FRAMED
I DON'T NEED TO tell you what I did next. I ran, straight for the open door. But the figure was too quick, slamming it shut and reaching out toward me with an arm the size of a tree trunk. I ducked but he moved like lightning, grabbing the flashlight from my fist and throwing it at the wall. It smashed as it hit a shelf, plunging the room into darkness.
Well, almost darkness. All I could see as I backed away from the man were his eyes, which still stood out from the shadows like two silver coins. They followed me each time I made a move, never blinking and so bright that they seemed to burn right into my soul.
I had to get out of the room. I had no idea who this guy was but I was in his house and, judging by the size of him, he could turn me inside out without breaking a sweat. I was wondering whether I could leap through the window without killing myself when he spoke.
"Where you gonna run to?" he said, his voice so deep that it sent a vibration through the floorboards. "I can see you, Alex."
My heart seemed to stop for an instant as I heard my name. He couldn't know who I was. There was no way. We lived more than a mile away and we never came to this part of town unless we were hitting a house. Then it struck me. He was a cop. He'd been following Toby and me after a previous job and had framed us by setting up this house as bait.
The thought filled me with panic. At last, the thing I never thought would happen was finally happening-I was about to be busted. Another ear-piercing scream penetrated the room from downstairs. What the hell were the police doing to Toby? I suddenly wished I was back at home, tucked away in bed and dreaming, wished I had never stolen that money from Daniel Richards. And I knew that if I didn't make it out of this room, I wouldn't be back in my own bed for months, maybe years.
I fingered the money in my pocket, realizing how pathetic I was to risk everything for a few hundred quid-money that would be useless behind bars. But maybe it could prove useful here. Grabbing as many of the notes as I could, I wrenched them from my pocket and threw them at the man. I didn't wait to see what effect they'd have, but dived to the floor, rolling under his reach and scrambling to my feet on the other side of the room.
I couldn't see the door: it was too dark. I slapped my hands furiously against the wall, knowing that I had only seconds before I felt the cop's huge hand on my shoulder. But there was nothing there except shelves and books. Risking a look behind me, I saw the man's two disembodied eyes race across the room, and it was all I could manage not to collapse to the floor screaming.
Just as he was above me, however, my hand hit the doorframe. Reaching across, I felt the handle and twisted it, ripping the door open so hard that it almost came off its hinges. It struck the man square in the face, but his only response was to laugh-a deep, grating rumble that followed me out onto the landing.
"Run, Alex, run, Alex, run, run, run," came his voice as I felt my way toward the stairs. What the hell was going on? What kind of cop would say that?
I was running too fast and tripped on the top stair, almost plunging into darkness before I managed to get a hold on the banister. I tried to plan my escape route as I descended. Obviously the room we came in through was now a no-go area-I had no intention of meeting whoever was in there with Toby. There was the front door, which lay directly ahead of the stairs, or I could try to find my way to the back of the house. Either way, I wouldn't get far in the dark.
As it turned out, though, it wasn't the dark that got me. Almost as soon as I propelled myself from the bottom step every light in the house was switched on simultaneously. I gasped and pressed my hands to my eyes, momentum flinging me into a wall. The illumination had completely thrown me, filling my head with stars and causing me to lose my bearings.
I squinted against the glare to see that the hall was empty. A quick glance at the front door told me there were too many locks to force it open, so I started running toward the back, hoping for a quick exit.
I couldn't tell you what happened next. I'm not sure if it was the fact that my eyes hadn't adjusted to the light, or if fear and adrenaline did something to my brain, but it was as if a figure simply stepped from the wall. One minute my path was clear, the next it was blocked by another mountainous man-so wide and so tall that he seemed to take up every centimeter of space.
I skidded to a halt, mouth agape. This man too was dressed in a slick black pinstriped suit, with a white shirt and black tie. He looked more like an undertaker than a cop. What scared me most about him, though, was his face. It seemed to be expressionless and grinning at the same time-his silver eyes staring down at me with unmistakable glee, like a boy about to squash a bug.
"Boo," he said, his thick voice just as deep and dangerous as that of the man upstairs.
I staggered backward, shaking my head. The man had left only one escape route-the way we'd come in. I bolted through the sitting room door, ready to fling myself screaming from the window. But what I saw in that room drained the strength from my body, turning my legs to jelly. It took everything I had to remain upright.
The room, which had been deserted less than five minutes ago, was now full of men. Each was almost identical in size, dwarfing the furniture and making the large space feel like a doll's house-each almost identical in looks too, like brothers. And they were all wearing the same immaculate black suits. I counted four in all, and the sound of footsteps behind me made it clear that the other two were in the hall.
But the figure I couldn't take my eyes off was standing in between the giants, twitching and shaking like he was having a fit. He looked tiny in comparison, barely reaching the elbows of his comrades, and wore a long, black leather coat that made his bald head look like pale parchment.
