Ignoring her friend, Rachel asked, ‘Are you going to the Institute? We could drop you off, no bother.’
‘I don’t think that’d go down too well with your mates,’ Jake muttered.
‘Oh, don’t worry about them, they’re cool. Us Institute kids should stick together, yeah?’
‘I guess.’
‘Jump in then.’
Jake glanced through the rear window. A girl sitting on the back seat narrowed her eyes and shook her head.
‘I’m good thanks,’ he sighed. ‘Think I’ll walk.’
‘Come on, Jake, it’s not like you need the exercise, there’s nothing of you.’
Always conscious of his stick-thin body, Jake bristled.
‘Look, to be honest, Rachel, I don’t really understand this.’
‘Understand what?’
‘You being nice to me.’ Blood rushed into his face and he heard his voice crack into an embarrassingly high pitch. ‘This is, like, the first time you’ve ever spoken to me and … ’
‘Hey, I was only offering you a lift,’ Rachel snapped. ‘I wasn’t asking you out on a freaking date! Listen, I just read one of your stories, right? One of those you posted online. The one about the guy haunted by his mother’s ghost.’
‘Mother’s Day,’ Jake said, surprised. ‘I posted that anonymously.’
‘I recognized your style.’ A smile fluttered across her lips. (Beautiful, cupid’s bow lips, shining with pink gloss. Don’t stare, you moron!) ‘Anyway, I think you’re really good. I write a bit myself, poetry mainly. Maybe we could’ve talked. Wish I hadn’t mentioned it now. See you around.’
The Corsa’s back wheels kicked up a cloud of dust into Jake’s eyes.
You bloody idiot! You had the perfect chance to talk to her—maybe even get her number—and you blew it! Jake scuffed his trainers against the tarmac. Perhaps it wasn’t a total disaster. She liked his stories—that might be a way in. His parents must have the Saxbys’ number in their phonebook. He’d get home, have a shower, relax a little, and then summon up the courage to call her. Play it cool …
‘Heads up, gimp boy!’
Something sharp struck Jake on the back of the neck. His fingers went to the spot and found it soft and tacky with blood.
‘Ow, baby’s been hurt,’ a familiar voice sniggered from behind.
Jake swore under his breath. Silas Jones, a boy made up mostly of muscles, tattoos, and broken teeth, loped along the road towards him. Jake hadn’t seen Silas for a while—he had been expelled from school last year for beating up Mr Cable, the geography teacher. A single punch had broken Cable’s jaw.
The street was otherwise empty and the windows of the houses facing it had their curtains drawn. Jake was all alone with the biggest mentalist this side of the Closedown Canal.
‘What d’you want, Silas?’
‘That’s a funny tone to take with me, Jake,’ Silas smirked, showing a mouthful of black fillings. ‘Seeing as how I could beat the crap out of you right here and now. Unless you think you could take me on?’
Silas thrust his face to within inches of Jake’s. It was a great, flat, ugly thing, peppered with yellow-headed pimples. Jake could smell a tuna paste lunch on Silas’s breath and tried not to gag.
‘Anyway, what’re you doing talking to Rachel Saxby? Don’t tell me you think you stand a chance with her? You’re outta your skull if you do. She’d never look at a scrawny scrap of nothing like you.’
Jake started to walk away. Silas trotted alongside, like some kind of psychotic pet dog.
‘Where you off to?’
‘Meeting my mum.’
‘Oh, baby needs his mummy to walk him home. Still, I guess that’s about right. It’s not like you’ve got any friends to keep you company. What’s it they call you at Masterson? Gimp-face? Ah no, I remember: Horror Boy Harker, the Creep Freak.’
Jake had a dozen witty comebacks. He swallowed each of them down. He bit back his anger too. There was no point starting a fight with this human demolition machine—not unless he wanted an ambulance crew to scrape him off the road.
‘So where does Mummy work?’
‘The Hobarron Institute.’
