Nineteen Eighty-Three (Red Riding, #4)

by David Peace

I sit back down. I take out a packet of Everest from the pocket of my sports jacket. I offer one to Bill. Bill takes out a lighter. He lights both our cigarettes. We blow smoke across Marsh. His hands are flat upon the desk. Bill leans forward. Bill dangles the cigarette over Marsh’s right hand. He rolls it between two fingers, back and forth, back and forth. Marsh never flinches. Marsh silent – Room 4 quiet, the Basement quiet – The Station silent, the Headrow silent. Bill reaches forward. Bill grabs Marsh’s right wrist. Bill holds down Marsh’s right hand. Bill stubs his cigarette out into the back of Marsh’s hand. Marsh screams – Screams – But not much, not much at all. I say: ‘Put your hands flat.’ Marsh puts them flat on the table. The room stinks of burnt skin – His. ‘Another?’ I say.