Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  James didn’t respond. His head was starting to throb now and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  ‘And make sure you pack some warm clothes. New Zealand can be chilly even in summer.’

  James was only half-listening to his mother. He took a sip of orange juice, hoping it would help him feel better. Owww! The acid in the orange juice really stung the cut on his tongue. James put the orange juice down. He didn’t feel good at all. The room was becoming fuzzy around the edges. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he’d thought.

  ‘Are you okay, honey? You don’t look too good.’ His mother leaned across and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. ‘You’re burning up.’

  James forced a smile. ‘I’m okay.’ This was no time to get sick, not when New Zealand was only two days away.

  His mother glanced at her watch, made a funny expression and then said, ‘I think we’d better get you into bed.’

  ‘But I just got out of bed.’

  ‘No ‘buts’. Off you go.’ She gave him a “don’t argue” look and pointed to the door.

  James slowly pushed out his chair, glowering at his mother. He didn’t feel that bad.

  ‘I’ll just ring work,’ James heard his mother say as he tromped up the stairs.

  He threw back the sheets and flopped into bed, fully clothed, stared out of his window at the blue canvas sky – not a cloud in sight. It was a perfect day for flying.

  I’ll just lie here for a little while until my head clears and then I’ll sneak out, he thought, closing his eyes.

  James woke with a succession of sneezes. He looked at his bedside clock. It was mid-afternoon. His head felt as if it was stuffed full of wet cotton balls. With a moan and another loud sneeze, he realised, to his immense disappointment, that he was sick. I bet it was that freezing hose-down Darren gave me, he thought, rolling over onto his side and sneezing again, or maybe the altitude. Either way, it was Darren’s fault. He should have been more careful. I could have pneumonia!

  James tried to sit up, but the room started spinning and he slumped back under the covers. He let out another huge sneeze and then wiped his nose on the sheet. His mother arrived with some chicken soup, and for the rest of the day he was either sleeping or blowing his nose. He swore that once he did both at the same time.

  The next day arrived with more sneezes and now a cough. James’s only happy thought was that by this time tomorrow, he would be on a plane to New Zealand.

  By late afternoon things had changed entirely. James woke to loud whispering just outside his bedroom door. His mother and father seemed to be arguing.

  ‘I think we should wait just a little bit longer, Robert. He may get better,’ he heard his mother whisper.

  ‘Celeste, honey, you know they won’t let him on the plane in his condition,’ said his father. ‘With all this ’flu going round, the airlines have really cracked down on sick travellers.’

  There was silence for a moment and then his mother said something quite out of character.

  ‘Well . . . perhaps we should cancel as well.’ She was willing to give up a business trip for him? Maybe James was sicker than he thought.

  Maybe I’m dying!

  His father sighed. ‘You know we can’t. This conference is important. And it’s too late to send him to your mother’s.’

  There was a moment’s pause, and then James’s mother said, ‘I’ll ring Melissa. I’m sure she won’t mind looking after him for a couple of weeks.’

  James couldn’t believe his ears. They weren’t taking him with them. He wasn’t going to see New Zealand. They were going to dump him at Darren’s place.

  A knock sounded at the door. They’re coming to tell me the bad news. James watched as the door swung open and his father stepped in, followed closely by his mother.

  ‘How are you feeling, buddy?’ said his father, gazing down at him with a sympathetic smile. He had his hands folded in front of him, as if he were at a funeral viewing the deceased.

  James struggled into an upright position, ignoring his throbbing head. ‘I can’t believe you’re not going to take me,’ he said, spitting out the words.

  ‘James . . .’ began his mother.

  ‘No! It’s not fair. I’m not that sick.’ A frenzied succession of sneezes followed and James had to wait for the room to stop spinning before he could continue. ‘I want to go with you to New Zealand.’

  ‘James, you can hardly sit up,’ said his father.

  ‘I’ll be all right.’ James wiped his nose with a tissue. ‘Please let me come with you. I don’t want to stay here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, son, but this is for your own good. Once, I flew with a cold; it felt like my head was going to explode. Even if they did let you on the plane, it wouldn’t be fair on you.’

