Thomas King watched the torchlight as it flashed around the hallway, sweeping its beam in rapid arcs, like fingers, pointing, accusing. His eyes were dark through the spindles of the landing rail.
He had heard them come in. At night, if the day had been warm and the skies were clear, he could hear clicks and bangs as the house cooled and shrank. This was different, though. These were murmurs, whispers.
As he watched them, they looked familiar, a recent memory that he couldn’t place. His hands gripped the wooden rail. He was outnumbered, but he felt strong, his fingers taut, his arms muscled, ready for the fight. He looked at his hands. They’d healed, saved, released. Now they were ready to kill again.
He looked back along the landing, into the darkness of the bedrooms. It was totally black, but he knew the way, had traced it himself all year, knew every corner, every doorframe, waiting for this moment.
Thomas watched the beam dance around, and then saw it point upwards, towards the stairs. They were coming his way.
He crept along the landing. The house had rooms all around on the first floor, so that doorways surrounded the open stairway, but there were doors that connected all the rooms as well, so that there were three exits to each room. Whichever way they came in, there would be another way out.
The boy was in a small room at the back, the window blocked up. The door opened softly, and he flicked on his cigarette lighter as he bent down. Thomas swallowed when he saw him. Henry was cowering on the old mattress in the corner of the room. He looked frightened, unhappy, the rag around his mouth stained by tears. The other children had looked peaceful, contented, wrapped up in their sleep. There was nothing so peaceful as a child asleep.
Thomas looked away. He couldn’t stand seeing him. It was supposed to be different to this.
Then he stopped, his ear cocked. They were getting closer.
He felt for the metal bar in his waistband, solid and heavy.
He looked over at the boy. He had to deal with him first. He clicked off his lighter and moved towards him.
We climbed the stairs slowly. They creaked, the carpet gone, just the bare boards visible. I thought I could hear noises, the sounds of children crying, but I knew it was my mind playing tricks on me, the memories of too many broken childhoods embedded into the walls.
As we went upwards, I sensed Sam getting edgier. He looked around constantly. He was fidgety, uneasy.
I looked back. As our torchlight went up, the ground floor returned to darkness, the doorways became shifting shadows.
Sam stopped.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, my voice a loud whisper.
‘I’ve been here before,’ he said. I could hear a tremble in his voice.
‘When?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
As we got higher, the doorways into the upstairs rooms began to appear. My mouth was dry, my breaths shallow, my stomach turning over. I could sense someone was watching me, thought I could hear their breaths, but I couldn’t see anybody.
Sam stopped again. I looked at him. Something wasn’t right. His breaths came fast.
‘Sam, are you all right?’
He didn’t answer but he peered ahead instead. When he turned around to look at me, the beam catching his eyes, he looked petrified.
‘I know when I’ve been here,’ he said slowly. I could hear the fear in every word.
I was surprised. ‘When?’
‘I’ve dreamt it.’
‘What do you mean?’ I swallowed.
‘Just that,’ he said. ‘But I don’t believe in any of that. But this, here, I’ve seen it before. I’ve been having dreams. No, not dreams.
A
dream. It wakes me up most mornings. Doors, lots of doors, and a child crying, going on and on and on.’
‘You too?’ I asked, incredulous.
When Sam didn’t answer, I barked at him, ‘How does it end?’
He looked towards me, and I could see that he was scared. ‘Falling,’ he said. ‘It always ends with falling.’
I was thinking about what to say when Sam thrust the torch into my hand and turned back down the stairs. Before I could stop him, he began to run.
I went to follow him, but I sensed that he didn’t want to wait. And the story wasn’t with Sam. It was in the house, I knew that. I wanted to leave. I could feel a threat wherever I turned, hiding in the dark, and I was scared. But then I thought about Henry, about Bobby, about how I would feel if it was him in here. I shone the torch after Sam so he could make out his exit.
Then I was alone.
Harry was standing by the front door, looking out over the driveway. Helena was in the room at the back of the house, with Madeleine from Social Services and the police Family Liaison Officer. Harry heard his wife approach from behind. He didn’t turn around. He could feel a prickle of sweat on his forehead, and his fists were clenched hard.
She cleared her throat nervously and asked, ‘What do we do now?’
Harry clenched his jaw, looked towards the back room. He could see along the hall to where Helena was sitting, her head in her hands, a tissue clenched in her fist. He was scared for the first time ever. And when he thought of Thomas King, he became angry.
‘We find Henry,’ he said quietly.
She didn’t answer at first, but when she asked, ‘How?’ she sounded shrill, hysterical. He could hear the tears in her voice. ‘By sticking by Jimmy?
Strength in Unity
?’
Harry looked down. ‘We don’t know for sure,’ he said quietly.
She hit him, a slap on his shoulder, and then another. He glanced towards the back room, heard some movement as Madeleine looked around the door. ‘You can’t see it, can you?’ she hissed at him, tears running down her face. ‘There was never any unity. It was just Jimmy, nothing else. What has he ever given you? Nothing, that’s the answer. He uses that stupid motto to get you to do what he wants. It’s not unity. It’s Jimmy using you, and you can’t bloody see it.’
