by Maz Evans
Elliot looked up at the malevolent cloud above him. What he had done was bad enough.
But what was about to happen? That didn’t bear thinking about.
7. Father for Justice
Graham Sopweed was having a very, very bad week. His nerves were shredded. Even though it was Saturday, the phone had barely stopped ringing all morning. For days he and Ms Givings, the school welfare officer, had been trying to piece together what had been going on in the Hooper household. And more importantly, where Elliot had disappeared to now.
It had been three days since the death of Josie Hooper and Elliot hadn’t been seen since he left the hospital. It was his father – recently released on parole from prison – who had reported him missing. The police’s first theory was that a grief-stricken child had simply run away and would come back when he’d calmed down. But Elliot hadn’t come back. And now other, darker theories were starting to surface. Graham had received three calls that morning from national newspapers who could smell an impending tragedy. Word was starting to spread about the missing boy from Little Motbury. But Elliot Hooper had vanished into thin air.
The headmaster paced nervously around his office for the hundredth time. This was his fault. How had he missed the signs? Elliot had been tired, distracted, late, his clothes didn’t fit him, he had withdrawn from all his friends . . . Brysmore Grammar School had failed him terribly. And Call Me Graham knew it.
And now he had to explain all of this to Elliot’s father.
Graham winced as the grandfather clock in his office struck 11 a.m. He still had no idea what to say to David Hooper. It had taken this long to persuade him to meet at all – Mr Hooper had been tirelessly scouring the countryside for his son. But he was going to have to say something.
Right on cue, there was a firm knock on the door.
‘Do come in,’ Graham answered, tripping on the rug as he stood up to greet his visitor.
The door opened and Graham gasped. Standing before him was a man who could be Elliot’s older self. The resemblance was staggering – right down to the wary blue eyes and drawn, pale face. Both of them had been through so much.
‘Mr Sopweed,’ said Dave quietly.
‘Mr Hooper,’ Graham replied, feebly offering a handshake. ‘And please, call me Graham.’
Dave took a seat. He ran his hands anxiously down his legs, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers. Call Me Graham’s heart grew heavier just looking at Dave Hooper. This was a man whose soul was broken. The headmaster took his seat behind the desk.
‘Mr Hooper,’ he began softly, ‘firstly can I just express our sincerest condolences from all here at Brysmore for your loss.’
‘Which one?’ said Dave Hooper quickly. Graham flinched at the barb.
‘I only met your wife on a few occasions,’ Graham continued. ‘She was a lovely lady.’
‘The best,’ said Dave, his voice cracking slightly as his fingers crept on to the desk as if they too needed support.
Call Me Graham swallowed back the tears that were rising in his throat. He refused to let them out. After everything Dave Hooper had lost, it would be insulting to cry in front of him.
‘I would like to assure you that we are doing everything in our power to assist the authorities in finding Elliot,’ Call Me Graham continued. ‘We will do anything we can to help.’
‘If your school had done more to help, we might not be here,’ said Dave Hooper softly, his eyes meeting Graham’s for the first time. The pain they revealed was almost unbearable. This man didn’t need a headmaster. He needed a human being.
‘I . . . I . . . I am so, so sorry,’ Graham said softly. He reached over the desk and placed his hand over Dave’s.
Dave drew a sharp breath. He pulled his hand away.
‘I – I just need to understand,’ he said eventually. ‘How did you not realize? How did Elliot keep Josie’s . . . condition a secret from you all for so long? Surely you must have known?’
‘Mr Hooper, I can assure that the moment we discovered Mrs Hooper’s illness, we took immediate steps to safeguard your son,’ Graham gabbled. ‘But, as we all now know, the gentleman we believed to be you—’
‘Wasn’t me,’ Dave said. ‘I know. I have no idea what has been going on. And right now, I don’t care. I just want my son back.’
‘Of course,’ Graham said softly.
A hammering on the door broke the steely tension in the room. Even though Graham knew who was on the other side, for once he was grateful for his arrival.
‘Ah – that’ll be Mr B-boil,’ stammered the headmaster. ‘I’ve called him in as I’m hoping he may be able to shed some light. Come in!’
