by Jack Hammond
The school bell rang and Luke looked over his shoulder into his form room. “Tell me later, yeah?”
“Yeah sure, later,” Wesley said as they both went their separate ways for registration.
Break time came around quickly. Wesley was sat on the wall by the football field with a half-eaten Mars bar in his hand. It wasn’t long before Luke joined him. They both sat facing the dull looking A-block silently.
“So what was this dream?” Luke finally asked.
“Man, it was crazy.”
“I expect nothing less from you, Wes.” Luke laughed, “It has got you spooked though.”
“Dragons and ninjas, a colosseum filled with kids and a weird darkness. It was so dark,” he explained.
“Darkness normally is dark, Wes.” He laughed, trying to make a light hearted joke.
“No, this was something else. It felt real.” Wesley said solemnly.
“It was just a nightmare, you’ll get over it.”
Wesley nodded in agreement, not saying a word.
They just sat there for a minute, again in silence. Luke wasn’t sure what to say. He knew making a comical comment wasn't a good idea, but that was what he normally did when he felt at a bit of a loss. Wesley remained silent not wanting to sound like an idiot to his friend. Luke decided to go with another idea, make fun of something else. “Look at her with him, silly cow.” Luke said gesturing towards Sadie Kirk and Darren Morgan. “She’s all over him,” a touch of jealousy seeping into his tone.
Sadie was the most popular girl in school, beautiful, smart and from a rich family. She had everything going for her, choosing to spend her time with Darren annoyed Luke, he was an idiot, but because he excelled in sports he was considered cool.
“God, I hate him.” Luke sneered.
“You’re just jealous,” Wesley said with a grin. “You love Sadie.” he added.
“Oh, so you’re back now?” Luke smiled. “I thought you were going to stay miserable.”
“You love Sadie.” He repeated in a mocking voice.
“Shut up,” he said punching Wesley playfully in the shoulder.
The joking stopped in an instant, “She’s coming over here.” He announced pointlessly to Luke.
“I know,” Luke replied. “Did she hear us?”
“No, no way.” Wesley confirmed.
With long flowing brown hair, green eyes and a sweet smile Sadie weighed them up. She turned to Wesley, her look more focused on him. “I wasn’t sure which one of you I saw,” she said. “You both look alike.”
Wesley and Luke looked at each other and then back at Sadie.
“I’m sure it was you,” she said pointing at Wesley. “But you’re wearing clothes now.” She said nonchalantly.
Now Luke was looking at Wes, “No clothes?”
“Umm,” Wesley just made a noise.
“If I see you again, I’ll say hello,” Sadie smiled at him, it wasn’t the usual smile she wore. Then, she returned to Darren, who gave a disdainful look at the pair of them.
Luke still looked at Wesley, his face housing the biggest ever smile, “What did you do, Wes?!” the urgency was clearly abundant in his voice.
“Nothing,” Wesley replied.
“Liar, come on Wes, tell me.” He pushed.
“Honestly, I have no idea why she said that.”
“I do, you got freaky didn’t you? You sent her some Facebook pictures of your sweet ass.” He said bursting into laughter.
“No, no. I didn’t.” Wes raised his voice, “I really don't know why she said any of that.”
“I know because hot girls always come up to us like that and say they saw us naked.” Luke joked, “You know, it doesn’t matter. I want no part in the perverted things you do on chat roulette.”
“Bloody hell, Luke,” he jabbed.
“You sicken me!” he laughed harder than before as he jumped off the wall. “Later, pervert,” he finished, making his way off to his next class.
Wesley waved dismissively as he made his way into the building. The rest of the day went slowly, most of it taken up with thinking about the conversation he’d had with Sadie, well at least her part in it. Wesley’s ‘Umm’ didn’t count as a contribution. Was she going to start a rumour about him? Maybe try to make Darren jealous, so he’d beat him up? There were far too many things it could be, the fact she didn’t seem nasty didn’t go along with any lines of thought he had. Sadie had gone through ninety nine percent of secondary school, liked by everyone. Why would she suddenly turn into a bitch for the last few months? None of it made sense and where would she have seen him naked. The only places he took his clothes off were in the shower and in bed. Wesley was observant, he was certain he would have spotted her in either.
