Charlie put his arm around her waist and hugged her tight. She almost screamed at the pain it blasted through her battered body.
“I do remember her, Mum. I do remember…”
His voice cracked, and his body started to shake. She pulled him closer, and her own tears flowed in abundance.
They sat weeping in each other’s arms until Charlie raised his head. His tears had trailed down his cheeks and his nose was running. He sniffed.
“I’d better get up now. I don’t want Bronwyn to come in and see I’ve been crying. Dad, too.”
Hearing his words felt like a rock in Anne’s stomach. She’d forgotten Frank, sat in the next room. If he should come in and see the two of them like this, he’d know what had been discussed and would not be happy.
Anne allowed her son to climb off her lap and return to his own chair.
“That’s right,” she said. “You have to be strong for your little sister. She needs you more than she knows. Like last night. You were a superstar!”
“What do you mean?” he asked, wiping his nose with his hand. Anne decided that a lecture about using tissues could go amiss this time, under the circumstances.
“Well, when the storm scared her last night, you were there for her.”
“I don’t think it was the storm. It was the dream.”
“Dream? What dream?” Anne wiped her own tears away and returned to preparing lunch, relieved to be talking about something else.
“It must have been a nightmare, the way she screamed when she woke up. She said something like he’s taking us away and then something about a desert. Weird, huh?”
Anne glanced at Bronwyn’s sketch in vivid crayon colours, especially the large blue eyes of the man in the bowler hat.
“Weird?” she said. “I suppose. Is your sister okay, Charlie?”
“She hasn’t said…wait. She’s coming.”
Anne turned to the worktop and tried to compose herself.
Charlie picked up his DS and in seconds the kitchen again filled with the cheery beeps of music.
Bronwyn marched in empty handed and plonked herself back in her chair. She rested her head on top of her clenched fists.
“You okay, honey?” asked Anne, concerned Frank had caught her walking past the living room and continued his rants.
“Don’t want to talk about it,” the girl moaned. She peered at her mother. “Mummy? Have you been crying?”
Anne dealt with her rising panic by laughing.
“Don’t be silly, dear. It’s these onions.”
Apparently happy with the explanation, Bronwyn nodded, lowered her eyes to the table and idly rolled a crayon around with her finger.
“I thought you were going to bring a game down for us to play. I was looking forward to a Snakes and Ladders tournament…” said Anne.
“I don’t want to go back upstairs,” said Bronwyn, rolling the crayon hard enough to send it spinning off the table and onto the floor.
“Why not?” asked Anne, once again leaving the sandwiches to sit with her children. Something seemed wrong with Bronwyn, and if Frank had anything to do with it…
“The girl keeps looking at me,” said Bronwyn.
Charlie glanced up from his DS.
“The girl?” asked Anne. “What girl?”
“The bald girl in my room. She doesn’t want to play; she just stands there watching me.”
2.
“Mum, I really don’t think you should go up there.”
“I have to, Charlie.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
Anne stared up the stairs. Charlie stood beside her. She didn’t want the thoughts spiralling around her head to take hold, to become more than a ludicrous idea and become a belief. Katie was dead. Anne watched her slip away over the months and even sat with her after she had eventually passed on. She could not be in Bronwyn’s room.
Anne didn’t believe in ghosts, but if Katie was in this house right now, it seemed the only explanation. More likely it was Bronwyn to blame; either she’d seen her own reflection or created an imaginary friend. But a bald girl? Too much of a coincidence.
The living room door opened and Frank stepped out, hands on his hips. A small plaster clung to the side of his forehead. The amount of blood had made the small nick appear far more serious.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
Anne ignored him and started up the stairs with an eager Charlie in tow. She had no time to explain to Frank what, if anything, was going on.
“I asked you a question!”
Anne reached the top of the stairs and quickened her pace. She bounded past the bathroom and darted through Bronwyn’s doorway.
The midday sun beamed in through the window of the pink room, shining onto the various toys scattered around the floor. The bed sheets were pulled back. A row of dolls, both the traditional rag-types and the modern plastic blonde bimbos, sat watching through cold, staring eyes from the child-sized desk.
Anne turned a full three-sixty degrees in the centre of the room, her gaze trying to cover every inch, searching for some sign. She examined the cupboard, behind the curtains and under the bed. Charlie stood witness.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank appeared in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.
“Bronwyn says there was a girl in here, watching her,” Charlie answered.
“Is that so?” Frank scratched his chin. “Well, I guess we know who was in the bathroom then.”
Anne closed the cupboard doors. “What do you mean, Frank?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s just trying to pass the blame. I mean, she knows she’s in trouble for coming into the bathroom, so she’s invented this imaginary girl to take the wrap!”
Anne swept a hand down her face.
“For the last time, no one was in the bathroom with you. The door was locked. Just drop it and leave the kids alone!”
“Not telling me what to do, are you?” he growled. “Again?”
Anne dropped her hand away and stepped back towards the window. She exchanged a glance with Charlie.