The door swung open and Mr Boil staggered in. Graham was taken aback – even though Mr Boil was hardly the most . . . highly groomed of individuals, he was looking terrible. None of his chins was shaved, his clothes were dirty and his customary vegetable-soup odour was stronger than ever – and the vegetables had clearly gone off.
‘Mr Boil, this is Mr Hooper. Elliot’s father,’ Graham began.
Boil sneered in Dave’s direction. Graham was mortified. He could feel a long-forgotten sensation bubble up in his chest. He tried to ignore it. There were more important matters at hand.
‘Mr Boil, thank you for joining us on your day off,’ Graham began.
‘Not like I had much choice,’ complained Boil.
Graham winced.
‘We are trying to find out anything – anything at all – that might give us a clue as to Elliot’s whereabouts,’ he continued. ‘Do you know anything, Lance? Anything whatsoever that might help us?’
‘No,’ Boil grunted.
‘Er, Mr Boil,’ Graham said, his voice rising slightly, as did the bubble in his chest. ‘I’m sure you don’t need me to make you aware of the seriousness of the situation. A thirteen-year-old boy, one of our own, is missing. You spent a lot of time with him as his form teacher last year – can you think of anywhere he might go?’
‘No,’ Boil repeated.
‘Anyone, then?’ Graham continued quickly, feeling his feeble grasp of the situation loosening. ‘What about the neighbour – Mrs . . . Norseman’s-Tum?’
‘Porshley-Plum,’ said Dave, with trembling breath. ‘And don’t mention that woman’s name in my presence.’
‘Mine neither,’ Boil grumbled. ‘Two-faced cow. Never trust anyone in tweed.’
‘Trust her with what?’ Graham asked. ‘Mr Boil, if there is anything you can tell us?’
‘I told you already. N—’
But before Mr Boil could utter another syllable, Dave Hooper had sprung out of his chair, launched himself at the deputy headmaster and pinned him up against the wall by his stinking shirt.
‘Mr Hooper!’ Graham wailed.
‘Help!’ Boil quavered.
‘Now listen to me,’ Dave Hooper spat at Boil. ‘I’ve lost my wife. I’ve lost my parents. I’ve lost my home. I’ve lost the last ten years of my life. And now I’ve lost my son. The only thing that is stopping me from losing my mind is the thought that Elliot is out there alive and well. And that I will find him. So if you know something, anything, that might make that happen sooner, you need to start talking. Or, so help me God, I will happily go back to prison because of what I’m about to do to you.’
Dave released his grip on Boil and let him crumple to the floor. He returned calmly to his chair and sat down. Boil crawled to his seat and did the same.
‘All right,’ he snorted. ‘All I know is that Horse’s-Bum wanted your farm. So when she told me about your wife’s . . . situation . . .’
‘What?’ whispered Graham.
‘The mother – Mrs Hooper,’ said Boil, looking shiftily in Dave’s direction. ‘Patricia found out she was . . . unwell.’
‘And she told you?’ Graham gasped. ‘When?’
Boil looked at his scuffed shoes.
‘February,’ he growled.
‘And you didn’t feel the need to immediately report it to me?
’ said Graham quietly, the sensation in his chest not so much bubbling now as boiling.
‘No,’ Boil mumbled.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ said Graham, seeing Dave Hooper’s fists clench once again. ‘You knew that a young adolescent – one of our students – was caring for a seriously unwell parent, that his home was under threat – and you chose not to share this information with any of us who were in a position to help him?’
‘No,’ Boil replied. ‘You see, the thing was—’
And before he knew it, Boil found himself violently wrenched from his chair and pinned up against the wall once again. But not by David Hooper.
By Graham Sopweed.
‘HOW DARE YOU!’ the headmaster screamed in a fury. ‘HOW DARE YOU LETYOUR OWN CHILDISH VENDETTA GET IN THE WAY OF A STUDENT’S WELLBEING! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE BRYSMORE NAME! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE NAME OF TEACHING! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO YOURSELF, AND YOU ARE LUCKY I DON’T LAYYOU OUT HERE AND NOW!!!’
‘Graham, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,’ Boil blubbered. ‘Please, Graham, just listen to me. Graham—’
‘YOU CAN CALL ME MR SOPWEED!’ yelled Graham, dropping Boil to the floor in a snotty heap.