‘I’ll go to jail,’ he said.
‘That’s a small price to pay,’ she replied, and then walked back to the living room.
He watched her go and then turned back to the window. As he heard her talk to the police, he closed his eyes.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I flashed the torch along. There were two landings, each with a rail overlooking the stairs. Four doorways went onto each one, dark, no clue as to what might be on the other side. There was a door in front of me, and I noticed it was ajar, just a sliver of darkness. As I flashed the torch towards it, I thought I saw movement.
My stomach lurched. I swallowed, not sure if someone was on the other side. I reached out with my hand and pushed. The door swung open slowly. It creaked. The noise echoed around the empty hallway.
I paused for a moment, wondered whether I should proceed. But then I realised that if someone was there, I didn’t have a choice.
I pushed the door open the rest of the way, feeling my stomach flutter as I waited for someone to fly out, ready for a fight. There was nothing.
I stepped into the doorway and put my back against the wall, lighting up the room with the torch. It was large, with a high ceiling and long sash windows. The ones at the back of the house weren’t boarded up, and I could see the lights from the streets on the other side of the railway lines. There was dampness in the air, and when I ran my hand along the wall, it came back with moisture on it.
The room was empty, apart from an abandoned steel bed in one corner, cobwebs joining the rails. I could see gaps in the floor where people had ripped up the floorboards to steal the central heating pipes. I pointed the torch towards them and I could see dust and cables, and a space deep enough to break a leg in.
I shone the torch towards the other side of the room, and I saw that there was another door there, leading into the room next to this one. And it was open.
I could hear my heartbeat, fast like a drum-roll. I stepped into the room, looking out for the gaps in the floor, the floorboards groaning under me.
Then I heard something. A yelp. A cry. And then the sound of movement. I felt goose bumps jump out on my arms and a chill that made me tremble.
I wasn’t alone.
I knew it was a trap, could sense it. The open doors were leading me forwards. I had heard a young boy cry out. He knew I would follow.
I shone the torch into the next room. There was no one there. I flashed the torch across the floor. There was only one gap, right in the middle. The torch reflected off a window but I couldn’t see anything outside. I looked across and saw what I expected to see: another open door.
He wasn’t going to make me go through it.
‘Thomas King!’ I shouted. ‘It’s over. Let Henry go.’
My voice echoed back at me.
I paused, listened, waited for a reply. Thomas King was here somewhere.
I realised that the only chance I had was to meet him on the same terms: both in darkness. I clicked off the torch.
I paused, waited for my eyes to adjust. I could only make out the window, the moonlight turning it into a silver rectangle. Then I thought I could see some movement outside, a shadow, just a flicker. I edged along the wall, all the time listening out for some clue as to
where he might be. I held my breath so I wouldn’t miss any sounds, but all I could hear was the rush of blood through my head. My hands drew perspiration smears along the wall.
I tried to focus on the door. I guessed that he would come from there.
Then I saw the blue flicker, strobing bright. It looked like Laura was on her way.
Thomas King tightened his grip around the metal bar. Then the torch went out and he clenched his jaw. The intruder was in the next room.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on what he knew he had to do. He imagined the bar swinging, tried to think about how it would feel as it struck. The noise. A soft thud. Hammer on fruit.
He let out a long breath. He was ready.
He slid through the door, his movement fluid, slick, silent. His hands felt strong. He could hear noises, soft scrapes of the intruder’s feet on the floor.
He tightened his grip and took a step. He knew there was only one rule of surprise attack: hit first, and hit hard.
He crept along the wall. He could sense the intruder on the other side of the room. He was opposite him, his footfalls gentle on the debris on the floor, silent, his breaths shallow and light.
He flattened himself against the wall and waited. Then he saw the blue flashes.
I rushed to the window to get a better look at what I had seen outside. My footsteps sounded loud in the
room. The blue flashes got brighter and I saw a small shape. As I pressed my face to the window, I realised that it was a boy
. Henry.
He was on the fire escape. A surge of relief threatened to overwhelm me.
I looked upwards, searching for the clasp so I could open the window. And then I looked down, and I saw the blue light on my clothes, making me visible to anyone who might be looking.
I heard a noise. I swung towards it. Something scurried across the floor. It was black and small. Another rat.
I exhaled, my heart beating fast. Then something else moved, something bigger, faster. I felt the tightness in my chest, the hairs standing proud on my arms. I fumbled for my torch and turned it back on.
It was behind me.
I whirled round, my throat tight, a shout trapped in it.
I stepped backwards, tried to get out of the way. My feet scrambled over loose floorboards. My torch flashed around the room as I stumbled. The figure moved towards me, something in his hand.
I moved back quickly, tried to turn to run. I heard the figure cry out loud. The torch beam picked out something moving through the air, swinging towards me.
I raised my arm to block it, back-pedalling now. Still it came at me. I saw the silver flicker and then I felt pain in my arm. My view exploded with flashing lights. There was another swing and the sounds went faint, my head dull. I felt myself falling, my torch lighting up the ceiling as I went backwards.
Then it went dark.