  James turned to his mother. ‘Mum, pleeease.’ But his mother remained silent, her lips forming a tight, thin line.

  James’s father patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll take you on our next trip – promise.’

  ‘That could be ages away,’ groaned James, sliding down under the covers and pulling them over his head. He didn’t want to talk to them anymore. Stupid parents. Stupid me. Stupid whole world!

  All that night, James tried to will himself better. If he could use his mind to levitate, to fly, why couldn’t he use it to get better? He knew he could do it, he just knew it.

  FIVE

  Kurrajong, New South Wales, Australia

  Much as James tried to get better, it didn’t work. The next day reflected his mood perfectly. Wrapped in a blanket, he stared out of the kitchen window at the grey sky and drizzle-soaked landscape, waiting for the car that was coming to pick up his parents. The car and driver were being sent by Akwatronics.

  His father carried the luggage downstairs and placed it in the hall near the front door. A long black sedan pulled up in front and a tall woman dressed in a dark suit stepped out. She removed her sunglasses and adjusted her Bluetooth earpiece, but didn’t take off her driving gloves. After a quick scan of the area, she approached the front door and knocked.

  James waited a few moments and then, when he realised neither his mum or dad was going to answer the door, got up with a groan, wrapped his blanket over his shoulders and headed for the door.

  ‘Good morning, Yeoman Locke,’ said the driver in a husky voice.

  ‘Um, morning,’ said James, looking up at her, puzzled. Her weird greeting had an air of familiarity about it, but James had never met this woman before – or at least, he didn’t think he had. He politely stepped aside, inviting her in.

  She removed her driver’s cap and stepped through the doorway, having to duck her head slightly. She had a long, narrow face with full red lips, and short, slick, brown hair. She reminded James of an elegant fish – if there was such a thing.

  ‘Mum’s in the lounge and Dad’s still getting dressed,’ said James, wiping his nose with a tissue and shoving it back in his pocket.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ she asked, sounding concerned. Her rich aqua-blue eyes seemed to be assessing James’s condition with interest.

  ‘Just a cold,’ he replied, not wanting to discuss the matter.

  ‘I’ll give you some gum to chew on the plane. That will stop the headaches,’ she said, laying a gloved hand on his shoulder.

  James pulled his blanket tighter around his neck. ‘I’m not going on the plane.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Not going?’

  ‘No,’ said James, wishing she would stop talking to him. She wasn’t making him feel any better.

  She frowned. ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘I’ll tell Mum you’re here,’ said James, hoping that would put an end to the discussion. He plodded down the hall, gripping his blanket close, and entered the living room where his mother was fussing over which coat to wear on the plane. It amazed James how she could be so organized and efficient at her work but so undecided when it came to clothes. ‘The driver’s here,’ he mumbled. He sensed the woma
n was standing just behind him, so he didn’t say anything else.

  ‘Hello Cordelia,’ said his mum, smiling.

  ‘Morning, Madam,’ said Cordelia, moving further into the room. James thought he saw the driver’s lips curl just a little as she watched his mother try four coats that looked almost identical. ‘Madam, you look wonderful in that coat,’ she said as his mother tried on the first coat again.

  James eyed Cordelia appreciatively.

  His dad appeared at the door. ‘Ah, Cordelia, you’re here,’ he said. ‘I’ll just put the suitcases in the car, shall I?’ He disappeared again before anyone could answer.

  His mother finally decided on a turquoise coat.

  ‘I hear Yeoman Locke is not going to New Zealand,’ said Cordelia.

  James’s mother’s eyes nervously flicked to James for a moment. If he hadn’t been looking he would have missed it. ‘Just call him James,’ she said. ‘He’s come down with a bad cold. He can’t go.’

  James blew his nose on cue.

  ‘Will he be going to his grandmother’s?’ asked Cordelia.

  How does she know about my grandmother? wondered James.

  ‘No,’ Mum said. ‘There wasn’t time to arrange it. He’ll be staying with the Fox family.’

