He’s joking! They’ve known the whole time?
‘So all the undercover efforts…’ I say.
‘Were a complete waste of time,’ he says happily.
Great.
‘Hang on,’ I say, confusion overriding my terror for a moment. ‘How did you know? I’m not a Hoarder. You shouldn’t have been able to sense me.’
Confusion flickers across his face, but a moment later certainty returns. At the same time, nausea washes through me again. What the hell is going on? Can I sense Hoarders after all? Is that what’s making me feel sick?
‘We have our ways,’ Grayson says. ‘Anyway, it was all too easy persuading your parents to move your family up here so we could keep an eye on you. We didn’t realise the extent of your power until our little experiment that night on the football field, though. That’s when we really started getting interested.’
‘Experiment? I almost died! One of your Hoarders actually did.’
‘Only a minor one,’ he says. ‘And it wasn’t a murder attempt – it was a test. If you hadn’t survived the knife attack, you wouldn’t have been powerful enough for us to bother with you anymore. But you did. You performed excellently, and all our observations since indicate that you have a good aptitude for anger and destruction. You’re going to be very useful.’
Hold the phone. What’s he saying?
‘So you’re not going to kill me?’
‘Kill you? Good gracious, what a waste. No, my dear boy. We’re just going to… persuade you to join our cause.’
Persuade me? ‘With a six-figure salary and health benefits?’ I ask.
Grayson smiles at my very funny joke. I don’t think that’s how they persuade.
‘Don’t look so worried, Jim,’ he tells me. ‘We’ll take good care of you. We’re all very excited about the extent of your powers.’ He looks down at me proudly. ‘You’re very special.’
‘Thanks, mum.’
He laughs. ‘Lovely lady,’ he says fondly.
Suddenly I don’t feel so despondent. The power within me starts to surge again. ‘Don’t you dare go anywhere near my mother,’ I say, my voice shaking with anger.
He leans in close to me and says, ‘What makes you think I haven’t already?’ Then he leans back and twists around to press the intercom button on his phone. ‘Sue, could you come in here for a minute?’
I grab a hole-puncher from his desk and swing it at his face. He catches my arm in a vice-like grip without even turning around. ‘Certainly, Headmaster,’ I hear my mother’s voice answer on the phone. Mr Grayson releases the button, turns back to me and twists me around to face the door with my arm pulled behind my back.
‘Let it go, there’s a good boy,’ he says, and pushes my arm further up my back. I cry out in pain and the hole-puncher falls to the floor.
The office door opens and Mum walks in. She seems completely unconcerned that her middle child has a smashed-up face and is being tortured by her boss. I’m gasping in pain and fear, wishing desperately for her to run out the door as fast as she can. She looks calmly at me, but I read nothing in her eyes – she’s as mindless as Miss Lassen was.
Oh my God. What have they done to her?
Mum turns her vacant gaze from me to Mr Grayson. ‘You wanted to see me, Headmaster?’ she says.
‘It appears,’ he says gravely, ‘that your son thinks it’s reasonable to get into fights at school. What do you think about that?’
She looks back at me. ‘That’s unacceptable, James,’ she says dully. ‘I brought you up better than that.’
‘And don’t you think such behaviour ought to be met with punishment?’ Mr Grayson says, an awful eagerness in his voice.
To my horror, Mum nods, walks over to a bookshelf and picks up a thumping great dictionary. I’m too shocked to do anything as she swings it back then slams it across my face. I fall sideways but Mr Grayson’s still holding my arm. I scream in pain as I feel my shoulder dislocate. Only then does he release me with a shove. I stumble, fall against the wall and slide to the floor, my cheek and arm searing.
Through the pain I can hear Mr Grayson laughing. ‘Again,’ he tells my mother.
‘Stop it,’ I say through clenched teeth.
‘But you have to learn,’ Mum says, raising the book again.
‘Not you.’ I reach out my mind and create a protection shield around her, then push her away across the room until she’s pinned up against the bookshelves. I push myself up with my good arm and turn to face the bastard messing with my family.
‘You.’