The headmaster took some panting breaths. He imagined this was how a volcano felt after it had erupted. And it felt good.
He turned to face Dave Hooper, who managed a smile. He smoothed down his cardigan and returned to his desk.
‘Mr Hooper,’ he began, his voice calm and even. ‘In light of this new information, Mr Boil will be immediately suspended, pending a full investigation. I will deal with him in due course. In the meantime, our sole priority will be finding your son. I will be closing Brysmore with immediate effect so that all our staff and families can join the search for Elliot, and we will not rest until he is found. Where can I contact you?’
‘I’m staying with Reg, the postman, and his wife in the village,’ Dave said, shooting a death stare at Boil. ‘I’m currently between addresses while I mount a legal challenge to reclaim my home.’
‘I see,’ said Graham, rising to shake Dave’s hand firmly. His legs felt stronger than they had in a long time. ‘We will find him, Mr Hooper. Elliot is a good boy. And I swear to you, once he is back safely, we will do whatever it takes to make everything up to him. And to you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dave.
‘We will find him,’ Graham asserted. ‘I promise.’
Dave Hooper nodded and made his way quietly out of the office.
Call Me Graham looked down at the simpering heap of history teacher on his carpet.
‘Graham – Mr Sopweed . . .’ Boil wailed.
‘Lance?’
‘Y-y-yes?’ Boil replied.
‘Shut up,’ said Graham.
And, stepping over his former deputy, Graham strode out of his office, determined to find Elliot Hooper and get him home to his father.
8. Call to Arms
‘You’ve got what you wanted,’ Elliot muttered, trying to block out the swarm of Daemons screeching gleefully overhead. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
Thanatos watched contentedly as his army filled the sky with their celebrations. He pulled the pocket watch from his robes and opened the case to stare lovingly at the Chaos Stone once more.
‘Absolutely,’ he said, snapping the lid shut. ‘A deal is a deal. But there’s just one more thing I want to show you.’
‘I just want—’
‘It won’t take long,’ Thanatos said casually, leading Elliot away from the Daemons. They walked back towards the Phlegethon and Thanatos’s office – but before they reached either, Thanatos headed into a warren of tunnels that glowed a dull red. Elliot followed him, feeling the heat intensify with every step. They had not gone far before Elliot pulled up, sweat running down his face.
‘I can’t,’ he panted. ‘Too . . . hot.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Thanatos, stopping a few paces ahead. ‘I forget that your feeble mortal body can’t withstand this heat. Shame – I wanted to show you just how helpful you’ve been.’
‘What’s down there?’ asked Elliot, wiping his sodden forehead with his sodden T-shirt.
‘The Earth’s core,’ declared Thanatos with a flourish. ‘You see, even with the Chaos Stone, it would take me a while to visit natural disasters on every part of the Earth.’
‘I’m sure they can wait,’ panted Elliot, crouching to the floor. He could barely breathe for the heat.
‘But I can’t,’ said Thanatos, looming over him. ‘I’ve waited long enough. You see, the Earth’s core is like the beating heart of the world. If I attack that, it will feed into every part of the world above. In one fell swoop, I can unleash the elemental power of the Chaos Stone on the whole planet . . . and still be finished for lunchtime. Clever, aren’t I?’
‘Genius,’ said Elliot. ‘But you said you wouldn’t harm me and Mum.’
‘True,’ said Thanatos. ‘Out of deference to you, I intend to leave Great Britain alone. I like it there. It’s damp. Dingy. Grumpy. I feel quite at home.’
Elliot pulled himself up to standing again. He stared defiantly at Thanatos.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Just give me my mum back.’
‘Of course,’ said Thanatos simply. ‘Follow me.’
Elliot hesitated. Surely, after everything, Thanatos wasn’t going to make it this easy for him? But he followed the Daemon regardless. What choice did he have?
‘It’s quite simple,’ the Daemon of Death announced, leading Elliot to the pathway that Virgo had walked out of an hour earlier. ‘All you need to do is lead her back to the Earth. Before sunset. But you’ve got plenty of time. Off you go.’
‘And?’ Elliot said, trying not to betray his impatience. He just wanted Josie back where she belonged.