As Laura’s car turned into the street, she saw Sam. She leaped out as the car skidded to a halt, the blue flashes bouncing between the houses.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked.
Sam looked back towards the Four Gables. His eyes were wide, frantic. ‘He’s in there. Thomas King. He’s got Henry.’
‘Where’s Jack?’
Sam looked towards the high wall at the end of the street that made it a dead end. He didn’t answer.
‘Sam! Where is Jack?’ Her voice was shrill.
Sam looked towards her again, and then back to the house. ‘He’s in there too.’
‘Is anyone else in there?’
Sam shook his head.
Laura looked back towards the house, at the high gables, the shadows, the menace, and she sensed something wasn’t right.
Then she turned around as she saw another car come onto the street, two police cars behind. As the driver got out, she recognised Jimmy King straightaway.
He jumped out of the car and rushed over to her, his face red, his eyes angry.
‘This is my property. What are you doing here?’
Before she could answer, Laura heard a noise, a scramble. It was Sam, and he was clambering over the wall.
She rushed over, tried to grab his leg, but he had dropped over the other side.
She looked around, reckoned she could get a foothold in the wall, and then tried to go the same way as Sam. She scrambled up, and when she got to the top of the wall and looked over, she felt dizzy.
The wall was around eight feet high, but on the other side the ground fell away, just a steep, grassy slope towards the town centre. She couldn’t see Sam. Then some movement caught her eye. The top of the slope went towards the viaduct that stretched out in front of her, with its high, dark arches. She could see Sam scrambling towards it.
She dropped back down to the street. ‘Shit!’
And then she heard the cry. It was a child. A muffled scream. And then running, fast steps.
She made a grab for the top of the fence.
He threw down the metal bar and ran. He had to move quickly.
He pulled up the sash window and jumped onto the fire escape. He grabbed the boy, felt him struggle in his arms. The metal steps creaked as they took his weight. He tried to run, but the steps swayed as the bolts banged in and out of the wall. A couple came loose and he
pitched to one side, felt himself lurch over the rail. For a second he seemed to hang there, looking down over the drop, but the stairs just righted themselves before they both went over, the metal clanging back against the walls.
He gripped the boy tighter and started to run again, his shoes making heavy clangs as he went. He saw a torch below, voices shouting up at him.
He looked around, saw that he couldn’t go back into the house, more torches were flashing in there. The way down the fire escape was blocked. There was only one way to go.
There was a perimeter wall to the side, high from the floor, level with the fire escape, two bricks wide. It ran all along the side of the house. On one side was a slope down to the town centre, steep and grassy, and on the other was the yard that acted as a border behind the Four Gables. The wall would take him to the railway lines at the back of the house.
He sucked in the night air. The wind was picking up. He could taste the fields on his tongue.
He waited for the rush of police up the fire escape. There wasn’t one. No big search team.
That gave him a chance.
He tucked the boy under his arm and stepped onto the wall. The boy struggled. It made him sway, and he saw how the ground dropped away on one side. He closed his eyes. He held the boy tighter, whispered into his ear. Then he began to walk.
He looked straight ahead. He could hear the voices below, people screaming at him to stop, to let the boy go.
He just held the boy tighter to him. He could feel the edges of the bricks under his shoes, just one slip from a long fall. He didn’t stop.
The wall ended where he knew it would: at the tracks. He looked down. The rails ran below him, a long drop down.
He looked back, saw the torches shining up at him. He realised that there was only one way to go.
He whispered in the boy’s ear, just a promise that it would soon all be over. And then he jumped.
I rubbed my head. My fingers were sticky and damp and my forehead felt cold. I was cut, maybe badly. The building swayed as I tried to stand. I thought I heard Laura’s voice.
Then I could sense her next to me, saw the torch shine at me.
‘Are you okay, Jack?’
I groaned back at her. My vision was still speckled red, but the sounds were coming back.
‘The bastard hit me,’ I said, my hand on my head. ‘Some kind of weapon.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I saw something flash towards me, but when I stepped back, I tripped in a hole in the floor. It didn’t catch me full on.’
‘How do you feel?’
‘Groggy,’ I said, my voice hoarse, ‘but I’m still here.’
I heard her sigh, and when she spoke her voice sounded thick. ‘I thought he’d hurt you, Jack,’ she said, and I felt her arms wrap around me, smelled her hair as she buried her head into my neck.
I ran my finger down her cheek and kissed her on
the top of her head. ‘If I could see you, I would get a better aim,’ I said, and then I started to stand. My ankle buckled slightly when I got up, but I could tell it was just sore, not broken.
Then we both heard the shouting outside.
‘Who is that?’ I asked, suddenly alert.
‘Back-up.’
‘He’s getting away,’ I said. ‘He’s got Henry.’
I stumbled towards the window and clambered onto the fire escape. It swayed under my feet.
‘Jack, come in. You’re not well enough.’
I looked and saw a figure moving in the shadows, scurrying along the railway lines. I didn’t look back. I stepped onto the wall, the only way I could see to get there. I tried not to look down, feeling myself go dizzy every time I got a flash of the ground, and began to move quickly. I heard Laura curse me as she followed.