by Darren Shan
Tommy shook his head uncertainly. He'd grown up to be a very large man, tall and broad, with huge hands and bulging muscles. His black hair was receding prematurely — he'd be bald in a few more years. But despite his physical presence, his eyes were soft. He was a gentle man. The idea of letting a child fake his death and be buried alive was repulsive to him.
"What's done is done," I said. "Maybe my parents should have searched for another way. But they had my best interests at heart. Hope was offered and they seized it, regardless of the terrible price."
"Did Annie know?" Tommy asked.
"No. We never told her." I guessed Tommy had no way of contacting my parents directly, to check out my story, but he could have gone to Annie. I had to sidetrack him.
"Not even afterwards?" Tommy asked.
"I talked about it with Mum and Dad — we keep in touch and meet up every few years — but we never felt the time was right. Annie had her own problems, having a baby so young."
"That was tough," Tommy agreed. "I was still living here. I didn't know her very well, but I heard all about it."
"That must have been just before your football career took off," I said, leading him away from talk about me. We discussed his career after that, some of the big matches he'd been involved in, what he planned to do when he retired. He wasn't married but he had two kids from a previous relationship, when he'd lived abroad.
"I only get to see them a couple of times a year and during the summer," he said sadly. "I hope to move over there when I quit football, to be closer to them."
Most of the performers, crew and guests had departed by this stage. Harkat had seen me talking with Tommy and made a sign asking if I wanted him to stick around. I signalled back that I was OK and he'd left with the others. A few people still sat and talked softly in the tent, but nobody was near Tommy and me.
Talk turned to the past and our old friends. Tommy told me Alan Morris had become a scientist. "Quite a famous one too," he said. "He's a geneticist — big into cloning. A controversial area, but he's convinced it's the way forward."
"As long as he doesn't clone himself!" I laughed. "One Alan Morris is enough!"
Tommy laughed too. Alan had been a close friend of ours, but he could be a bit of a pain at times.
"I've no idea what Steve's up to," Tommy said, and the laughter died on my lips. "He left home at sixteen. Ran off without a word to anyone. I've spoken to him on the phone a few times, but I've only seen him once since then, about ten years ago. He returned home for a few months when his mother died."
"I didn't know she was dead," I said. "I'm sorry. I liked Steve's Mum."
"He sold off the house and all her effects. He shared an apartment with Alan for a while. That was before…" Tommy stopped and glanced at me oddly. "Have you seen Steve since you left?"
"No," I lied.
"You don't know anything about him?"
"No," I lied again.
"Nothing at all?" Tommy pressed.
I forced a chuckle. "Why are you so concerned about Steve?"
Tommy shrugged. "He got into some trouble the last time he was here. I thought you might have heard about it from your parents."
"We don't discuss the past," I said, elaborating on the lie I'd concocted. I leant forward curiously. "What did Steve do?" I asked, wondering if it was in any way linked to his vampaneze activities.
"Oh, I don't rightly remember," Tommy said, shifting uncomfortably — he was lying. "It's old history. Best not to bring it up. You know what Steve was like, always in one form of trouble or another."
"That's for sure," I muttered. Then my eyes narrowed. "You said you've talked to him on the phone?"
"Yeah. He rings every so often, asks what I'm up to, says nothing about what he's doing, then hangs up!"
"When was the last time he rang?"
Tommy thought about it. "Two, maybe three years ago. A long time."
"Have you a contact number for him?"
"No."
A shame. I'd thought for a moment that Tommy might be my path back to Steve, but it seemed he wasn't.
"What's the time?" Tommy asked. He looked at his watch and groaned. "If my manager finds out how late I've been out, he'll sack me! Sorry, Darren, but I really have to go."
"That's OK," I smiled, standing to shake his hand.
"Maybe we could meet up again after the match?"
"Yeah!" Tommy exclaimed. "I'm not travelling back with the team — I'm staying here for the night, to see some relatives. You can come to the hotel after the game and… Actually, how'd you like to come see me play?"
