A Place Called Perfect (14 page)

CHAPTER 29

Little Helpers

After a quick nap, Violet and Boy spent the rest of the day discussing their plans, while William and Merrill worked on the Reimaginator. By nightfall the machine hummed.

“I knew it’d only take a tweak,” William smiled, proudly polishing the brass, “now all we need are a few imaginations and she’ll be purring again.”

“We’re going to sort that out now,” Boy smiled, “they should be in bed by eight.”

“Are you sure this plan will work?” Merrill asked.

“Of course Mr. Marx,” Violet replied, “Nothings ever difficult for children, adults are much more complicated…”

“You remember the meeting point William?” Boy interrupted, “We should reach it by morning.”

“Don’t worry Boy, we’ll be there with this old girl.”

Boy and Violet said goodbye to their friends and, for the second time in as many days, left William Archer’s house under the cover of darkness. Violet followed Boy predicting every turn they took; No Mans Land was no longer a mystery. The streets now were quiet, the Watchers patrolling more vigorously than ever before. The pair snuck round corners until they eventually stood by the huge iron gates. They squeezed through the partial opening and around to the side door. After a quick jig of the handle, they were standing in the enormous hallway of the orphanage.

“This way,” Boy whispered, tiptoeing down the tiled floor.

The place was dark and cold. Fear crawled up Violet’s spine. They reached a wooden stairwell and climbed two floors, then walked down another hallway to a set of wooden double doors.

“Be really quiet,” Boy mouthed, pushing them open.

He slipped in through the narrow gap, Violet in toe.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

Doing as told, Violet stood by the base of a metal-framed bunk bed. A small thin figure moved beneath a threadbare blanket in the bottom bed. There were at least twenty bunks in the oversized room, all occupied with similar small figures.

The air was cold and wisps of foggy breath danced in front of her nose. Moans and groans followed Boy as he quietly made his way from bed to bed pulling each child gently from their sleep. When he finally got back to Violet, the room hummed with whispers.

“Shush,” Boy said, putting a finger to his lips, “I’m going to turn on the light now. I have a favour to ask. Please don’t make a sound or the nurses will come rushing down here and we know what will happen then.”

The room filled with shushes and giggles.

“Not a sound,” Boy warned, switching on the light.

There was a faint flicker from above. Then another, this one lasting a little longer, then the light came to life. Forty miniature, messy haired heads peered out from under dirty sheets.

“What is it Boy?” a little girl in one of the upper bunks asked, grabbing the railing that ran round the edge of her bed, “is it Santy?”

“No Monica,” Boy smiled, “It’s not Santa. I have a job that I want you to help me with. If it works you’ll go back to your families.”

“Just me?” Monica asked.

“No I need everybody’s help,” Boy smiled.

“Really, we’ll really go home?” a fella a little younger than Boy said, jumping up on his mattress, “Like home, home Boy? You’re not joking are ya?”

“No, no, I’m not joking. You’ll go home, I promise.”

“Well then I’m in, I don’t care what it is!”

“You can come live in my house Boy,” Monica said, “cause you don’t have one.”

“Thanks Mon,” Boy smiled, lifting the little girl into his arms, “Now listen. I want you all to think about this really hard ‘cause it’s going to be dangerous.”

“Wohoo, danger!” another little boy laughed, jumping up and down on his bed.

Boy and Violet spent the next few hours explaining the plan to the orphans. Each was as excited as the next and it took a lot of “shushing” to avoid waking the nurses. By ten that night everyone was dressed, ready and waiting.

“I really hope this works Boy,” Violet whispered.

“It will.”

“You know,” she continued, as she helped stuff decoy
pillows under the empty blankets, “you can come live in my house too.”

“Thanks Violet,” he smiled.

A few minutes later, room ready and lights off, the army of forty strong slipped out into the hallway. Surprisingly the children remained deadly quiet and they left the orphanage without a hitch.

“I thought we’d never get them out that quietly,” Violet whispered, as Boy closed the entrance doors.

“They know what the nurses are like. If we got caught we’d all be in for a beating!” Boy smiled.

In the yard they split into five groups. Violet, Boy and three of the older kids were in charge of one each. Boy’s group would lead the way with Violet’s taking up the rear.

“If we get divided,” Boy whispered, just before he left, “we’ll meet at the entrance to the Ghost Estate. You all know how to get there?”

Everyone nodded.

One by one the groups left until it was Violet’s turn. The coast was clear. She beckoned the others forward. The night was dark, pitch black and it was hard to spot Watchers as they navigated the lonely streets. Violet stuck to the walls travelling as much in the shadows as possible. The others were nowhere to be seen.

“We need to go faster,” she whispered.

They picked up the pace and were now jogging through the alleyways. The group coped well and were making good ground. Everything was running smoothly until a loud smack filled the street followed quickly by a high-pitched cry.