“N-No, I’m not. I was just saying that-”
“Where is she?”
“Please Frank, something scared her and-”
“Where is she?” he yelled.
“Here,” said Bronwyn, stepping around Frank to join her family in the bedroom. She walked to the corner and waved her arms around, like someone searching for a light switch in the dark. “Where is she?”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Stop making up such stupid stories,” Frank roared.
“But Daddy, there was a girl in here. She was stood over here. I asked her why she didn’t have any hair, but she wouldn’t talk to me.”
“What do you mean didn’t have any hair?” asked Frank, his fists clenched.
“Frank, please calm down.”
“No, I will not calm down,” he shouted back at Anne. “I want to hear what our daughter has to say. Go on Bronwyn, tell us more about this bald girl.”
“She was in white, and had red around her mouth, like when my lips go dry.”
“How dare you!” Frank screamed at her. Bronwyn jumped back against the bed. “How dare you make up stories about your sister. You selfish little bitch!”
Anne stepped between them.
“Frank, calm down. Please just calm down.”
“Calm down? After what she just said?”
“She can’t mean Katie, Frank! She wasn’t even born when she died. She doesn’t know about the cancer, or the chemo, or any of it.”
Frank slowly turned his head to Charlie, teeth clenched.
“Then it was you. You put these ideas in her head. I thought you would have more respect.”
Charlie stared into his father’s hungry eyes and shook his head frantically.
“I-I didn’t d-do…”
“I will deal with you shortly, smart guy. But first, I’m going to do something that’s long overdue. Bronwyn. Ge
t over here this instant!”
Bronwyn shook her head and inched away from her father.
“Don’t make me come over there…”
His sudden movement took Anne by surprise, and she tensed as he covered the distance to Bronwyn in two large strides. He grabbed her tightly by the wrist. She cried out.
“Tell the truth!”
Bronwyn bawled.
“Frank!”
“Dad, no!” Charlie cried.
“There was a girl!” Bronwyn wailed.
Frank whipped her around and raised his other arm. He brought his hand snapping down onto her backside. The resounding slap! bounced off the walls in the small room.
“Tell!”
Slap!
“The!”
Slap!
“Truth!”
Slap!
Bronwyn shrieked with each blow, hysterical in her father’s grip. The noise of each slap followed by the cry of her daughter snapped Anne out of her terrified trance. She leapt across the carpet, forcing herself between Frank and Bronwyn.
“Get off her!”
Slap!
Anne pulled Frank’s hand away from Bronwyn’s wrist, but his grip proved too strong. She beat him in the chest and shoulders in frustration.
“Let go of her,” she screamed.
Charlie rushed to Bronwyn’s rescue, banging his fists against his father’s back.
“Dad! No!”
Frank snarled and elbowed Anne out of his way. She sagged against the wall. He shoved Charlie. The boy fell back, colliding with the desk. Dolls toppled to the floor.
“Damn you all,” Frank cried.
Bronwyn hung by her wrist. Her knees had buckled, and only Frank’s strong grasp kept her upright. He dropped her, and she quickly scooted across the carpet to curl up the corner.
“Damn you all,” he hissed again, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. He turned and strode out of the room without looking back.
“Kids, come here, please come here…”
Her back against a wall, Anne outstretched her arms. Charlie, clutching his head, crawled to her and fell against her side.
“Bronwyn, come here darling…”
The child lay rigid in the corner, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. Her fear had descended beyond crying, and her body trembled. She released a series of small whimpers.
“It’s okay, he’s gone now, come to Mummy…”
Bronwyn stayed still. She stroked the carpet with her fingers.
Anne was worried Bronwyn may have slipped into shock, or that her mind had simply shut down to cope with the trauma. It was like looking at a mental patient locked in their own, private world, a place where Anne could not reach her.
Far From Narnia
1.
Jenny Dean watched Frank’s car as it sped away down Penny Crescent. She waved her arms, flapping wings of fat.
“Please! Someone help me!”
At the Harper house, the front door stood open where Frank had stormed out. She considered dashing in and using the phone to call the emergency services.
Movement in an upstairs window caught her eye.
Anne stood behind the glass with her two children by her sides. She had an arm around each of them. The boy cried, but the girl stared out like a zombie.
“Help!” Jenny cried up at her, waving her arms again and almost jumping on the spot.
Anne turned and taking her children with her, moved away from the window.
“Somebody,” Jenny screamed. “Help my boys!”
The front door of the McGuire house creaked open, and Eleanor stepped out onto the porch.
“Thank God.” Jenny ran over, already sweating. Her throat burned from shouting. She leaned on the sports car to steady herself, doubled over in exhaustion. She sucked in quick, wheezing breaths.
“Have…you…got a …phone?” she managed to ask through her panting.
“Jenny?” said Eleanor. “Whatever is the matter, dear?”
“The…boys…” She waved her other arm in the general direction of her house. “It’s…the boys…”
“You wait right there. Get your breath back,” said Eleanor. She stepped into the hall through the front door. “Joseph!”