"At the semi-final?" My eyes lit up. "I'd love to. But didn't I hear you telling Jekkus the tickets were sold out?"
"Jekkus?" Tommy frowned.
"The guy with the knives — your number-one fan."
"Oh." Tommy grimaced. "I can't give away tickets to all my fans. But family and friends are a different story."
"I wouldn't be sitting near anyone who knew me, would I?" I asked. "I don't want the truth about me going any further — Annie might hear about it."
"I'll get you a seat away from the others," Tommy promised. Then he paused. "You know, Annie's not a girl any more. I saw her a year ago, the last time I was here for a match. She struck me as being very level-headed. Maybe it's time to tell her the truth."
"Maybe," I smiled, knowing I wouldn't.
"I really think you should," Tommy pressed. "It would be a shock, like it was for me, but I'm sure she'd be delighted to know you're alive and well."
"We'll see," I said.
I walked Tommy out of the tent, through the campsite and stadium tunnels to where his car was parked. I bid him goodnight at the car, but he stopped before getting in and stared at me seriously. "We must talk some more about Steve tomorrow," he said.
My heart skipped a beat. "Why?" I asked as casually as I could.
"There are things you should know. I don't want to get into them now — it's too late — but I think…" He trailed off into silence, then smiled. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. It might help you make up your mind about some other things."
And on that cryptic note he said farewell. He promised to send over a ticket in the morning, gave me his hotel name and mobile number, shook my hand one last time, got into his car and drove away.
I stood outside the walls of the stadium a long while, thinking about Tommy, Annie and the past — and wondering what he'd meant when he said we needed to talk some more about Steve.
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
When I told Harkat about the match, he reacted with automatic suspicion. "It's a trap," he said. "Your friend is an ally of… Steve Leonard."
"Not Tommy," I said with absolute certainty. "But I've a feeling he might in some way be able to direct us to him, or set us on his trail."
"Do you want me to come with… you to the match?" Harkat asked.
"You wouldn't be able to get in. Besides," I laughed, "there'll be tens of thousands of people there. In a crowd like that, I think I'll be safe!"
The ticket was delivered by courier and I set off in good time for the match. I arrived an hour before kickoff. A huge crowd milled around outside the stadium. People were singing and cheering, decked out in their club colours, buying drinks, hot dogs and burgers from the street vendors. Troops of police kept a close watch on the situation, making sure rival fans didn't clash.
I mingled for a while, strolling around the stadium, relishing the atmosphere. I bought a hot dog, a match programme, and a hat with Tommy's picture on it, sporting the slogan, "He's not unusual!" There were lots of hats and badges dedicated to Tommy. There were even CDs by the singer Tom Jones, with photos of Tommy taped across the covers!
I took my seat twenty minutes before kickoff. I had a great view of the floodlit pitch. My seat was in the middle of the stadium, just a few rows behind the dugouts. The teams were warming up when I arrived. I got a real buzz out of seeing Tommy in one of the goals, stopping practice shots. To thin
k one of my friends was playing in a cup semi-final! I'd come a long way since childhood and put most of my human interests behind me. But my love of football came flooding back as I sat, gazing down at Tommy, and I felt a ball of pure childish excitement build in the pit of my stomach.
The teams left the pitch to get ready for kickoff, then re-emerged a few minutes later. All the seats in the stadium had been filled and there was a huge cheer as the players marched out. Most people stood up, clapping and hollering. The ref tossed a coin to decide which way the teams would play, then the captains shook hands, the players lined up, the ref blew his whistle, and the match got underway.
It was a brilliant game. Both teams went all-out for the win. Tackles flew in fast and hard. Play shifted from one end to the other, both sides attacking in turn. There were lots of chances to score. Tommy made some great saves, as did the other keeper. A couple of players blasted wide or over the bar from good positions, to a chorus of jeers and groans. After forty-three minutes, the teams seemed like they'd be heading in level at half-time. But then there was a quick break, a defender slipped, a forward had a clear shot at goal, and he sent the ball flying into the left corner of the net, past the outstretched fingers of a flailing Tom Jones.