“She pushed me,” a little girl roared, holding her elbow, “she pushed me. My elbowwwww!”

“Shush,” Violet whispered, rushing back to the girl’s side, “Shusssh. You have to be quiet. The Watchers will catch us.”

“But my elbow is sore,” the girl cried, tears streaming down her face.

“Please stop crying.”

“Oi who goes there?” a deep voice shouted.

There was a figure at the other end of the street, barely visible in the darkness. Violet turned quickly to the girl accused of pushing and grabbed the shawl that wrapped her shoulders. Throwing the tattered material over her own head she whispered to the others to hide and grabbed the hand of the sobbing girl.

“You have to be brave and you have to agree with everything I say. Understand?”

The girl shook her head and even more tears streamed down her face.

“What are you two doing out here?” the Watcher snarled, moving down the road towards them.

“My sister fell,” Violet replied, her voice shaky.

“I can see that but it doesn’t answer my question little girl.”

“We were at the market,” Violet stuttered, pulling the shawl tighter around her, “we’re on our way home.”

“The market closed a few hours ago, it’s taken you a long time to get back?”

“We got lost.”

“Where do you live?” the Watcher asked, moving closer.

Violet’s heart stopped. What were the street names in No Mans Land? Her cheeks burned. Her mind was blank. What were the street names?

“Moore Street,” the little girl sobbed.

Her breath caught, she squeezed the girl’s hand. The Watcher looked at Violet then at the little girl without uttering a word.

“Well you better be getting back there then,” he said eventually, “haven’t you heard there’s a curfew in No Mans Land?”

“Yes, I’m sorry Sir,” Violet replied, looking at her feet, “we’ll go now. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

They slipped past
the giant. Violet’s heart pounded so hard the Watcher must have heard.

“Oi?” he called after them, as they neared the street corner.

Violet stiffened. Running away would make things worse. She turned slowly on the spot.

“You sure you know where you’re going this time?”

“Yes,” she answered, almost whispering.

“Moore Street is that way,” he said, pointing to his left.

“Oh em…thanks,” Violet replied, and quickly took the direction he’d indicated.

The Watcher stood on the spot, his eyes suspiciously followed them until they rounded the corner. The pair kept walking incase he pursued. After a few minutes, when they were in the clear, Violet loosened her grip on the girl and stopped. Lowering onto her honkers she let out a long slow breath.

“I’m sorry Violet,” the little girl said, putting an arm around her, “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“You didn’t,” Violet whispered, “You saved us.”

The pair waited for a while in the shadow of a doorway before returning to the group.

“You all did great,” Violet smiled, sounding as positive as possible, “Now let’s go, the others will be wondering where we got to.”

CHAPTER 30

Return To The Room Of Imaginations

They resumed their journey this time without a sound. They reached the entrance to the Ghost Estate shaken and late. The other groups sat huddled by the wall barely visible. Violet jumped as Boy ran out from the darkness.

“Boy,” she wheezed, “please don’t do that. I thought you were another Watcher.”

“What do you mean another?”

“We met one on the street. I don’t think he noticed anything though. I said we were lost and he seemed to believe me.”

“Well we better not wait any longer, just in case he was suspicious.”

Boy ran back to ready the others and one by the one the groups slipped off into the Ghost Estate. Violet and her gang were again left ‘til last.

“You have to be really brave in here,” she whispered to the orphans, “you’re going to feel very sad but you have to promise me you won’t cry.”

“Why will we be sad?” a boy of about seven asked.

“I don’t know but it’s not a real feeling. It’s just something that happens in there,” Violet said, pointing through the gates, “Once you leave the feeling will go.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” Violet said, looking at the dark entrance, “I promise.”

When all the orphans swore they’d be brave, Violet turned to face the estate.

“Okay,” she whispered, “let’s go.”

They passed in through the cement pillars and immediately the weight of the world collapsed on Violet’s shoulders. Everything bad that had happened jumped to the front of her mind. Her mother and father, Boy with no parents, Macula Archer locked in her room. Her pace slowed, her shoulders slumped, tears readied round her eyes. There was a short tug on her sleeve. The little girl from before stared up at her. Her eyes huge against her pale skin.

“You said it’s not real Violet is it?”

Violet looked back at the group, all were crying. Her heart surged. She had to be strong, for them.

“No it’s not real,” she soothed, and squeezed the girl’s hand.

A thick fog hung low over the ground swallowing the other groups one by one. Violet shivered. The estate was eerily quiet as they tiptoed through. Just as Boy predicted; almost all the Watchers were busy surveying the streets of Perfect. With extra patrols now watching No Mans Land, the Ghost Estate was relatively clear. Urging her orphans forward they increased their pace. They stuck to the road a safe distance from the sleeping eye plants that still haunted Violet’s dreams.