With my mind I raise the chair I was sitting on earlier and hurl it at my headmaster. It smashes into his chest and he falls backwards onto the desk, trapped. Dark energy whizzes around me as I tap into a wonderful new place of anger.
‘All of you.’
A stapler starts stapling one arm of his jacket to the desktop.
‘All my life, all I’ve wanted was to be left alone.’
The electrical cord of his lamp wraps itself around his other wrist.
‘But it seems you just can’t help yourselves.’
The globe of the lamp shatters, showering him with shards of glass.
‘The Guardians, the Hoarders, even Martin Hacker – you all seem to have this undeniable urge to piss me off. Well, congratulations.’
I tip the whole desk upright so we’re nose to nose. I’m shaking, sweating and about two seconds away from ripping his head off.
‘You just succeeded,’ I spit at him.
He sneers. ‘That was the plan,’ he says.
Then the whole room explodes.
I’m thrown backwards towards the door, and only just cushion myself with a protection shield in time. I land on the floor and look up at Grayson, only to see a ball of black energy shooting towards me. I levitate a metal filing cabinet in front of me. The ball smashes into it and explodes in a flurry of dark flame. I fling the cabinet towards the desk, where Mr Grayson is standing. He swoops out of the way and watches it smash through the window, the drawers jolting open and files flying everywhere. He laughs and applauds. ‘That’s the way,’ he says, and slices all the broken glass towards me in a great cloud.
I raise another protection shield around me, and peer through the debris to check that the one I put on Mum is still holding. It is, but Mr Grayson is busy toppling a bookshelf at me, so I have to double my own to hold it at bay. I’m getting tired and my mind is starting to spin. I realise I have to end this before I lose control.
‘How are you holding up there, sport?’ Mr Grayson calls pleasantly. ‘Not so easy, is it – destroying someone?’
The feeling of nausea returns and mingles with my power.
‘You have to really mean it.’
I can feel my power growing with my hatred.
‘I don’t know,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Your heart just doesn’t seem to be in it. Maybe I shouldn’t have toyed with your mother’s mind. Maybe I should have just destroyed your little sister’s.’
Right. That’s it.
I snarl with rage, and throw my hand out towards him. A surge of that darker power shoots out of it and charges straight at his heart.
Too late, I realise this is what he’s been waiting for. He reaches out for the darkness and caresses it as if it were his favourite pet. I find I can’t let go, and the ribbons of darkness span the gap between us.
‘Did anyone ever tell you how dangerous it is to play with someone’s mind, Jim?’ Grayson asks almost absently as he twines the darkness between his fingers. Then he looks straight up into my eyes. ‘Care to have a dip?’
Before I can catch my breath he whips at the dark ties between us and I feel my mind hurtling towards him. Kit’s voice comes back to me – the mind is infinite… deluged with information… end up going insane. I can’t stop myself, though. My vision goes black and I feel myself falling into the Hoarder’s mind.
Image after image flashes before me of people in pain, people fighting, people dying and corpses
rotting. Of atrocities performed and horrors still to commit. Of a terrible hunger for power. As the images come faster and faster my mind starts to panic at the speed and randomness. I don’t have a point of reference for any of this stuff. I’m losing myself in here. These thoughts of a madman are going to keep coming and coming, and I’ll never find my way out.
Only the thoughts all seem to be coming from the same place. My mind fights against the tide of images, trying to find the source of them all. Finally I reach a place, far down in the depths of Grayson’s mind, which seems to be separate, controlling everything else. Desperate to escape the flood of horror, I plunge into it.
It’s dark and powerful here. I feel my mind merging with this power, and a flash of triumph ripples through it. It welcomes me. It recognises me…
The triumph turns to shock, then rage.
JAMES!
Suddenly I’m hurled out of there, as if that dark power just spat me out in disgust. My mind rockets back to the top of Grayson’s mind. A light starts growing in front of me, hazy at first but growing brighter, and I cling to it desperately. The light turns into colours, the colours into objects. An upturned desk, a littered floor, a blank-faced woman standing in the corner, a lanky boy lying in the middle of the room twitching and drooling…
I’m looking at myself. I’m looking at the ruined office and my dying body through Grayson’s eyes.