The final bell rang and Wesley made his way out of school, with Luke’s late morning starts and after school activities they rarely walked to and from school together. He paid little or no attention to anything as he headed up Hamilton Road. His mind planted firmly on more important things. He crossed Nottingham Road and moved along Alberta Terrace. Wesley reached his house, opened the front door and went straight to his room, knowing the house was empty. He lay on his bed and stared vacantly at the ceiling. What a weird day, Wesley thought. A buzzing noise from his desk attracted his attention. It was his mobile phone; he guessed Luke was sending some amusing texts about his perverted exploits that never happened. He gazed at the screen, an unknown number he thought, opening it up. He read the single word message out loud, “Tonight.”
What is tonight? It must be a wrong number. Quickly thumbing in a reply, Wesley snapped it shut and lay back on the bed. Where was he, he thought to himself. The mobile buzzed again, with the same answer.
“Who is this?” he mumbled replying to the anonymous text. He waited, there was nothing, a minutes wait felt like ten, Wesley sent another, this one less friendly. Still no reply, he decided to call the number, he wasn’t exactly sure why, but he just did.
The call rang and rang before being diverted to voicemail. It wasn’t personalised, so that gave Wesley no information at all. After the tone, he began. “I think you have the wrong number.” He said annoyance in his voice, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘tonight’ so just don’t text me again.” He snapped the phone shut.
Then it began to buzz in his hand. He paused and took a deep breath before answering. “Hello?” he asked anxiously.
“What time you coming in game?” Luke asked cheerfully.
With a sigh of relief he shook off the anxiety, “After tea, about half seven?”
“Sounds good, later, pervert,” Luke said hanging up.
“Bloody hell,” he hung his head. Wesley knew he was going to be getting that now until the next name sprung up. Plus it will have to be worse than that to replace it, he thought.
During dinner, Wesley seemed vacant to his mum and dad. They didn’t question him; they thought it best to leave him awhile before asking any awkward questions. When he finished up early to go on his game, they figured it couldn’t be that serious. The meal had been chicken Kiev’s with a cheese sauce. Wesley had wondered about the cheese especially after that dream. The decision was quick and simple. He was hungry, so he ate it.
Wesley was furiously smashing the buttons on his controller in frustration as he lost again, to put Luke’s winning total into the high fifties.
“Oh, damn. That’s another win for team Luke!” he celebrated over the headset in Wesley’s ears.
“Yeah, rub it in dude.” Wesley sounded defeated.
“We are the champions, we are the champions.” Luke sang to the classic Queen track, doing it no justice with his tone deaf vocals.
“I’m calling it a night.” Wesley said completely dejected.
“Okay, man. We still up for town tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be up for that.” Wesley confirmed, turning off the computer.
Even though it was late, Wesley found himself reading a book rather than going to sleep. After the text earlier, the dream
and the general weirdness this Friday had brought him, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. It wasn’t fear, he hoped it wasn’t anyway. Wesley let out a yawn. His eyes became heavy; slumber was calling him, stronger than ever, he couldn’t resist it any longer. He kicked off his shoes, lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
Chapter Three
The car was parked outside the hotel, the engine idling quietly at the roadside. The street ahead led towards one of the town’s football grounds, Nottingham Forest, although not the oldest, it was the most successful. The driver sat, looking at the building adjacent to the club gift shop. A tall four storey house, turned into a bed and breakfast. Flower baskets hung beside the door and even in the lacklustre November, the building was a brilliant white.
Martin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the radio played another popular eighties tune he'd grown up with. He liked this station since the advertisement campaign with the dancing hamster. Martin wasn’t nervous, anxious or scared. Even though he was sitting in a stolen Renault Clio, he was aware no one would report it.