A lonely lamppost yellowed the haze ahead and she shepherded the group towards it. The place turned icy cold. Her skin crawled like a million maggots fought to break out her insides. A shadow moved through the mist. Violet stopped halting the group. A figure stood alone under the light. She whispered to the orphans to stay put and ventured across the sparse grass.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me Boy,” Violet whispered.

“About time,” he snapped, “everyone’s already in the tunnel. There’s Watchers about. Let’s go!”

Violet signalled her group forward and they followed Boy across the grass, through the turnstile into the graveyard. Immediately the sadness lifted leaving fear in its wake. An overgrown path led them through the centre of the cemetery. The smell of rot soaked the air forcing everyone to grab their nostrils. Tombstones hovered in the mist on either side and an eerie presence hung over Violet’s shoulder as if the dead were watching. One of the younger girls began to cry and the pace increased unconsciously. The gates were just ahead. Their walk turned to a jog and as one little girl let out a shrill cry, all five sprinted for the exit.

“Ssh, you have to be quiet,” Boy snapped, standing just outside the gates, “follow me quickly, everyone’s waiting inside.”

The orphans looked at Violet as Boy disappeared into the tunnel.

“In there?” one of them shivered.

“We’ll be fine,” Violet soothed, leading them forwards.

The tunnel was black and it took a moment before outlines appeared huddled by the wall. All the orphans were back together and the safety of numbers appeared to calm the nerves. After a quick break they moved off under Boy’s instruction, in the direction of the Watcher’s den. The air was thick with damp making it a struggle to breathe.

“I’m frightened,” a small boy said, grabbing Violet’s hand.

She smiled and squeezed his palm; it normally worked when her Mam did it. She missed having her Mam and Dad take care of her. Now she was the adult, she had to take care of this boy and all the other boys and girls in the tunnel. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to grow up.

“Everybody back against the wall,” Boy whispered urgently.

Her unconscious took over and she forced the group back, quickly she raced up the line quietening the crowd. Her heart pounded but she could do this. She could be just as strong as Boy. He needed her to be now more than ever. As the groups stood statue still, Boy peered around a corner up ahead.

“They’ve gone,” he whispered, rejoining the others.

They picked up the pace and made steady progress towards the Archer’s shop. On reaching the Watcher’s empty den they stopped.

“We’ll leave everybody here,” Boy said, to two of the older boys, “you take care of them. You’ll hear the Watchers if they’re coming but I think we have a few hours left before they’ll be back. Me and Violet are going to break into the Archer’s storeroom. We’ll come back for you then.”

Violet stared at Boy. Were they not going to break into the Archers together? What happened to safety in numbers?

“You’ll be fine,” Boy said, reading her thoughts.

“I know I will,” Violet replied quickly, “It’s you I’m worried about.”

Violet swallowed deeply then followed her friend out onto the dark stairwell that led to the Archer’s storeroom. Boy stayed two steps ahead, his stride longer, and she struggled to keep up with his pace. What if the Archers were there - or worse the Watchers? She could cope with the Archers; they were ancient, but the Watchers were big and muscley. She’d never take them, even with Boys help. Quickly they reached the top of the stairs and Boy began pulling in vain on the brick handle. The door to the Archer’s was locked.

“What now?” Violet asked, sure they would have to go back.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For one of the Watchers to come back.”

“But they’ll catch us!”

“Not if we catch them first,”

Boy held up a strange object.

“The torch?” Violet said surprised.

“I hid it in the estate incase we ever needed it again,” he smiled.

Violet would have smiled back but how on earth was the torch going to save them from the Watchers?

“What if there’s more than one of them Boy?”

“There’ll only be one. Fists is lazy, he normally sneaks off work long before the others. I reckon he’ll be back here soon. We clobber him and get the keys.”

“I hope you’re right,” Violet sighed, sliding down the wall onto the floor.

“Sure I’m never wrong!” Boy smiled.

It seemed like hours passed resting against the cold stone. Her head spun. She would have slept, her body almost weak with tiredness, had her mind let her. Suddenly keys jangled from behind the door. Nerve endings sparked, Violet climbed up from the floor ready to pounce.

“Blasted keys,” a gruff voice snarled.

Boy moved swiftly across the space and stood, torch held high, just inside the entrance. The lock turned. Slowly the door swung open. Fists was bent over fiddling with the keys, he didn’t see Boy swing for his head. There was a loud clatter, a howl of pain and he fell to the floor.

“Oi you mangy, wriggling, dirty, maggot!” a huge Watcher roared, as he rushed through the door grabbing Boy by the hair.

Violet froze to her spot by the wall. The Watcher didn’t see her and Boy signalled her to hide as he struggled with the beast.