I try to fling my mind back into my own head, but it’s no good. The upper portion of Grayson’s mind seems surprised to find me back at the surface and is pushing me down again. Meanwhile, the dark buried portion is fighting to throw me right out. I’m being squashed between the two, stuck on the edge. It’s too much. I can feel my own mind being smothered by them. The vision of the room in front of me dims.
Before it disappears completely, though, I see the door to the office swing open and Mr Lancer, my maths teacher, walk in. He looks as calm as Mum did when she came in, and what’s left of my mind cries out in disappointment. What good is a mindless maths teacher right now?
I may as well just give up.
‘I heard you were holding my student hostage,’ Mr Lancer says from far away. ‘Can I have him back now, please, Headmaster?’
A bright light filters through the dimness and a snarled word echoes off the corners of Grayson’s brain: Guardian!
The word stirs something in my fading mind. The room comes back into focus and I see a scruffy man standing by a door, a pure white light glowing all around him.
Mr Lancer’s a Guardian?
‘He’s not a hostage,’ Grayson says, talking mildly as he builds up his power to strike. ‘He’s a victim.’
Mr Lancer takes another step into the room. ‘No he’s not,’ he says quietly. ‘He’s a hero. And he’s ours.’
‘He’s mine,’ Mr Grayson snarls in sudden anger. I can feel the words coming from the depths of his mind – it seems that hidden part of him no longer wants to spit me out. Conflicting emotions bolt up from that place: rage, confusion, excitement, desire. When that last one hits me, for a second, I feel it too. I want to join it, to let go of my worries, to be a part of something that powerful. The vision of the room before me blurs and darkens once more as I start to let go.
Mr Grayson’s words echo all around me as he speaks, melding with the emotions coursing through him. ‘He’s making a fair fight of it in there, I’ll give him that, but he’s losing energy fast. Another few seconds and he’ll be lost in there forever, and once we have the mind we have the body, and all the power that comes with it. So unless you came in here with some complicated plan to shut my mind down in the next ten seconds, I rather think –’
CLANG!
A dull pain radiates from the back of his head and his mind goes blank. My own mind springs back into my body like a rubber band. I open my eyes – oh, sweet heavens, I have eyes again – and see the crumpled body of Mr Grayson sprawled on the floor in front of me.
‘Mnegh gluh!’ I cry, trying to get away from it. I don’t get very far. It seems my limbs are still a bit wobbly.
‘Not that complicated a plan, no,’ Mr Lancer says from above me, and he puts a hand under my good arm and hauls me to my feet. I look over to see Jeremy standing behind Grayson, a shovel raised in his hands. He must have climbed in through the broken window.
‘Hey, it worked,’ he says, staring at the unconscious headmaster in front of him.
Mr Lancer shrugs modestly. ‘Get a bad guy on a good rant about how evil he is, and it’s easy as pie to sneak up behind him,’ he says. ‘And now I suggest we skedaddle before our friend wakes up.’
‘Wait,’ I say as he pushes me towards the door. ‘Mum.’ She’s slumped against the wall, her eyes closed and her mouth slack.
‘No time,’ Mr Lancer says.
‘She’s my mother!’ I cry. ‘I’m not leaving her.’
‘James,’ he says gravely, placing a hand on my good shoulder, ‘your mother is under the control of Mr Grayson – she and who knows how many others. I can’t fix her in time, and she’s a danger to us as she is. I promise she’ll be all right, I promise we’ll fix her. But not now.’ He squeezes my shoulder. ‘Right now we have to run for it.’
I choke back tears, and nod.
Chapter Fourteen: Running for it
The three of us run out of Grayson’s office, Jem still clutching the shovel. He had gone to throw it out the window, but Mr Lancer stopped him. ‘Grayson’s been asking staff to stay behind after school. If he’s taken over as many of them as I think, we’re going to have to fight our way out.’
Claire is just outside Mum’s door, crouching nervously over the unconscious body of the bossy office lady. Through the glass walls of the main office I can see the rest of the staff slouched over their desks. It looks like Grayson’s henchmen are all out of it for the moment.