‘La-di-da. You know, my dad says that only bad things have happened to this town since they came here. Everyone knows they’re messing around with dangerous stuff—nuclear junk, gamma rays, chemical weapons. My dad says they’ll probably blow us all up one day. ’S that what your mummy’s gonna do, Harker? Blow this piece of crap town to Kingdom Come with all her stupid experiments?’
Rage burned in his stomach but Jake managed to stay silent.
‘Yeah, bet that’s what your silly cow of a mother is up to. They’ve probably got a bunker or something under that tower. They’ll cause some massive explosion, kill everyone, and you guys’ll be nice and safe in your bunker.’
Walk quicker. Don’t listen.
‘You’ll be laughing at us then, won’t you? You and your sick mother.’
Stay calm. He’ll get bored soon. Go away.
‘Answer me, Horror Boy. I said, is your silly cow mother gonna blow us all up?’
Jake stopped. His hands clenched into fists.
‘Are you stupid or something?’
Silas’s left eye twitched. ‘What d’you say?’
‘I said, are you stupid?’ Now the anger spread out through Jake’s entire body. It felt as if he was on fire. ‘The Hobarron Institute is a charity. It’s a scientific think tank. Do you understand these words, Silas? Are they too big for your dumbass brain to comprehend? Am I talking too quickly?’
‘I—it’s—my dad,’ Silas floundered, ‘he says you’ll blow us all up and … ’
‘Well, if your dad said it then it must be true, Silas. After all, he obviously has first dibs on the family brain cell.’
Silas responded the only way he knew how. His tattooed fist slammed into Jake’s stomach. Jake fell to his knees, eyes streaming, choking as he tried to breathe. Another blow, this time to the head, knocked him sideways. Ceerr-ack. His left cheekbone hit the kerb and pain splintered across his skull. Through tears, he saw Silas’s heavy Doc Marten as it flew towards him. The boot buried itself in his ribs. Pain again, this time reaching into every part of his body. Silas’s rants sounded distant in Jake’s ears.
‘Take the piss out of me and my dad, you little git? When I’ve finished with you, you won’t be laughing. I’m gonna pound you into the pavement. I’m gonna crack your stupid skull open.’
The sole of the Doc Marten pressed down against Jake’s face.
‘OK, after three I’m gonna slam my boot into your nose. It’s breaky-breaky time.’
Pleas for the psycho to stop rose and stuck in Jake’s throat. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to beg.
‘Any last requests?’
‘A change of footwear?’ Jake said, grinning through the fear. ‘Gotta tell you, Silas, no one wears Doc Martens these days.’
‘Think you’re funny, don’t you, Harker? Well let’s see if you’re still cracking jokes in a minute. Ready? One, two, thr—’
A smooth, silky voice cut Silas short.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
Silas balled his fist—he wasn’t afraid of adults.
He spun round to face the stranger. ‘What the hell’s it got to do with y—?’ and his words dried up.
With one hand cradling his gut, Jake managed to stagger to his feet. He looked over to where Silas gawped at the newcomer.
The sun fell behind the houses. Streetlights blinked on, bathing the road in an orange glare. In this sickly half-light, the face of the Pale Man gleamed.
He was dressed in an old-fashioned style: shiny leather shoes with pointed tips, pinstriped trousers and waistcoat. A scarlet tie had been fastened to his shirt with a flashy diamond pin. His clothes were immaculate and tailored perfectly to fit his emaciated body. Jake had immediately thought of him as the ‘Pale Man’ because of the deathly shade of his skin. In fact, now that
he looked closer, it seemed that the skin was almost translucent—that the brilliant white of the man’s skull could be seen shining through.
‘Who are you?’ Silas said, his voice quivering.
Blue eyes shifted between the boys.
‘I am a friend of young Master Harker.’
‘I don’t know you,’ Jake said.
‘Not yet,’ the Pale Man agreed. ‘And now, Master Silas, as there are grown-up things to discuss, I bid you goodnight.’
Silas’s face flushed red. He looked as if he was about to attack the stranger.
The Pale Man shook his head and wagged his finger. ‘Now, now, I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. My friend Mr Pinch is waiting in the car. He is my—how shall I put it?—my guardian angel.’