“I knew we’d catch you someday ya ugly orphan. No wonder your parents didn’t want ya. I’m going to rip you to shreds.”

Boy kicked his capture in the shin. He tried to run but the Watcher grabbed him, clattering him hard against the wall. Her friend’s lifeless body was flung roughly over the Watcher’s shoulder. As the giant oaf turned his back Violet picked up the torch and ran. Boy was in the way. If she swung she’d hit him.

The Watcher disappeared down the stairwell. The keys hung idle in the door above Fist’s head. Grabbing them Violet slipped down the stairs. If the Watcher discovered the orphans they were goners.

Light trickled into the stairwell highlighting the figures ahead. Boy was still unconscious. Violet held her breath, close enough now that the Watcher might hear. He pounded into the room below. Where were the screams? She tiptoed in after him. The room was empty. The orphans were gone. The Watcher strode across the floor and flung Boy’s body onto the cold stone. She winced as her friend’s head smashed off the ground. Her mind on Boy, she didn’t notice the Watcher turn. He stared straight at her. Veins running down the side of his bald head pulsed under pressure. Roaring, he made a surge for Violet his fist firm. She couldn’t move. Arms, legs, wake up!

Suddenly hundreds of small bodies rushed out from cupboards, beds and boxes to grab hold of the Watcher’s ankles. He kicked in fury but the orphans held tight. The scene was manic, still Violet’s body wouldn’t respond. Everyone was shouting at her. They were pointing and shouting. What was it? Her hand, they were pointing at her hand. The torch. She still had the torch. Snapping from her trance, noise filled the room.

“The torch, the torch, Violet the torch!”

She sprung to life. Tightening her grip she steadied the solid wood in her hands. The Watcher moved quickly, his pace slowed only a little by the orphans. She was screaming then running. Paces from him she lifted the torch. With all the force she could muster, she slammed the wooden stick down on top of the Watcher’s bald head. There was a loud groan and the giant crashed solidly to the floor.  On automatic, she kept running and tripped over his sprawling body. Then the orphans ambushed her. Like a soccer player who’d scored the winning goal, they screamed and jumped around her.

“You saved us, you saved us,” they cried.

“Boy!” Violet roared, her friend’s image suddenly springing to mind.

Ignoring the celebrations she rushed to his side. He was still unconscious.

“He’s breathing, someone help me,” she said, grabbing his ankles.

They lifted Boy onto one of the beds. Ensuring he was okay, Violet covered him in a blanket in case the Watchers came back. She turned to the group who were now a little calmer.

“We still have a job to do,” she said, “Follow me!”

Quickly and as quietly as possible she ushered everyone up the steps. Fists was still unconscious as they tiptoed past into the Archer’s storeroom.

“What are they?” a boy asked, pointing to the jars of colour.

“They’re imaginations,” Violet replied, loud enough for all to hear, “we have to take one each. Be careful when you’re carrying them. We can’t break any.”

Everyone stood back afraid. Then one of the older boys stepped forward and walked the length of the corridor inspecting the lids of the jars. He stopped and pulled one from the shelf. Reading it carefully, he held the glass aloft.

“It’s my dad’s,” he said to the group.

Amazed, the rest began to scour the shelves for their loved ones. Violet was helping a little girl when a jar caught her eye. Light pink and purple hues flooded the glass. Rose Brown 02.02.11, her mother’s name written in tiny type. Shaking, she took the jar gently from the shelf. Boy should be with her now. She needed him. With him she was safe and everything would be alright. Without him? No she wouldn’t think about that now.

She cradled the glass to her chest and helped the last of the orphans. Once everyone had an imagination, they dragged Fists’ unconscious body into the storeroom. Locking the door, they snuck back down the stairwell. Chimes of glass coloured the darkness.

“Be a bit quieter,” a voice whispered, up from the room below.

Boy! It was his voice. He was sitting upright on the Watcher’s bed as they entered the den.

“You’re alive,” Violet laughed, throwing herself around him.

“Violet, my head, it’s still sore you know!”

“Oh I’m sorry. I was afraid...”

“A mangy Watcher’s not going to kill me,” he interrupted, wobbling to his feet.

He put his hands out to balance against the wall and Violet slipped in under his armpit.

“Lean on me,” she whispered.

He smiled and steadied against her shoulder.

“We have them,” she said, turning so Boy could see the orphans proudly holding their jars, “we’re ready for William.”

“We better hurry then,” Boy replied groggily.

As quickly as possible they slipped through the winding tunnels and out into the Ghost Estate; their pace slowed a little by injury. Everyone held an imagination except Boy. As they crept passed the house where her father was held Violet hugged the jar in her hands. Even if her parents were a little mad, she was lucky to have them.