‘And . . . that’s it,’ shrugged Thanatos. ‘The moment her soul returns to the Earth, she will re-form as the same person she was when she left it. Just how she was.’
‘You swear it?’
Thanatos paused, a smile frozen on his lips.
‘You really are very suspicious for one so young,’ the Daemon said.
‘I’ve not met many people I can trust,’ Elliot replied.
Thanatos threw his head back and roared with laughter.
‘Ain’t that the truth?’ he said eventually. ‘I mean, just look at it. Everyone you’ve ever known has let you down. Your teachers. Your neighbour. The Gods. Your father . . .’
Elliot strengthened the dam within. He wasn’t going to let Thanatos get to him. Not now. He just needed to get out of here. Once he had Mum back, none of those other people mattered.
‘You really have been most unlucky,’ Thanatos sighed. His eyes narrowed and honed in on Elliot’s. ‘Tell me – what’s your father like?’
‘He’s a loser,’ Elliot spat. ‘I wouldn’t waste my breath.’
‘We’re nearly ready,’ smiled Nyx, fluttering down from the office above, Hermes’s bag slung across her shoulder. ‘Everything is in place. And that’s no way to talk about your father, young man.’
‘That’s my bag,’ said Elliot. ‘Give it back.’
‘Yes, it does seem rather harsh,’ Thanatos drawled as Nyx landed beside him. ‘After all, you don’t even know the man . . .’
‘I know enough,’ said Elliot, a fierce rage burning in the pit of his guts.
Thanatos and Nyx exchanged a look that Elliot couldn’t understand, but knew he didn’t like.
‘Ah – parents,’ Thanatos sighed again. ‘So complex. I know that Mother and I have had our moments over the millennia.’
Nyx smiled with unbridled evil. What was she so pleased about?
‘I’ll be honest, most parents you can’t trust as far as you can spit them,’ said Thanatos. ‘You should know.’
‘Shut up,’ Elliot glowered, his fists clenching by his side.
‘Oh, forgive me. I don’t mean your sainted mother,’ Thanatos said quickly. ‘By all accounts, she was one of the good ones. Your
father, though – he sounds like trouble. What was it he said to you?’
Elliot shut his eyes and pushed down the memory of his father’s cruel rejection at the door of Home Farm, the house he had sold from beneath Elliot’s and Josie’s feet to the wicked Patricia Porshley-Plum.
I just don’t want him.
The words echoed around his tired mind, as they had since the moment he heard them. The dam strained.
‘I can’t remember,’ Elliot replied darkly. ‘Just give me my mum.’
‘Oh, come on now, it sounded just awful,’ said Thanatos. ‘Mother – perhaps you can help us out?’
‘But of course,’ said Nyx, the evil smile fixed on her lips. She wrapped her black wings around her body and was immediately enveloped by a thick plume of black smoke.
‘You’re evil,’ came Zeus’s voice ringing through the air. ‘No father turns his back on his family. You don’t deserve him.’
‘What?’ said Elliot, looking around for the King of the Gods. ‘What is this? I don’t . . .’
But the words froze in his mouth as the smoke cleared around Nyx. Standing in her place was Dave Hooper.
‘No,’ she said, sounding exactly like Dave. ‘I just don’t want him.’
The world stopped turning for a moment as Elliot’s heart and mind whirled in his confused body.
‘It-it was you?’ he stammered. ‘You were my . . . you sent Mum . . . it was all you?’
Nyx returned to her normal form and took a small bow.
‘At your service,’ she said, her smile wider than ever. ‘Son.’
‘YOU EVIL . . . EVIL . . . WITCH!’
All the rage in Elliot’s soul boiled out of his mouth at the Goddess of the Night, who merely stood and cackled at his anger. He charged towards her, ready to tear her apart for what she had put him and his mother through. He was empowered with all the rage of a person who has nothing left to lose.
But just as he was about to grab hold of Nyx, she leapt up and began flying jubilantly through the air, leaving Elliot a crumpled heap on the ground.
Thanatos knelt down beside him.
‘Parents, eh?’ the Daemon whispered in his ear. ‘Can’t live with ’em. Can’t kill ’em.’
