by Kate Blair
The ground felt unsteady. “And if he doesn’t?”
“He won’t take antibiotics. He’s agreed to take his painkillers, and the doctor suggested a higher dose since they’re not trying to keep him …” Mum closed her eyes. A sob escaped. Her hand went to her mouth. I wrapped my arms around her, awkwardly.
She pulled away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I should sit with Dad. Can you make him a cup of tea? Can I trust you to do that?”
“Just tea. I promise.”
In the kitchen, I slumped down at the table as I waited for the water to heat in the microwave. My head pounded in time with my pulse, and my mind filled with a sucking emptiness. I stared into space, until a dark rectangle caught my attention, abandoned on the table.
Ollie’s phone.
Chapter Thirteen
I PICKED UP Ollie’s phone; stared at my face in the black mirror of the screen. My skin was the off-white of old pages; the circles under my eyes dark as smudged ink.
“Mum!”
She hurried into the kitchen. “What is it?”
“Ollie … his phone was on the table. I was looking for him. He’s not here.”
The microwave beeped into the silence between us. Mum took the phone and peered at the blank screen, as if it might hold a clue. “Maybe he’s gone for another walk.”
“Without his phone? Ollie?”
“Could you … look for him? Check the beach, quickly?”
THE BEACH AT the end of the road was empty, so I kept going, pebbles slipping under my feet. The tide was out, the rotting seaweed strung in lines along the high-water mark, filling the air with a fishy stink. I fought through my exhaustion along the shore line, past the frothing waves.
Seagulls took off as I stumbled on, skimming the shingle with wide wings, then wheeling into the air. The chill of the damp wind felt like a razor, slicing through my skin.
I reached the funfair and wandered through the still rides, looming above me, shut down for the autumn. The arcade was still open. A magnet for someone like Ollie. I searched among the candy-colored fruit machines shrieking their tinny tunes and coughing up money with the rhythm of an AK-47. I checked in the sit-in driving games, waited outside the toilets. The noise made my headache worse, but there was no sign of Ollie.
I slumped back to Grandpa’s house, worried that I already knew where he was.
Mum stood at the open door, hands clutched together. I shook my head.
“I’m calling the police,” she said.
IT SEEMED LIKE a long time before they arrived. Mum sent Grandpa upstairs for a nap and answered their quick-fire questions in the kitchen.
“Has he wandered off before? Have you been fighting? Has he seemed upset?”
They asked about the visit from the Fire Service. They insisted on searching the house, even though I told them I’d already checked. Mum gave them an old photo from her wallet and promised to email a more recent one. Neither of us knew what he’d been wearing, and Mum kept apologizing for that. They asked if he’d talked about harming himself, if he was on medication.
“He probably just forgot his phone,” they said. “This happens all the time.”
Still, they promised to search, to check the parks and hospitals, see if anyone called anything in, and pass on Ollie’s details to other police services. They said if he wasn’t back soon, more action would be taken. Then they were gone.
Not two minutes later came the tinny chime of the doorbell. Mum stood so quickly she knocked her chair over. It slammed to the floor with a loud crack. But it was Janet, asking about the police car.
Her prim face dissolved into sympathy as Mum explained.
“I’ll get Chloe to drive up and down the island,” she said, “check the teen haunts. I’ll call my friends, get everyone searching. Don’t you worry. We’ll find him.”
“Thank you so much.” Mum clutched Janet’s hand.
I’d been putting it off, not wanting to admit the possibility to myself, but there was one place I had to go. One place I hoped I wouldn’t find him. One place I wanted to be.
“I’ll check in the village, at the shops,” I lied.
“Thank you, Silva,” Mum said.
THE WIND WAS high, flapping my hair around my face. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Ollie had spent half his time on Hayling slouching off on his own. He’d probably come to find me at the library and found the door instead.
I stumbled against the fist of wind as it tried to beat me back. Pushed myself along the main road until I finally reached the library. I burst through the entranceway.
Asha looked startled. “Silva? Are you okay?”
“Have you seen my brother?”
“I don’t think so. What does he look like?”
“This high. Messy brown hair.”
Asha shook her head. “Most children are at school, so I’d have noticed.”
Still, I hurried to the door. He could have slipped in without her seeing. I shoved it open and stepped into the magpie’s trap.
Just like that, the ache evaporated. It felt like the world coming into focus. I was no longer torn, stretched too thin between two places. I was me.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the golden light, the old-book smell. But there was no Ollie browsing the books, grumpy at me for intruding; just the crammed shelves, filled with the colorful spines of stolen lives, and the magpie, perched on the chair.
It flew to my feet and looked up, tail twitching excitedly.
“You.” My voice was cold.
The bird blinked. Its tail lowered.
“You’ve been taking my soul! You’re a thief!”
I was seized by an urge to kick it, to take out the anger that coursed through me. But the magpie flinched at my words. It looked small and vulnerable as I towered over it.
Its skull had felt so fragile when I’d stroked its head, and even now, there was trust in those dark eyes.
“I thought you were … I thought we were …” I wanted to say “friends” but that made me feel like more of an idiot. It was a bird.