The car was silver, almost brand new and still had that new car smell. All the new cars were quiet; the occasional vibration was the only indication the vehicle was running. He mouthed the words to a Cher song, Martin glimpsed two police officers in his side mirror. They were making their way across the top of the road towards the River Trent. Carefully watching them, he made sure they paid him no mind, before returning to Cher.
Most people in his situation might panic. Not Martin, he was confident in his ability. The owner was taken care of the night before, he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. No one cared about a plain car, on a plain street. The news followed the music and Martin listened to the top story with interest. The child taken from the hospital was still missing and the man they believe responsible continued to be at large. Martin grinned, he still on the loose. What a dark sheep. He expected Max to be under arrest within a few hours, but no, he'd evaded them. Martin met him occasionally and frankly, he didn’t like him. They'd not fallen out or exchanged insults, he just got a vibe. The authorities found his car and traced him to a house, but after that, the trail would be cold. Martin wasn’t surprised, they were all non-entities now, just inserted where the Associates required them and then removed, with no fuss.
For instance, his current assignment was an extraction, not an abduction, some would say it was worse. But the minute he finished, he would vanish, not literally, but all enquiries would end with the drunken man. He didn't care why the man was selected, he seemed ordinary. Perhaps it was the roll of a die or a random name in the phone book. It didn’t matter, he was chosen, just like the girl.
Martin picked up the bottle of flavoured water from the cup holder and took a mouthful. He reeled at the sweet taste of the lime and coughed. Between the two cars on his right, he saw her. A young black girl eight, or nine years old, her hair in pigtails and wearing a red jumper with a reindeer on.
Someone was getting into the Christmas spirit early he thought. He turned the steering wheel on the spot, and prepared to pull out. The young girl took the hand of her big brother and crossed the road. He was big, six feet, heavily built and a person Martin didn't want to tangle with. All he wanted was the girl. They entered the football grounds ticket office. Martin released the handbrake and edged the Clio out slightly. Come on, he thought, let’s be having you, he joked to himself.
The brother fumbled with his tickets, paying less attention to his sister, as they walked from the building. Martin grasped the wheel tightly as he crept out, even now he wasn’t nervous. The young girl stepped out into the road, a little too far. Martin gunned the engine, the silver Clio sped off, heading towards the girl. Martin needed to keep it under the speed limit of thirty, twenty five if possible. With so many factors, being alert was essential.
The car roared too loudly, the brother looked up too soon. Damn it! Martin snapped at himself. His attention switched from the girl, to her brother. What are you going to do? He asked. The burly young man was faster than Martin anticipated. Without a word, he reached out and pushed her clear of the oncoming silver Renault. Martin put his foot down, hard. The thud of his body hitting the Clio was loud and the crunching sound that followed as the car threw him clear at forty was gruesome. Screeching to a halt, Martin saw the booklet of tickets flutter to the ground beside the brother, as he jumped out. The little girl who had been shoved to safety, now sat between the same two cars where Martin first saw her.
Her eyes filled with tears as she cried silently to herself. Martin couldn’t be sure if she was crying because of her brother or because of the large cut on her knee. Martin had no time to ask, he needed to move fast. He clenched his fist and punched the girl in the face, not as hard as he could, but close. She crumpled to the floor like a child’s rag doll, a bruise forming almost instantly on the side of her cheek. He reached into his pocket and took out a red ink stamp. He grabbed the motionless child by her arm and lifted her off the ground as he pressed the marker onto her skin, just above the elbow. The symbol glinted for a moment, then he let her go, she collapsed once more to the ground.
Quickly hopping back into the Clio, he reversed from the curb side. Martin allowed himself a second to look at the unconscious brother, he would blame himself. He would feel at fault even though he couldn't have done anything. Martin drove away and followed the road around to the right before swinging a left onto the main road, without even looking.
