Ritual by Mo Hayder Read Free Book Online Page A

neck that's telling him the turning-point isn't far. That in a few hours he'll be back in the agonies, wanting to die.

'You've got something for me? There'd better be something for me.'

'Come through,' goes the voice. 'You can see it. As soon as you step through.'

There's a bitter taste in his mouth, but he steps through anyway. He has to lift his feet because the opening is smaller than a normal door and he wonders what the fuck sort of a place he's in. Behind him he hears the door being locked and again he pulls a little, but he can feel Skinny's small scratchy hands on his arms, leading him, pushing him forward. The air's better in here, just a faint smell of burning and damp, but better than it was in the other place.

'Here,' goes Skinny. 'We's here.' And he pushes him down on to a seat.

Mossy gropes for the mask and drags it off. He blinks. They're on their own, no driver, in a room with no daylight coming in – the only light is a lopsided standard lamp next to the sofa – and a three-bar electric fire plugged into an extension lead that trails off into the darkness. There's old wallpaper on the walls, but it's been scribbled on like this is where kids have been living and someone's pinned up teenagers' magazine posters of Russell Crowe in Gladiator , Brad Pitt in Troy – another one of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones wearing shades, the words Protecting the World From the Scum of the Universe blazing above them. Mossy shuffles his feet. The carpet is worn out, a sort of sickly purple colour, you can see the foam backing in places, and in the corner a ghetto-blaster, a kettle, a box of tea-bags and a packet of sugar.

'Where's this place to, then?' He turns to look over his shoulder. There's a little corridor with a window behind them, but the glass is broken and it's covered with a grille, 'SITEX' stamped on it like the stuff the council used to cover up the ones in the crackhouse after the dead body on the table. It feels like someone's started to convert this place into something then got bored, because bare wires are poking out of the plaster in places and holes are bashed in walls and Mossy knows that the only way out is through the gate they just came through. 'This where you live then, is it?'

'Yes'm,' goes Skinny. He's standing at a wooden unit that's been torn out of a nameless kitchen and stranded here in this fuck-awful place. 'I live here. This be my home.' He gets something out of the drawer and brings it to Mossy, whose heart jumps. He knows what's in it even before Skinny opens it. He can feel his legs and stomach go a bit fluid.

'Well?' he says. 'What've I got to do for it?'

Skinny doesn't answer. He rubs his brown finger over his top lip and doesn't meet Mossy's eyes. Mossy makes a grab for the bag, just misses. Skinny steps out of reach and stands a few feet away. Something in his eyes has closed off and gone all evasive.

Mossy sits back in the sofa, breathing hard. 'Come on – spit it out. What do you want? No weird shit, OK, no "red" or anything. But fists is OK and you don't need to wear nothing.' He rubs his crotch a little, gives Skinny a sly look. 'And there's lots of me if it's you wants the fucking. I'd fill you up, little thing like you.'

Skinny sits down on the sofa next to Mossy and gives him such a sad look that Mossy has another flash that they're about to kill him.

'What?' he goes, trying to make it sound light. 'What's that look for?'

'Blood,' says Skinny. 'Just a little blood. A little blood and you get plenty H. Plenty money too.'

' Blood? I just told you, I don't do no weird shit. No "red". You ain't going to knock me around, sweetheart, not for all the gear in the world.'

'A needle.' Skinny taps the inside of Mossy's arm, just where the H went in. 'I is put little needle in here, and take a little of yours blood.'

There's a long silence. Mossy stares at his arm, then looks up into Skinny's liquidy eyes. They meet his, and Mossy can see blood in the whites, like he's