Tommy and his team-mates looked dejected as they trudged off at half-time, but their fans — and the locals who'd come to cheer for Tommy — kept on singing, "One-nil down, two-one up, that's the way to win the cup!"
I went to get a drink but the size of the queue was frightening — the more experienced fans had slipped out just before the half-time whistle. I walked around to stretch my legs, then returned to my seat.
Although they were a goal down, Tommy's team looked the more confident when they came out after the break. They attacked from the start of the half, knocking their opponents off the ball, pushing them back, driving hard for goal. The game grew heated and three players were booked within the first quarter of an hour. But their new found hunger was rewarded in the sixty-fourth minute when they scored a scrappy goal from a corner to pull level.
The stadium erupted when Tommy's team scored. I was one of the thousands who leapt from their seats and punched the air with joy. I even joined in with the song to the silenced fans of the other team, "You're not singing, you're not singing, you're not singing any more!"
Five minutes later, I was chanting even louder when, from another corner, the team scored again to go two-one up. I found myself hugging the guy next to me — a total stranger! — and jumping up and down with glee. I could hardly believe I was behaving this way. What would the Vampire Generals say if they saw a Prince acting so ridiculously!
The rest of the game was a tense affair. Now that they were a goal down, the other team had to attack in search of an equalizer. Tommy's team-mates were forced further back inside their own half. There were dozens of desperate defensive tackles, lots of free kicks, more yellow cards. But they were holding out. Tommy had to make a few fairly easy saves, but apart from that his goal wasn't troubled. With six minutes to go, the win looked safe.
Then, in virtually an action replay of the first goal, a player slipped free of his defender and found himself in front of goal, with only Tommy to beat. Once again the ball was struck firmly and accurately. It streaked towards the lower left corner of the net. The striker turned away to celebrate.
But he'd reacted too soon. Because this time, somehow, Tommy got down and across, and managed to get a few fingers to the ball. He only barely connected, but it was enough to tip the ball out around the post.
The crowd went wild! They were chanting Tommy's name and singing, "It's not unusual, he's the greatest number one!" Tommy ignored the songs and stayed focused on the corner, directing his defenders. But the save had sapped the other team of their spirit, and though they kept coming forward for the final few minutes, they didn't threaten to score again.
When the whistle blew, Tommy's team wearily embraced each other, then shook their opponents' hands and swapped jerseys. After that they saluted their fans, acknowledging their support. We were all on our feet, applauding, singing victory songs, a lot of them about the incredible Tom Jones.
Tommy was one of the last players to leave the pitch. He'd swapped his jersey with his opposite number and the pair were walking off together, discussing the game. I roared Tommy's name as he came level with the dugouts, but of course he couldn't hear me over the noise of the crowd.
Just as Tommy was about to vanish down the tunnel to the dressing-rooms, a commotion broke out. I heard angry yells, then several sharp bangs. Most of the people around me didn't know what was happening. But I'd heard these sounds before — gunfire!
I couldn't see down the tunnel from where I was, but I saw Tommy and the other goalkeeper stop, confused, then back away from the tunnel entrance. I immediately sensed danger. "Tommy!" I screamed, then knocked aside the people nearest me and forced my way down towards the pitch. Before I got there, a steward reeled out of the tunnel, blood pouring from his face. When the people in front of me saw that, they panicked. Turning, they pushed away from the pitch, halting my advance and forcing me back.
As I struggled to break free, two figures darted out of the tunnel. One was a shaven-headed, shotgun-toting vampet with a disfigured, half-blown-away face. The other was a bearded, purple-skinned, crazy vampaneze with silver and gold hooks instead of hands.
Morgan James and R. V!
I screamed with fresh fear when I saw the murderous pair, and shoved aside everyone around me, drawing upon the full extent of my vampiric powers. But before I could bruise a way through, R.V. homed in on his target. He bounded past the dugouts, ignored the players, coaching staff and stewards on the pitch, and bore down on a startled Tom Jones.