My hands clenched into fists, and I punched the chair instead. Pain shot through my knuckles. I screamed in frustration. The magpie took off, flying to a high shelf with two books on it. I pressed my palms into my eye sockets and screamed again.
Of course Ollie wasn’t here. Ollie wouldn’t have seen my door, just like Chloe hadn’t. He didn’t read much and wouldn’t have been tempted by a magical library. I turned toward the exit, bracing myself for the pain of leaving.
But a thought whispered in my head.
A library wouldn’t have tempted Ollie, but something else could have. Chloe had her statues. Margaret had a dollhouse. Beth had her cinema. But if Ollie were caught in another form of the magpie’s trap, how would I find him? I wouldn’t be able to see his door.
Then it hit me.
The collection was the same, no matter what form it took. If Ollie’s soul had been stolen, he’d have a book here, one with his picture on the cover. I spun around.
“Is … is Ollie here?”
The magpie nodded at one of the slim volumes it perched next to. The book rustled as it eased itself off the shelf, opened the wings of its pages, and swooped toward me.
A chill spread through my blood.
I held my hands out, and the book bobbed down, like a papery butterfly. It landed face-up on my palms: a glossy, colorful paperback. On the cover, a boy stood in an arcade, the familiar shape of him silhouetted against the light of the games.
Ollie.
The world seemed to tremble, but it was no earthquake. Only I was shaking.
My brother looked too small on the cover. Too young. I swallowed.
“How many times has he been in?”
The bird nodded at the book in my hands. I had to read it to find out. Ollie
could be dead already.
No. Please, no.
I opened it to the back. To Ollie’s ending. It was blank. I exhaled. I wasn’t too late, but there were only a few unwritten pages. I had to find him before he went back in. But there were several arcades on Hayling, and I wouldn’t be able to see his door.
“Where is Ollie’s trap?”
The magpie ruffled its feathers, as if offended.
I fought the urge to hurl the book at the stupid bird. But that might hurt Ollie. Instead, I turned to the start of his story.
Oliver peered out of the window as the car pulled up at his grandfather’s house. In the front yard weeds choked the roses and a magpie sat on the overgrown lawn.
There had been a lot of magpies around lately.
The O wiggled toward my hands.
“One for sorrow,” Oliver’s mum muttered under her breath.
He leaned forward, looking for a sign that things would be okay. Instead he saw the dark rectangle of the open door, the rain slanting into the house.
Dread coiled in my stomach as the words inched onto my skin. This was Ollie’s story. It wasn’t mine to read, and I didn’t want to lose more of myself.
A sickly taste filled Oliver’s mouth. “Why is the front door open?”
Ollie’s thoughts spread up my arm. I had to save my brother. I had to find his door, before he went back in again. Even if it meant losing more of myself.
“He’s probably waiting for us,” Silva said. “Standing back a bit so he doesn’t get wet.”
Oliver fought the urge to kick the back of his sister’s seat. Why was she pretending everything was normal? Didn’t she see how tense Mum was?
No. This was a mistake. There had to be another way to find Ollie. I’d force the magpie to tell me. I’d wring its little neck.
I tried to pull my hands away, but the words held me tight as a net, tying me to the book. I yanked, wrenched, pulled as hard as I could, but it was too late.
“That’s stupid. He doesn’t know we’re coming,” Oliver snapped.
I cried out as I was pulled through the page and into Ollie’s story.
I WAS IN Ollie’s body, in the back of the car, staring at Mum in the front. Staring at the back of my own head. I wanted to lean forward to warn myself.
But this wasn’t my story.
“Well, come on then,” Mum said.
I don’t want to go in the house. Who knows what we’ll find?
Mum and I opened our doors and hurried into the rain. Ollie followed slowly, making no attempt to stop the water running through his hair, over his face. It was weird. I was there, sprinting through the rain in front of him, but I was here, too, watching myself through Ollie’s eyes. It made me dizzy.
It was a relief when Ollie’s thoughts pressed in, crowding out my own feelings, replacing them with his.
The door was a black hole, and its gravity pulled me in. Water dripped in my eyes. I shook my head and caught the smell of rotten food.
“Maybe he popped out,” Silva said.
What was wrong with her? Why did she always have to be Little Miss Cheerful?
“In this rain? And what about the post?”
My clueless sister noticed the mess under her feet for the first time.
Mum looked around. “I thought Chloe was cleaning for him.”
“Then Chloe’s doing a rubbish job,” I said. But it felt wrong. Stupid words muttered to try to fill the gap between how things were and how they should be. No one listened anyway. They never did.
“Perhaps I should check on my own.” Mum’s face was grim. “Perhaps you two should wait outside.”
I knew what she was afraid of finding: Grandpa’s body. I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe. My vision blurred. “Fine,” I managed. “I’ll be in the car.”
I stumbled out, not feeling the downpour, just the fear like a football in my gut. I yanked the car door open, dove in, and slammed it shut. The rain fell on the roof, a background growl.
