By lunchtime we still haven't decided what to do. We're sitting round the kitchen table, watching our coffee get colder.
"I still think we should phone the cops," I say.
Kevin peers up at me blearily. He looks worse than usual. His face is sweaty and haggard; his eyes red-rimmed. The fag he's trying to smoke jitters in his trembling fingers. Since we made our grisly discovery this morning, he's puffed his way through at least half a pack of Camels.
"Did you hear me, Kev?"
"Sam, you can't be fucking serious," he groans. "You know we can't call the cops."
"Yeah, but Kev--"
"I can just see you now," he purses his lips, which he always does when he's imitating me. "Hello officer," he says in a falsetto voice, "Thanks for coming so soon, officer. Oh, and by the way, please ignore the six hundred dope plants in the spare room while you're here." He stubs his cigarette out on the top of a discarded can of Black Label.
"Okay, okay. Very funny." I pause for a second. I lick my finger and smear one of his tubes of dropped ash into an 'X'. "But where could it have come from, Kev? How could it have got here?"
"God knows." He burps, and I'm hit with a sickening blast of last night's alcohol.
"Nice, Kev," I snap.
"Sorry, man."
"Look. There're only two of us in the flat," I say, picking up his Zippo and flicking it into action. "One of us must've put it there. How could it have got there otherwise?"
"Well don't look at me," he says. "I was completely wasted last night. Hey ... maybe the flat's haunted, Sam. That would be cool, eh?"
"Kev, this is serious. I swear to God, sometimes I can't believe we're actually related."
He flicks his fingers in front of his face like a talk show diva and says, "Whatever!"
I look at him in disbelief. I can't believe he's not freaked out by this.
"Maybe you should go back in there and make sure it's real," I say abruptly.
"You what? My head's killing me!"
"Think about it, Kev. Maybe it was a whatdoyoucallit--a hallucination!"
"Why should I go?" he says. "Why not you?"
"You're the eldest, that's why. And you're a boy." Albeit a thirty-year-old boy who reeks of whiskey sweat and stale dope.
"Sexist!"
"Yeah, well--It was you that got us mixed up with VeeJay and the dope, so it's your fault we can't call the cops."
I sit back. Kevin snatches his lighter back and automatically fires up another cigarette.
"Jislaik, Sam. Do I have to?" he whines. "I'm not well."
"Go and check, Kev. Don't be such a pussy." I fold my arms across my chest and give him one of my stares.
He sighs, chucks his fag in the full coffee cup and hauls himself to his feet.
I follow him at a safe distance. As we head down the corridor towards the tiny bathroom there's a click as the timer switches on and the hydroponics flare into action. The too-bright light seeps from under the spare room door, and the corridor is bathed in an eerie, unnatural glow. In contrast, the entrance to the bathroom seems densely dark and creepy, and I'm glad it's not me who's going in there. I shudder. This doesn't seem to bother Kevin, though. He switches on the light and staggers into the tiny toilet cubicle. Leaning a grubby hand on the wall, he peers into the toilet bowl.
"Man, that is seriously gross," he says.
"Well?" I say, still keeping my distance. "Is it still there?"
"'Course it fucking is."
"And is it what I think it is?"
"Yes, Sam," he sighs dramatically. "It's an eye all right."
"Is it real, though? I mean--could it be one of those trick ones or something?"
He picks up the toilet brush and gingerly pokes it into the toilet bowl.
"Looks real to me," he says.
"But it could be like from an animal or something, couldn't it?"
"Not really, Sam, no."
"Why's that then?"
He turns to face me, still holding the dripping toilet brush.
"Because it's blue," he says.
)