I knew now why Toby had been screaming. The man was wearing what looked like a gas mask-an antique, rusted device that covered the lower part of his face and stretched over his shoulder to a tank on his back, like the ones worn by divers. He wheezed noisily through the ancient contraption as if he was having an asthma attack. Peering over the top of the mask, like two raisins set into rancid porridge, were his eyes, and the way they stared at me made me want to curl up and die.
It took me a few moments to notice the frail, shaking body of Toby on the floor beneath one of the men in black. He stared at me with a look of pure terror, his eyes wide, pleading for me to help him. I didn't know what to do, I didn't even know who the men were. Taking another look at the shriveled figure by the window, I found myself praying for the familiar uniforms of the police, not this freak show of gas masks and goliaths.
"Nice of you to join us, Alex," said the huge, black-suited man who was standing above Toby. His face was a mirror image of the others', only with what looked like a small mole on his chin. His voice too was indistinguishable from those I had already heard, like distant thunder.
"It looks like everybody here knows my name," I said, the words coming out of my mouth before I even knew I was speaking. Despite the terror that rooted me to the spot, I was determined not to give these men the satisfaction of seeing my fear. "If I'd known there was a party here tonight I would have brought some cake."
To my surprise, the men all chuckled at my joke-a noise so deep that it made the remaining glass in the window vibrate. It was the most terrifying sound I'd ever heard.
"We wanted to surprise you," the man continued.
"Well then, arrest me-arrest us," I said, just waiting to get out of that room. "You've caught us red-handed; take us down to the station and we'll confess."
The same grating laughter that set my teeth on edge. When it had finished, the giant man turned to his smaller friend as if awaiting a command. Seconds rolled past while the freak in the gas mask studied me and Toby, then he turned his dark eyes to me and nodded.
"What?" I asked, desperate to know what was going on. "What the hell does that guy want?"
"He wants you to say goodbye to your friend," the man continued. I shook my head, the fear and confusion churning in my stomach. Were they just going to take m
e and not Toby?
"What?" I repeated. Toby was no longer looking at me, but was staring at the carpet, sobbing uncontrollably.
"They've got guns with silencers," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "They're not police, Alex."
I didn't understand what Toby had said until the giant man opened his suit jacket to reveal a holstered pistol tucked beneath his armpit. For a second, I felt the world spin as if I was about to pass out, and by the time I'd regained my composure the man had pulled out the silenced handgun and was pointing it at me.
"Last chance to say goodbye," he said.
I looked at Toby, wanting this nightmare to end, thinking about the things I'd never be able to do if the man pulled the trigger, thinking about how much I'd miss my friends, how much I loved my family. All lost because of greed. It was so stupid! I couldn't control my emotions anymore and tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. All I could see was the outline of the man, and the black shadow that was his gun.
"Goodbye, Toby," I said through sobs. "I'm sorry."
"Alex," was all I heard of his reply. Then the black shadow moved, sweeping downward and emitting a low pop that was barely audible against the laughter that once again filled the room. I tried to blink the tears from my eyes, not quite believing what I'd seen. But when my vision had cleared I realized there was no escaping what had just happened.
Toby lay motionless, his eyes blank, the carpet beneath his body the same horrible color as the wound in his head.
It seemed like hours before anyone moved again. It felt as if the connection between my brain and my body had been severed, turning every limb numb. I wanted to feel anger, hatred, sorrow, anything, but all I could do was stare at my friend, at the body that would never move again-a corpse with one dirty shoe. My legs finally gave way and I sank to my knees.
"Catch," came the booming voice. The giant man tossed the gun to me and I reached out instinctively, grabbing it by the handle and staring at it in shock. For a second, I pointed it at the black-suited brute, but I'd barely held a toy gun before, let alone a real one, and quickly tossed it to the floor.
"Now, if I were you, Alex, I'd make a run for it," he continued. "I mean, you've just broken into a house, stolen a load of cash, and shot your best friend in the head in cold blood. The police aren't gonna like you one little bit, so why don't you put those sneakers to good use and run."
I couldn't respond, I didn't know what he was talking about. But suddenly I felt an enormous pair of hands grip me under my arms and hoist me effortlessly to my feet. The same hands turned me around and pushed me roughly toward the front door, which had been unlocked and opened.
"Good luck, Alex," came the voice from behind me. "Run as hard as you can, or sit and cower outside. Either way we'll see you real soon."
I turned and saw the face of the man in black break into a monstrous smile-all teeth and slitted eyes. Then I took one last look at Toby, at rest on his crimson bed, and bolted out into the rain.
ON THE RUN
WHAT'S THE MOST SCARED you've ever been? Maybe at night, after a horror film, lying under your blankets convinced there's a monster in the room. Or one day in the city when you were younger, realizing you've lost sight of your mom and dad. Perhaps face-to-face on the playground with someone who wants to beat the living crap out of you.
Multiply those feelings by a million and you get me on a dark, wet night, running as fast as I could on the slippery streets to escape the people who'd shot my best friend. I didn't know which direction I was heading in, I just needed to get as far away from that house as possible, and I ran until my legs felt like they were made of lead, until my lungs were on fire and my heart stuttered and stammered like it was about to give out.
