve got to be up early in the morning; I can do without this shit.’
     
    ‘Noise coming from number six?’ Mercuriadis said, his brow furrowing. ‘But that’s, that was Miss Regan’s room. It’s empty.’
     
    ‘Well, there’s some fucking noisy mice in there then, that’s all I’ve got to say. Are you going to check it out?’
     
    ‘I’ll get the key,’ the landlord said, taking a bunch from a drawer in the bureau behind him. ‘Is the noise still going on?’
     
    ‘It finished about five minutes ago,’ Monroe told him. ‘I’ve been banging on your door for two minutes at least.’
     
    Mercuriadis selected a key from the ring and followed his irate tenant along the hall towards the stairs to the first floor landing.
     
    ‘Perhaps one of her bloody relatives had a spare key,’ Monroe said, stalking up the stairs two at a time.
     
    ‘Keep your voice down, please, Mr Monroe,’ the landlord asked, climbing the steps after him. ‘Think of the other tenants.’
     
    ‘Fuck the other tenants. I should think they’re all awake by now, anyway, if they heard that bloody banging,’ Monroe snapped, reaching the first landing.
     
    Mercuriadis shook his head reproachfully and glanced at Monroe’s broad back. Such profanity. It was difficult to believe the man was an employee of one of the City’s top accountants. The landlord wondered if he spoke to his clients in the same way.
     
    They began ascending the second flight of steps, the older man wheezing slightly as he struggled to keep up.
     
    As they drew closer to the top of the stairs the landlord cocked an ear for any sound but he heard nothing.
     
    Monroe was standing outside the door of number six.
     
    ‘I’m going back to bed,’ he snapped. ‘I might get four hours’ sleep if I’m lucky.’ The door to number five slammed shut behind him and Mercuriadis found himself alone on the landing, the key to number six in his fingers. He inserted it gently into the lock, alert for any sounds or movement beyond.
     
    Banging and crashing, Monroe had said. Could it be burglars? He paused, wondering if it wouldn’t be easier just to go back downstairs and call the police. His heart was already pounding from the climb but it seemed to speed up as he thought of the possibility of a break-in. If the noises had stopped five minutes ago, it should be safe to investigate. He