A distant reply sounded from somewhere within the house.
“Joseph,” she called again. “Come here. Quickly.”
A few seconds later, a man in his late twenties emerged from the house, blinking in the bright sunlight.
“Joseph, please go with Jenny back to her house.”
“Why?” he said. “What’s happened?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” said Eleanor. “She hasn’t said yet.”
Joe glanced at Jenny, who had all but passed out on the bonnet of his car, and back to his grandmother.
“I’m not so sure about this…”
“Go.” She shooed him away with both hands.
Jenny raised her head as Joe stepped off the porch. She flopped off the car and trotted back towards her house. Her arms pumped through the air.
2.
Joe grimaced at the sight of the swinging fat under Jenny’s arms.
She goes any faster, she could fly back, he thought with nasty glee.
He quickly caught her up and dropped to a jog to keep pace.
“Jenny, is it?”
She nodded.
“You’re going to have to calm down. Take a breath.”
“No…time…” she said, finding a hidden energy reserve from somewhere deep inside and bursting into a run. She dashed down her drive, over the aged and faded splatter of green paint on the tarmac, and through her open front door.
With reluctance, Joe followed.
The inside of the house was as he expected. Rubbish sat in piles in each room he passed. The hall looked like it hadn’t been decorated in years, with entire strips of wallpaper either hanging down or torn off completely. A large mirror stood dusty and cracked. The stench overwhelmed: a sickening mix of chips, kebabs, stale beer and cigarette smoke. He presumed the blame lay with the twins.
Jenny started up the stairs, her feet thundering on the worn carpet. Behind her, Joe’s eyes were at the same level as her wide rear, which seemed to be trying to beat its way out of her jeans. He decided to look downwards for the rest of the ascent.
What if all this is a ploy to get me upstairs? I doubt she’s had any for a while, and if I end up being led into her bedroom…
He smiled.
No, that’s stupid. The woman’s obviously been panicked by something. What have those two bastards done? Bust a water pipe? Started a fire? I bet this is a medical emergency, one of them dead from taking a pill or something. What the hell she wants me to do about it, I don’t know…
Jenny reached the top of the stairs and turned around the bend in the landing, using the banister to swing her body around. Joe followed her into the room at the end: her bedroom.
Oh dear God no! I was only joking.
The room appeared ransacked. A chest of drawers had been emptied, all the clothes thrown on the floor. A dresser by the far wall looked swept clear, all the toiletries and trinkets scattered on the carpet. The room stank of perfume from a few overturned bottles. Joe found the sharp tang almost refreshing compared to the rest of the house.
Jenny flustered by a wardrobe, wrapping her arms around it as if in embrace.
“Boys? Are you still all right? I’ve brought help.”
The wardrobe wobbled slightly.
“Mum! Get us the fuck out of here right now!” said a muffled voice from within.
“They’re both in there,” said Jenny. “You have to get them out!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She sidestepped out of Joe’s way.
He gripped the handle of the wardrobe door and pulled. The door refused to budge.
“Have you got the key to this?” he asked, spying the hole in the wood.
“There isn’t one.”
“What do you mean there isn’t one? It�
��s been locked, hasn’t it?”
“The key’s been missing for years. Only my husband knew where it was!” She fanned herself.
Joe rolled his eyes.
“Then how is it locked now?”
“I don’t know. Just help them!”
Joe sighed and turned back to the wardrobe. He ran his finger along the edge of the door.
“I think I can prise this open. Have you got anything like a crowbar?”
Jenny shook her head.
“A spade, then?”
“Erm…I think so.”
“Then go get it. If you can’t find one, go back to my grandmother. We have one in the shed.”
Jenny nodded and hurried out of the room.
Joe leaned against the side of the wardrobe and chuckled. Who would have thought it? The notorious Dean twins trapped in a wardrobe! He couldn’t wait to tell his grandmother.
“Hey boys,” he chortled. “Got ourselves into quite a scrape this time, haven’t we?”
He felt a small tremor run through the wood as one of them moved. Joe pressed his ear against the side.
“Who is that?” whispered one of the twins.
“I don’t know, do I?” the other replied.
Joe’s smile dropped into a sneer.
“I’ll tell you who it is. It’s the grandson of the old woman you tried to rob.” His voice rose to a shout. “I should let you rot in there for what you did!”
A loud thud rang out from inside. Joe snatched his head away, guessing one of them had punched the wood.
“Fuck you!”
“Now, now. That’s not very polite,” Joe mocked. “Maybe I should just go. I think it might take your mother a long time to get you out of there on her own, and that’s more than you deserve!”
He heard more whispering before another series of blows against the door.
“We don’t need you. Just piss off in your flash car. Fuck off to the shit hole you crawled out of!”
Joe kicked the wardrobe.
“Fine by me!”
He turned to leave as Jenny burst in carrying a hefty-looking spade.
“I got one. Quick!”
Joe shook his head and tried to walk past her. She held out the spade and blocked his exit.
The Collector Book One: Mana Leak Page 11