Claire stands up as we all come out, and gasps at the blood trickling down my face. ‘Jim! Are you alright?’
I’m not, but I don’t tell her that. ‘We have to go,’ I say instead.
‘Did Mr Grayson do that to you?’ she asks, awestruck.
‘That ain’t all he did,’ Jem says. ‘You should have seen him when he was all twitchy and drooling.’
‘Let’s get going, folks,’ Mr Lancer says quickly, before this image of me can penetrate fully into Claire’s mind.
‘Oh, you’re not going anywhere,’ says a gruff voice from the floor. The office lady’s hand shoots out and grabs Claire’s ankle. She screams and kicks the woman in the face. Jem catches her as she stumbles away and gives her a look of respect.
Then there’s a collective groan from the office. People start raising their heads and baring their teeth.
‘He’s waking up,’ Mr Lancer says. ‘Run!’
The four of us turn and pound across the foyer and down a corridor. There’s a funny growling sound coming from some of the classrooms we streak past. The door to the maths room is open, and some of our class is loitering in the doorway, waiting for their maths teacher to come back. They look up in surprise to see us belting towards them, Claire white as chalk, Mr Lancer puffing, his brown coat flapping behind him, me with blood and sweat all over my face, and Jem still carrying the shovel.
‘Mr Lancer…’ Tracy Beckett begins.
‘Continue with the algebra questions from last week,’ Mr Lancer calls as we hurtle past. ‘Then have an early minute.’
We skid around the next corner and almost run into Miss Lassen, who is stony-faced and carrying a DVD player. She doesn’t even bother threatening us, just throws it straight at my head. Jem swings the shovel and the DVD player goes crashing into a display of artwork. Mr Lancer throws out his hand, and Miss Lassen goes flying back into her classroom, the door slamming shut after her.
The next corner proves a little more difficult: the science teacher Mr Bentley with a hockey stick, the groundsman Phil with a broom, and the school gardener, who I think wants his shovel back. We slide to a halt a few yards in front of them.
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Mr Lancer was right – most of the school staff is under Mr Grayson’s control.
‘Library,’ Mr Lancer barks, and we all turn and dash down the nearest staircase. The broom and the hockey stick come flying after us, and splinter on the wall over our heads. Claire shrieks, but keeps running, and we all reach the bottom of the stairs and charge through the swinging doors into the library.
The librarian is reading Winnie the Pooh to some first-graders. When she sees us she stands up, says, ‘No shovels in the library,’ and throws the book at us. Unfortunately the first-graders think this is fantastic, and all start throwing books too. Dr Seuss and Spot books hail down on us as we run for the far door.
We finally make it outside, and hurtle down the hill towards the staff car park. We’re just passing the wall where Jem and I have lunch when an enormous clap of thunder breaks over our heads. ‘Which one?’ I shout to Mr Lancer as we enter the car park.
‘The blue mini,’ he shouts back. Of course.
‘Watch it!’ Jem calls out, pointing back at the school. We all turn to look.
Grayson is charging out of the main doors and down the path towards the car park stairs, looking much bigger than he usually does. ‘Keep going,’ Mr Lancer shouts, and we pick up speed again, the cold air tearing at our lungs.
We race towards the car, and I feel Mr Lancer’s mind unlocking all the doors. We wrench them open and Jem, Claire and I pile into the back seat. Mr Lancer slides into the front and slams the door behind him, fumbling with his keys.
He locates the right one, drives it into the ignition and turns it. The car protests noisily, whining and screaming at us. I look out the rear window. Mr Grayson has reached the bottom of the stairs now and breaks into a run.
‘Come on, my love,’ Mr Lancer mutters, and turns the key again. The car coughs into life just as Grayson raises his hand, another ball of black energy fizzing in it. Claire screams right in my ear. Mr Lancer wrenches the car into reverse and drives straight at his employer, who is knocked backwards several yards and smacks into the back of a dirty Volvo. Mr Lancer changes gear to first, swings the wheel around, and charges out of the car park in a cloud of white exhaust as the rain comes bucketing down.
James Munkers Page 15