I don't know what flashed through Tommy's mind when he saw the burly, purple monster streaking towards him. Maybe he thought it was a practical joke, or a weird fan coming to hug him. Either way, he didn't react, raise his hands to defend himself, or turn to run. He just stood, staring dumbly at R.V.
When R.V. reached Tommy, he pulled back his right hand — the one with the gold hooks — then jabbed the blades sharply into Tommy's chest. I froze, feeling Tommy's pain from where I was trapped in the crowd. Then R.V. jerked his hooked hand back, shook his head with insane delight, and retreated down the tunnel, following Morgan James, who fired his gun to clear a path.
On the pitch, Tommy stared stupidly down at the red, jagged hole in the left side of his chest. Then, with almost comical effect, he slid gracelessly to the ground, twitched a few times, and lay still — the terrible, unmistakable stillness of the dead.
CHAPTER TEN
« ^ »
Bursting free of the crowd, I stumbled on to the pitch. Those around me were staring at the fallen goalkeeper, paralyzed with shock. My first instinct was to run to Tommy. But then my training kicked in. Tommy had been killed. I could grieve for him later. Right now I had to focus on R.V. and Morgan James. If I hurried after them, I might catch up before they got away.
Tearing my gaze away from Tommy, I ducked down the tunnel, past the players, staff and stewards who had yet to recover their senses. I saw more shot-up bodies but didn't stop to check whether they were living or dead. I had to be a vampire, not a human. A killer, not a carer.
I raced down the tunnel until it branched off in two directions. Left or right? I stood, panting, scanning the corridors for clues. Nothing to my left, but there was a small red mark on the wall to my right — blood.
I picked up speed again. A voice at the back of my mind whispered, "You have no weapons. How will you defend yourself?" I ignored it.
The corridor led to a dressing room, where most members of the winning team had gathered. The players weren't aware of what had happened on the pitch. They were cheering and singing. The corridor branched again here. The path to the left led back towards the pitch, so I took another right turn, praying to the gods of the vampires that I'd chosen correctly.
A long sprint. The corridor was
narrow and low-ceilinged. I was panting hard, not from exertion but sorrow. I kept thinking about Tommy, Mr Crepsley, Gavner Purl — friends I'd lost to the vampaneze. I had to fight the sorrow, or it would overwhelm me, so I thought about R.V. and Morgan James instead.
R.V. was once an eco-warrior. He'd tried to free the Wolf Man at the Cirque Du Freak. I'd stopped him but not before the Wolf Man had bitten his hands off. R.V. fled, survived, and blamed me for his misfortune. Some years later, he was discovered by Steve Leopard. Steve told the vampaneze to blood him, and the pair plotted my downfall. R.V. had been in the Cavern of Retribution when Mr Crepsley was killed. That was the last time I'd seen him.
Morgan James was an ex-police officer. A vampet, one of the humans the vampaneze had recruited. Like the other vampets, he dressed in a brown shirt and black trousers, shaved his head, painted circles of blood around his eyes, and had a "V" tattooed above either ear. Since he hadn't been blooded, he was free to use missile-firing weapons such as guns. Vampaneze, like vampires, swear an oath when they're blooded not to use such weapons. James had also been in the Cavern of Retribution. During the battle he was shot, and the left side of his face had been torn into fleshy strips by the bullet.
A treacherous, deadly pair. Again I found myself wondering what I'd do if I caught up with them — I hadn't any weapons! But again I ignored that problem and concentrated on the chase.
The end of the corridor. A door swinging ajar. Two police officers and a steward lying slumped against the wall — dead. I cursed R.V. and Morgan James, and swore revenge.
I kicked the door wide open and ducked out. I was at the rear of the stadium, the quietest part of the area, backing on to a housing estate. The police out here had been attracted to the sides of the stadium — there was some kind of a disturbance at the front, no doubt timed to tie in with the assault.