  ‘I see,’ said Cordelia. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘Darren’s my best friend.’ James butted in.

  ‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ his mum said. ‘We’ve known the Foxes for a long time. He’ll be well looked after.’

  Cordelia gave a small nod, but didn’t look convinced.

  ~

  When they pulled into the Foxes’ driveway, Darren was waiting on the verandah. Seeing his wide smile, James felt slightly less miserable. If he couldn’t go to New Zealand, at least he’d get to spend the time with his best friend. He stepped out of the car into the damp air and pulled his blanket tighter around him.

  ‘Hello Uncle, Mrs Locke. Nice day,’ said Darren. James’s dad wasn’t actually Darren’s uncle; Darren called all Aboriginal men “Uncle” as a sign of respect.

  ‘Darren,’ said James’s father with a nod. He retrieved a small red suitcase from the car boot.

  ‘I’ll take that, Unc,’ Darren said, reaching out for James’s bag.

  Mrs Fox, who had been more than happy to look after James when she’d heard how sick he was, appeared at the front door. She was a large woman and loved wearing floral dresses. ‘Hello, Robert, Celeste. Where’s this sick lad of yours?’ she said, even though James was standing in plain view. With his blanket feeling much heavier than it should, James slowly climbed the verandah steps. ‘Ah, there he is. Don’t worry, love. I’ve got some sure-fire remedies that’ll get you up and about in no time.’ She put an arm around him. ‘Come inside and get warm.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t stay, Melissa,’ said Robert as he and Celeste hurried up the stairs. ‘Our plane leaves in two hours.’

  ‘Thanks for taking him in at such short notice,’ said Celeste.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right. Lord knows, Darren’s around your place much too often.’ Mrs Fox shot her son a reprimanding look.

  James released a huge sneeze and then sniffled miserably. ‘Well, we’d best be off,’ said Robert, as if that was a cue. ‘You take it easy, son. And remember your manners while you’re here.’ He shook James’s hand and gave him a quick hug.

  ‘We’ll ring you tonight, as soon as we get settled in.’ His mum hugged him tight. ‘Just get better, okay?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said James, forcing a smile.

  ‘We’ll see you in two weeks.’ She kissed him on the forehead. We love you, honey.’

  James felt his cheeks flush. ‘I know,’ he mumbled. Behind him, he thought he heard a little snigger from Darren.

  As the Lockes drove away, Darren yelled out, ‘Have a nice trip!’ Then he turned to James and said in barely a whisper, ‘This is going to be great. Just follow my lead.’

  A tingle – dampened only by his soggy brain – trotted down James’s spine. Darren had a plan! This was one of the reasons he liked Darren so much; Darren always had some crazy plan or idea that usually paid off.

  ‘It’s a pity you’re only staying a few days, till you get better,’ said Darren loudly.

  Mrs Fox frowned. ‘A few days?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Darren, sounding glum. ‘He’s got to go to his gran’s when he’s well enough to travel.’

  Mrs Fox eyed the two boys suspiciously. ‘Celeste didn’t say anything about you going to your grandmother’s.’

  James looked at Darren, who widened his eyes, and then at Mrs Fox. ‘Um, Mum . . .’ he faltered. He didn’t want to lie to her, she’d always been very kind to James.

  ‘Booked an open ticket online last night,’ said Darren.

  ‘Yeah . . .’ said James, not knowing what an open ticket was.

  ‘She probably just forgot to mention it, because . . . because she’s been so busy planning her own trip,’ concluded Darren.

  ‘Yeah . . .’ said James, again. He blew his nose loudly, glancing at Darren sideways. What was Darren getting him into?

  He felt there was no way that Mrs Fox believed either of them, but she simply said, ‘Well, never mind. In the meantime, you’d better hop into bed and get some rest.’ She shooed them into the house.

  ~

  For two days, Mrs Fox fussed over James like a . . . well, like a fox with a cub. James’s mother rang the first night, as promised. She told him Auckland’s weather was colder – much colder – than expected, clearly trying to make him feel better. James didn’t hear from them the second night, or any night after that. He supposed they were too busy with their conference.