Not exceeding the speed limit on the way back, Martin pulled up on the driveway. He wiped the steering wheel over with a white cloth, the gear stick and door handle. The damage to the front was minimal, the brother had sustained more injuries after being thrown clear he assumed. The front door was already open, just how Martin had left it.
The corner house was big, not monstrous but overbearing. The long drive comprised crazy paving and gravel, the place was fairly new, maybe two or three years old. The bay windows and porch front were all done out in white UPVC, giving the features a nice modern touch. Inside was no different, everything was state-of-the-art, stylish and clean. Martin changed his jacket and left the one he’d worn, hanging purposefully on the edge of the living room sofa. He checked his watch, noting the time.
Martin made his way through the back garden; he took out his mobile and dialed the Emergency Services. He waited for a response. Martin selected police, from the list provided, using a shaky nervous voice. Then as someone answered he said. “Err, hello. I saw…” he was getting into character, “I saw a Clio, a Renault Clio being driven all crazy and it nearly ran me over. I was on Zulu Road and he come screaming past.”
“Can I have your name, please?” the lady asked.
“No, sorry. I don’t want to be involved. He just pulled up on his drive. You can’t miss it, the front ends all smashed in.” Martin finished, hanging up the phone. He took out the battery and sim card, tossing them into a hedge before discarding the mobile around the corner into a trash receptacle.
Bridlesmith Gate was as crowded as usual, shoppers ducking in and out of the stores, hoping to find a bargain for Christmas that was fast approaching. Martin had taken a shortcut through the shopping centre, saving himself a good ten minutes. He made his way up towards the meeting; his attention was caught by two street entertainers. Dressed in white and silver, they looked like living snowflakes. The pair performed tricks with a large glass ball, the kind a clairvoyant would use to tell your future. Martin grinned at the two of them, if only the ball could tell them their future, he thought. No doubt it would consist of a twenty four hour dead end job, at a fast food establishment, once they realised their current work wasn’t paying anything but bus fare.
Passing a few more shops along the way, Martin glanced inside. They were busy, from the brand named Pandora franchises, to the less well known Willis’ clothing brands. The news reports said the high street was dying, some even saying it was dead and buried already, but from Martin’s point of view it looke
d to be vibrant. Martin looked up at the four story book store.
The cream archway and dark brown wooden frames were luxurious. The floors above it were older, more distinguished. With thin, tall windows in sets of three, the top held more character, more history, but that could be said for most of the buildings in the town centre. The shop fronts had been designed to bring in the customers, at the expense of the structures past. Once inside the bookstore, he headed straight for the escalators.
As he rode up slowly from the ground floor, Martin could feel the coldness from outside giving way to warmth. By the time he had reached the second floor he was quite hot, only his ears taking a little longer to submit. After each escalator ride, Martin needed to make his way through a section of books before he reached the one to take him up to the next floor. The third floor was biographies, and he caught sight of a few well known celebrities, who had made sure their book was ready for the Christmas rush. If only he could write a biography, just his antics today would interest someone, he was sure of that.
The coffee shop wasn’t that busy, only a few of the tables had been taken up. Martin saw him by the window and moved over to the counter and ordered a large caffé latte and an all-day breakfast roll before heading over to his new acquaintance. The man was sat in a comfy brown and cream striped chair, although he looked rather uptight in his buttoned up, long black coat. A coffee sat in front of him, along with a copy of the Independent, which was spread out across the table.
The teaspoon rattled on the saucer as he moved towards him. Martin gazed at the pictures that adorned the coffee shop walls. Huge pictures depicting the making of the drink he was about to enjoy or some beautiful person drinking from the cups with the brand logo on the side. Advertising usually took place outside, to draw in the custom. Yet this place advertised inside and out, how peculiar Martin thought settling himself in the comfy chair opposite the man.
"What went wrong?" he asked without looking up.
“Nothing,” he replied, wiping the rich coffee foam from his top lip.