Then I collapsed by the side of the road, my wheezing sobs so loud that people in the nearby houses actually pulled back their curtains to see what was going on. But nobody came out to help me, and I didn't blame them. When you've committed a few crimes, something about you changes. It's like you've been marked with a tattoo that only other people can see, and it makes them wary so that they cross the street to avoid you. Even now, as helpless as a newborn baby, my tears conspiring with the rain to soak my jeans, I knew I was alone.
And I also knew that I couldn't stay out in the open. If what that man had said was true, then they were trying to frame me for murder. And that wasn't just a slapped wrist or a month or two in juvie, that was life in prison-in Furnace, with its pits and its punishments and its pain.
Pushing to my feet, I looked at the road sign to get my bearings, realizing that my school wasn't too far from here. I took a deep, shuddering breath and started jogging again, making my way down Brian Avenue and across an abandoned Trafford Road into the row houses that ran along the back of Eastmark High. Toby, Brandon, and I had snuck into school this way countless times to play soccer on the field.
I realized that Toby would never play soccer again, and the thought was like a punch to the gut. But I fought back the tears, tried to push the image of my dead friend from my mind as I cut through an overgrown garden and climbed over the worn fence into the dark, deserted field beyond.
I didn't learn the word irony until much later, but I guess it was ironic that I ended up walking across the slick grass to the jungle gym, which rose from the wispy layer of predawn mist like the rusted hull of some ghost ship. It was here that everything had started to go wrong.
It had only been two years since I stole my first cash, but it seemed like forever. I could barely even picture me before that day-a young boy who had never had a bad thought in his life, who wanted to grow up to be a magician, who couldn't care less about money.
I pictured that young boy now, saw him turning his back on his friends and walking off into the sunshine to follow a different path. And I hoped that somewhere, in a different dimension, there was a version of me who wasn't sitting alone on an uncomfortable metal bar in the cold waiting for the police to lock him away forever.
The rain had almost stopped. I climbed a little higher to the platform at the top of the jungle gym and leaned against the rail, looking out across the misty field, eerie in the bright moonlight. Every now and again the glow would be shrouded by a passing rain cloud, throwing the whole world into darkness. Each time it happened I was gripped by terror-the fear that a monstrous dark figure would rise from the fog and snatch me up, carry me away forever. But the moon always fought back, bathing the field and its sole inhabitant in its liquid silver.
My options were few and far between. I could sit here and wait for morning, when the school would be full of people all looking for me. I could head home-surely the news about Toby's death wouldn't have broken yet, and I could talk to my mom and dad about what happened. I could head to Brandon's house, hide out there until I thought of a better plan. I could run, head for the hills and never look back. Or I could just go to the police, tell them what had really gone on in that house. I mean, there were six giant men and a freak in a gas mask, somebody else must have seen them.
None of those options seemed particularly appealing, so I put them in order of how bad they were. Running seemed like the worst thing I could do, closely followed by waiting here and going to the police. That left Brandon and my own home. I thought about seeing my mom again and it filled me with a strange mix of sadness and joy. Maybe she could just give me a hug and all this would go away. Surely moms had the power to make anything go away.
But the thought of confessing to her was almost as unbearable as the thought of a lifetime inside Furnace. It would have to be Brandon's.
I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice the change in light until it was almost too late. Looking at my jeans I saw they were shimmering with a red and blue haze, not unlike a disco light. But this was no disco. I snatched my head up to see two police cars sitting a hundred meters away outside the school's main gate, casting a web of color across the dark grass.
Several armored men were climbing out of the vehicles, most equi
pped with rifles and flashlights and one holding what looked like a bolt cutter. They walked to the gates, the cop with the cutters using them to snap through the heavy chain before kicking them open. He pointed at the school building, and two of the police with flashlights started running toward it. Then he scanned the playing field, his eyes coming to rest on my jungle gym. He gestured my way.
I ducked behind the rail as two beams of light struck the metal frame, seeking me out. There wasn't much cover, but the police were too far away to see me. Not for long, though. As I watched, the two men started jogging across the grass in my direction. I shuffled backward across the platform until I reached the rear edge, ready to drop down to the ground.
But before I could, my eye caught a piece of graffiti that I swear had never been there before. Carved into the soft wood of the platform, in large, even letters, were three words that made my blood freeze.
Keep running, Alex.
I traced my fingers across the markings to make sure they were real, but the sensation of splinters in my skin let me know that this was no dream. The men, whoever they were, had known what I'd do before I did.
The sound of footsteps pounding the wet grass reminded me that the police were getting closer. I shoved myself off the rear of the frame, landing awkwardly on the soft ground and backing into the darkness. Turning, I sprinted toward the fence, forcing my tired legs to work. Scrambling out into the overgrown garden, I scanned the street to make sure it was empty, then turned left and started walking toward Brandon's house.
I hadn't spoken to Brandon much since Toby and I had started robbing houses instead of students. It was as if he could see that invisible tattoo too, and it was pretty clear from the way he acted now that he was scared of us, of what we'd become. But we'd been close friends once, and even when you've been to hell and back your friends stick by you.
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