  Darren moped around the house like a tethered tiger. He’d explained his plan to James when Mrs Fox hadn’t been around, and was impatient to put it into action. The idea was that, when James recovered, he was to catch a taxi to the airport, pretending to go to his grandmother’s, then phone Mrs Fox to say thanks, making sure she could hear the sound of jet engines roaring overhead, then hop on a train and sneak back home. James would be able to stay at his own house and nobody would know. James and Darren would have the whole place to themselves, and James could practise flying without any interruptions.

  James wasn’t sure this was a good plan. But he did like the idea of being able to stay home alone. There was plenty of food and he could stay up as late as he wanted. Only thing was, what would happen if Mrs Fox rang his gran to see how he was? Or, worse still, rang his mother and told her he was at Gran’s? James hoped Darren knew what he was doing. The trouble they could end up in made his stomach tighten. This might be Darren’s craziest plan yet!

  SIX

  Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

  Erebus took the stairs two at a time. Collins, surprisingly, kept up with him.

  ‘Only twenty more floors,’ said Erebus, looking down the centre of the stairwell at the thirty floors they’d ascended.

  Collins remained silent.

  At the fiftieth floor, they stopped. ‘Let’s hope Wilson’s done his job,’ said Erebus, gripping the fire-escape door handle and pulling gently. The door opened a millimetre with a soft click. He turned to Collins. ‘The office we want is on the right at the far end of the corridor. You know what to do.’ He kept his voice low. ‘I’ll take care of the security guards.’

  Collins gave an affirmative grunt.

  Erebus focused on his watch, waiting for the second hand to make its way around the face.

  ‘In three,’ was all he said, holding up three fingers. He silently counted down, then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Collins followed and without a word headed right. Erebus made to the left, moving quickly up the corridor.

  There were two security cameras, one at each end of the main corridor, leaving no blind spots. Erebus needed to get to the control room fast and take out the guard. The other guards wouldn’t be hard to find. They patrolled the facility according to a set routine
, which Erebus had memorised. He did a hard right followed by a left and then slowed to a walk, his black calf-leather shoes inaudible against the polished linoleum floor. Ahead lay a cream door labelled ‘Security’. He knelt down, reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out a set of lock picks, and, not wasting any time, slid the first pick into the lock and then the second and closed his eyes.

  This should be easy.

  But after a few moments, Erebus’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t feel any tumblers. His expression suddenly changed when he realised the door was already unlocked. The guards were sloppy and that was dangerous. Erebus rose to his feet and opened the door.

  Inside, the guard sat with his feet up on the console and his back to the door, watching a cop show on a small television. Erebus cricked his neck as he adjusted his collar and tie and stepped into the control room. Before the guard realised that he had company, he lay unconscious on the floor.

  ‘Rest well, my friend,’ said Erebus, standing over him. He grabbed both hands and dragged the guard into an adjacent storeroom, placed him on his side and then left, locking the door behind him.

  A quick look at his watch told Erebus that guard number two should be about thirty seconds away from rounding the corner and heading back to the control room. But before he could take up his position he heard the guard’s scuffing stride. ‘And it started so well . . .’ he muttered, stopping dead. There was no time to hide. He took a few steps backward and then broke into a positive stride, hoping to give the impression of a man in a hurry. The guard rounded the corner and faltered. Erebus veered to the right, as though to walk right past him, made eye contact, smiled and said, ‘Evening.’

  The guard drew his handgun. ‘Stop!’

  ‘Whoa, big fella,’ said Erebus, raising his hands in the air. ‘No need to shoot me. I just need to get the Jourgensen file.’

  ‘What? Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Douglas from Legal. I’ll show you my card if you give me a chance.’ Erebus moved his hand very slowly toward his hip pocket, withdrew his wallet and took out a business card. He raised it at arm’s length for the guard to see. The guard stepped forward. The card read: ‘John Douglas, Legal Team’, and had the Akwatronics logo in the top right corner. This was enough for the guard to lower his gun. Three seconds later, Erebus was easing the unconscious man to the floor.