He nodded towards a long black limousine parked a little way down the road. Its tinted windows reflected Silas, Jake, and the Pale Man, but kept the mysterious Mr Pinch hidden from view.
‘Best you run off home, Silas, or my “angel” will come out to play.’
A silhouette moved against the glass of the windscreen. It was a small form, no larger than a cat. Its movements struck Jake as odd—smooth, stealthy, and then suddenly ragged and sharp, like a string puppet being jerked this way and that. What was it? he wondered.
Jake glanced to his right and saw that Silas was watching the shadow, too. All the ferocity had drained from him and he looked like a frightened little boy. Without a word, Silas turned and shuffled away down the street.
When he reached the end of the road, the Pale Man smirked and called after him. ‘Now be a good boy, Silas, or one day I might come looking for you.’
Silas put his head down and walked on.
‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ the man said, and held out his hand to Jake. ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance, young Harker.’
Jake tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack. Sweat sprang out at the nape of his neck. There was something very wrong with this man, he could feel it.
‘Come now, I am sure your parents have told you that it is impolite not to shake hands when a stranger introduces himself.’
‘My parents told me not to talk to strangers.’
‘Very sensible. Indeed, I should have expected nothing less from Adam and Claire Harker. But tell me, how are your parents?’
‘Fine.’
‘I am relieved to hear it. And they are both still happy in the employ of the Hobarron Institute? I wonder what fascinating projects they are working on these days … ’ Eyes dazzling, he closed in on Jake. ‘If you tell me, I could make it worth your while. Whatever your heart desires could be yours. Money, clothes, the latest gadgets. If there’s some girl you like, I could arrange things so that she looks favourably upon you. Or that boy just now—would you like something unpleasant to happen to him?’
Jake took a step back. ‘I have to go.’
‘What a pity.’ The Pale Man looked genuinely saddened. ‘But perhaps you will do me one favour before we part—if you are now on your way to the Institute, I wonder if you would place this at the memorial?’ He took a scarlet flower from his buttonhole and handed it to Jake. ‘In memory of the tragedy. And now, as we have nothing left to say to one another, you had best go on your way, Master Harker.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Your father and I are old, old friends.’
The Pale Man smiled and fear wriggled in Jake’s gut like a ball of worms.
‘What … ’ Jake’s breath shortened. ‘What’s your name?’
Spots of rain started to run down the stranger’s face and into the hollows of his eyes.
‘Quilp,’ he said. ‘Mr Quilp, at your service. And I am sure we shall see each other again, young man. Very soon, in fact.’
Chapter 2
Clown Killer
Rising to a height of over a hundred and fifty metres, Hobarron Tower, headquarters of the Hobarron Institute, dominated the landscape. A thin structure of steel and glass, it resembled a great shining needle that had been driven into the fabric of the countryside. One road, running out from the town, provided the only point of access.
A lonely figure on the road, Jake hobbled towards the tower. The whole left side of his body ached from Silas’s attack and it felt as if his face was ballooning. The cool rain on his skin eased the pain a little.
‘Welcome to my lair, Mr Bond.’
He always made this joke when approaching the Institute, because it did look something like the hideaway of a James Bond villain. Jake’s eye ran around the chain-link fence that circled Hobarron Tower. Coils of barbed wire twisted along the top of the fence while a dozen or more security cameras craned their necks around the perimeter.
Jake approached the cabin at the gate and waited for Brett, the guard, to look up from his newspaper.
‘Afternoon, fella!’ Brett beamed. ‘How was school?’
‘A big pile of crap-ola.’
‘Hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?’
‘No, just your wife.’
It was the same old banter. As usual, Brett guffawed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. The guard folded his paper and stepped out of the hut. He caught sight of Jake’s face and did a double take.
‘Whoa, what the hell ran into you?’
‘Sports accident. Footy practice.’
‘You’re sure that’s what it was?’
Jake nodded. Although obviously not convinced by the lie Brett didn’t press the point.
‘OK then, big fella,’ he said, his tone more serious. ‘You know the drill. Assume the position.’