Breathe, breathe. Out, in. Try not to stress about it. Try not to imagine Grandpa, eyes open and blank, body cold and stiff.
My breaths caught in my throat and mutated into sobs. I cried. Like a baby. Like an idiot. Big, wet, gulping gasps for air. I hid my face in my hands, ashamed.
It was a long while before I got it under control. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, and saw Mum running from the house, Silva right behind her. I pulled my phone out and stared down at it, so they couldn’t see my stupid red face. The car rocked as they climbed in.
“He’s in hospital,” Mum said. “We’re going to see him now.”
There was hope again. Tight in my chest. Almost as painful as the fear.
AT THE HOSPITAL, Grandpa didn’t recognize us. I made up some excuse and got out of the ward before I cried again. I spotted the wheelchair and slumped down hard into it. People stared as they passed. I couldn’t deal with any of it: the people, the place, the fluorescent lighting.
The antiseptic reek reminded me of vomit, I guess because Mum always used antiseptic to clean up after we’d been sick. I worried it would make me puke right there, in front of everyone.
I pulled out my phone to choose an app — something to help me keep it together. My finger hovered over the FIFA one, but it reminded me of my freak-out on the pitch in Bedford. I opened Peggle instead.
Play the game. Don’t think.
But I couldn’t focus, and messed it all up, just like everything. The balls slipped off the edge of the screen.
Game over.
Silva came stomping down the corridor like the whole thing was my fault. She buzzed around, irritating as a wasp. Dragged me to my feet and back to the ward, where Mum was deep in one of her stupid fights with her cousin. I tuned most of it out.
Mum sighed. “We need to take care of your grandfather.”
“Wouldn’t the hospital be better for that?” I said. No one looked at me.
They never listen, a voice in my head pointed out. It’s like you’re not even there.
Mum pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look. Let’s get in the car. There’s something I should have told you two. Something we should talk about in private.”
But I already knew what it was. Grandpa was dying.
SILVA INSISTED ON going to the library on the way home. I thought about going with her, but she gave me a funny look when I was about to ask, and I knew, as sure as if someone had whispered it in my ear, that she didn’t want me there. She was fed up with me, like everyone else. Anyway, she’d probably skip around like everything was fine, sticking that fake smile of hers on.
I asked Mum to drop me off at the beach instead, saying I needed some fresh air. She pulled into the car park by the boarded-up ice-cream place.
“It’s pouring. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
She twisted around in her seat. “Are you okay, Ollie?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “You don’t want to go back to the house while it’s a mess, is that it?”
I nodded.
Mum dug into her purse, pulled out a tenner, and passed it to me.
“Get some food at the funfair. At least there you’ll be out of the rain. I’ll sort the house as quickly as I can.”
I got out and stumbled through the gorse to the shoreline. The rain spat down on me, driven sideways by the wind. But I had the beach to myself.
I shouted as loud as I could, swearing at the sea. The noise was swallowed by the rain, the gray waves smashing on the shore. No one could laugh at me for crying here, like when I lost it when I was trying to get on the football team in Bedford. I scooped up handfuls of stones and wet clumps of sand and flung them at the sea so hard my arm muscles ached.
The anger faded, slowly replaced by a numb exhaustion. Just a few da
ys ago, I’d thought it might be better if there was a reason for this stupid feeling, for this angry sadness, like a weight squishing me into the ground. Now I had a reason, and it just made things worse.
I wandered along the shore, thinking about how we used to collect driftwood here with Grandpa. He taught us army chants and how to bounce flat rocks on the waves.
But those days were gone and would never come back.
Small cliffs of pebbles crumbled as I stepped on them, making me slip. When I looked up, I was almost at the fun-fair. A rumble in my stomach reminded me of the money Mum had given me.
I hurried in through the side gate. The rides were shut down for the season, skeletal rails spiraling into the angry gray sky. Carriages slumped under blue tarpaulins that snapped in the wind. But the arcade was open, and it glowed. I yanked open the double-doors and stumbled into the warmth beyond.
I tried to wipe my face, but my hands were wet and so cold they didn’t feel like a part of me. Lights flashed and spun, leaving loops burned in the backs of my eyes. I clutched the money in my pocket. I should spend it on food, but maybe I’d have enough for a few games, too.
I watched the demo mode on the machines. Men fought. Zombies lurched. Cars raced. But they were all old, with rubbish graphics and high prices.
That’s when I saw the magpie again.
It didn’t seem bothered by the noise and the lights. It watched me for a bit, and then hopped into the small space between the wall and a row of basketball games. I followed, and peered into the gap. It was a couple of feet wide and filled with electrical cables.
But there was no bird there.
Maybe it had got stuck under a machine, tangled in the wires. It could hurt itself, stupid thing. I stepped over the nearest adapter and squeezed into the gap. Still no sign of the magpie. But there was something set into the wall.
A door.
I shuffled farther in, turned sideways until I stood right in front of it, the wood a few inches from my nose. It was well old and the outline of a magpie was burned onto it. No handle and no lock, but when I pushed against it, it swung open easily.
I stepped into the room on the other side, and my jaw dropped.
