Desolation by Tim Lebbon Page A

taking a step back, shocked by the clarity of these alien thoughts. In the split second it had taken for the woman to nod at him, he knew everything, a confused stew of images and senses that made up a whole, coherent story. He could smell the faint whiff of their sex, feel the roughness of the man’s hands and the grinding of the woman’s teeth, and though none of the visions were clear in themselves, their combination was startling.
    More startling was the woman’s reaction. She looked away, face reddening, step quickening. She knew that he knew. Cain felt no surprise in her mind. Could guilt blind that easily? Or was this simply the way of things out here in the world? Perhaps out here strangers really
were
simply books to be read.
    Cain ran from the garden and across the road, forgetting to look out for traffic. Heaven stood before him in all its shabbiness, so out of place in this street and yet so at home, as if it had been here first.
    He turned and looked for the woman, but she had vanished. His sketch of her thoughts had faded quickly, like a dream already forgotten at daybreak, but a sour taste remained in his mouth. He spat, tasted sex, spat again.
    â€œDrink?” Peter asked. “You look thirsty.” He was standing in front of the run-down house, proffering a bottle of water. Cain had not heard the corrugated iron door being prized open, but he supposed he had been away on his own for a while.
    â€œThanks.” He took the bottle and drank, relishing the ice-cold water washing taste from his mouth and throat.
    â€œSingle mum,” Peter said.
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œThat woman you were looking at. Single mother, lives in a flat ten doors down from you. Nice girl. Very fuckable.”
    â€œWell, I wasn’t really thinking about that,” Cain said, an inexplicable blush burning his cheeks.
    â€œYes, okay, Cain. Anyway, I assume you were coming over for a social visit?”
    â€œJust wanted to ask a few questions, really.”
    â€œSure, no problem. So are you settling in all right? The others not giving you too much of a hard time?” He smiled broadly. Cain wondered whether he would always think of himself as subject to someone else’s mockery.
    â€œThey’re fine. I’ve met them all apart from Sister Josephine.”
    â€œAnd what do you think?”
    â€œWell . . . Magenta is very nice.”
    â€œShe is, isn’t she? Was she working when you met her?”
    Cain was not entirely sure. “Yes,” he said. “She’s very talented.”
    â€œYou have no idea.” Peter’s smile remained as broad as ever, and it touched his eyes. Here was a man finding humor in his situation, and whatever the cause of that mirth, Cain could not help feeling self-conscious.
    â€œSo you live here?” he asked.
    â€œHeaven? Yep. Nice pad, don’t you think?”
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œHa! Don’t let appearances deceive you, Cain. It’s just a facade. Inside, everything is different. Glorious, intriguing, wonderful . . . different.”
    Cain waited for an invitation to enter, but none was forthcoming.
    â€œSo!” Peter said. “Laundry room! I never did finish the tour, did I? Very sorry about that. I’m a busy landlord.” He strode past Cain and across the road, turning and waiting for Cain to follow. “Let’s not be too long about it,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “It’s a lovely day, filled with potential. I hate to let potential fade away.” He opened the garden gate and walked to the front door.
    Cain heard the shrubbery rustling as Peter passed by, as if the things living under there were cowering away, or rushing to get a look at the man’s legs. Either way, the landlord had caused a reaction.
    Â 
    â€œSister!” Peter gushed. “You look ravishing today.”
    â€œI’ll pass by, if you please. I have business to attend.”
    â€œMore