Jake walked towards the cabin, spread his feet apart and rested his hands on the wall. The guard took a moment to look through his schoolbag. Then he patted Jake down, checking, presumably, for weapons. It was odd. Jake had been coming to the Institute once a week after school for the last four years. The security staff, the science boffins, even the tea lady, knew him. Dr Holmwood, the chief egghead here, never failed to say hello and ask about his homework. All the same, he was never allowed through the gate without having to go through this rigmarole. The strangest part of it all was the final check.
Brett pulled on a pair of latex gloves and turned Jake’s neck from side to side. Sometimes Jake would sneak a sideways glance and was always amazed by Brett’s intense concentration. Maybe the Institute was scared that a rival company could implant surveillance bugs under the skin. Seemed farfetched, but what else could the check be in aid of?
Brett snapped the gloves from his hands.
‘Clean as a whistle,’ he said. ‘Go on through.’
He ducked into the cabin and pressed a button. A second later the gate rattled into the air.
An open-plan plaza in the shape of a horseshoe surrounded Hobarron Tower. It was filled with sculptures, flowerbeds, benches, and fountains. Nowadays the plaza was only ever used at lunchtimes as a place to eat, to smoke, and to exchange office gossip. Up until eight years ago it had also provided the setting for the Institute’s annual summer gala. The Hobarron Fete had been legendary in the local area. There had been fairground attractions, circus performers, animal rides, and food of every kind.
All that was before the murder.
Jake walked to the monument that stood at the centre of the plaza. It took the form of a stone table upon which flowers could be laid. He took out the scarlet flower given to him by Mr Quilp. It felt wrong to leave it here, but he could think of no logical reason not to do as the stranger had asked. As he placed it among the other floral tributes his eye ran over the inscription on the plaque.
Jake still had the nightmares.
From early morning, the weather had seemed to be toying with the crowds. As soon as umbrellas were unfurled the rain would stop. The moment they were packed away again, the sky would rumble and a thunderous downpour would break over the Hobarron Fete.
Jake was too young to be bothered by a little rain. He ran through the crowds, calling over his shoulder as he w
ent. Annoyed at his dad’s slow pace, he dashed back, grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him between the stalls and sideshows. Jake’s excitement mounted with every fresh sight. There were contortionists bending themselves into impossible shapes and acrobats cartwheeling through the crowds. In one corner of the fete, he found a dog that could bark the national anthem and a woman sporting a white Father Christmas beard.
After trying his luck on the hook-a-duck stall, and winning a goldfish in a bag, he caught sight of the face-painting booth. Jake and his dad waited in the queue, debating between them which face it should be: Tony the Tiger or Scooby Doo.
‘If you want my opinion, Jakey, I think Tony the Tiger would be grrreat!’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Dad, that’s so lame. I reckon Scooby D—’
An unwelcome voice cut in—
‘Hello, you two.’
Jake looked up to find Dr Gordon Holmwood, the head of the Hobarron Institute, smiling down at him. Unfortunately, the old man’s smile always looked more like a sneer.
‘Is this fine fellow I see before me really Jacob Harker?’ Holmwood said in mock surprise. ‘Growing into a proper little gentleman by the minute! And where’s your good lady wife, Adam?’
‘Claire’s working.’
‘Working on the day of the Fete?’ Dr Holmwood cried. ‘But I won’t have that! I must go and find her—drag her out of that damned laboratory.’
‘Good luck,’ Adam murmured.
Holmwood frowned and glanced at Jake. ‘Everything all right at home, is it? Between you and Claire, I mean?’
‘Sure, why shouldn’t it be?’
‘No reason … Well, she’s a silly girl, cooping herself up indoors when you two are out enjoying yourselves. By God, what a day! Have you seen the elephant yet, Jacob?’ The doctor snapped his fingers. ‘Sharon!’
One of his eager young personal assistants appeared out of nowhere.
‘Yes, Dr Holmwood?’
‘Ah, Sharon, my dear. Could you take Jacob here to see the elephant? Get him a ride, let him feed the brute. I just need a quiet word with Dr Harker about his work in the psychology department.’
Dawn of the Demontide Page 2
