“Well we better not wait any longer, just in case he was suspicious.”
Boy ran back to ready the others and one by the one the groups slipped off into the Ghost Estate. Violet and her gang were again left ‘til last.
“You have to be really brave in here,” she whispered to the orphans, “you’re going to feel very sad but you have to promise me you won’t cry.”
“Why will we be sad?” a boy of about seven asked.
“I don’t know but it’s not a real feeling. It’s just something that happens in there,” Violet said, pointing through the gates, “Once you leave the feeling will go.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will,” Violet said, looking at the dark entrance, “I promise.”
When all the orphans swore they’d be brave, Violet turned to face the estate.
“Okay,” she whispered, “let’s go.”
They passed in through the cement pillars and immediately the weight of the world collapsed on Violet’s shoulders. Everything bad that had happened jumped to the front of her mind. Her mother and father, Boy with no parents, Macula Archer locked in her room. Her pace slowed, her shoulders slumped, tears readied round her eyes. There was a short tug on her sleeve. The little girl from before stared up at her. Her eyes huge against her pale skin.
“You said it’s not real Violet is it?”
Violet looked back at the group, all were crying. Her heart surged. She had to be strong, for them.
“No it’s not real,” she soothed, and squeezed the girl’s hand.
A thick fog hung low over the ground swallowing the other groups one by one. Violet shivered. The estate was eerily quiet as they tiptoed through. Just as Boy predicted; almost all the Watchers were busy surveying the streets of Perfect. With extra patrols now watching No Mans Land, the Ghost Estate was relatively clear. Urging her orphans forward they increased their pace. They stuck to the road a safe distance from the sleeping eye plants that still haunted Violet’s dreams.
A lonely lamppost yellowed the haze ahead and she shepherded the group towards it. The place turned icy cold. Her skin crawled like a million maggots fought to break out her insides. A shadow moved through the mist. Violet stopped halting the group. A figure stood alone under the light. She whispered to the orphans to stay put and ventured across the sparse grass.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me Boy,” Violet whispered.
“About time,” he snapped, “everyone’s already in the tunnel. There’s Watchers about. Let’s go!”
Violet signalled her group forward and they followed Boy across the grass, through the turnstile into the graveyard. Immediately the sadness lifted leaving fear in its wake. An overgrown path led them through the centre of the cemetery. The smell of rot soaked the air forcing everyone to grab their nostrils. Tombstones hovered in the mist on either side and an eerie presence hung over Violet’s shoulder as if the dead were watching. One of the younger girls began to cry and the pace increased unconsciously. The gates were just ahead. Their walk turned to a jog and as one little girl let out a shrill cry, all five sprinted for the exit.
“Ssh, you have to be quiet,” Boy snapped, standing just outside the gates, “follow me quickly, everyone’s waiting inside.”
The orphans looked at Violet as Boy disappeared into the tunnel.
“In there?” one of them shivered.
“We’ll be fine,” Violet soothed, leading them forwards.
The tunnel was black and it took a moment before outlines appeared huddled by the wall. All the orphans were back together and the safety of numbers appeared to calm the nerves. After a quick break they moved off under Boy’s instruction, in the direction of the Watcher’s den. The air was thick with damp making it a struggle to breathe.
“I’m frightened,” a small boy said, grabbing Violet’s hand.
She smiled and squeezed his palm; it normally worked when her Mam did it. She missed having her Mam and Dad take care of her. Now she was the adult, she had to take care of this boy and all the other boys and girls in the tunnel. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to grow up.
“Everybody back against the wall,” Boy whispered urgently.
Her unconscious took over and she forced the group back, quickly she raced up the line quietening the crowd. Her heart pounded but she could do this. She could be just as strong as Boy. He needed her to be now more than ever. As the groups stood statue still, Boy peered around a corner up ahead.
“They’ve gone,” he whispered, rejoining the others.
They picked up the pace and made steady progress towards the Archer’s shop. On reaching the Watcher’s empty den they stopped.
“We’ll leave everybody here,” Boy said, to two of the older boys, “you take care of them. You’ll hear the Watchers if they’re coming but I think we have a few hours left before they’ll be back. Me and Violet are going to break into the Archer’s storeroom. We’ll come back for you then.”
Violet stared at Boy. Were they not going to break into the Archers together? What happened to safety in numbers?
“You’ll be fine,” Boy said, reading her thoughts.
“I know I will,” Violet replied quickly, “It’s you I’m worried about.”
Violet swallowed deeply then followed her friend out onto the dark stairwell that led to the Archer’s storeroom. Boy stayed two steps ahead, his stride longer, and she struggled to keep up with his pace. What if the Archers were there - or worse the Watchers? She could cope with the Archers; they were ancient, but the Watchers were big and muscley. She’d never take them, even with Boys help. Quickly they reached the top of the stairs and Boy began pulling in vain on the brick handle. The door to the Archer’s was locked.
“What now?” Violet asked, sure they would have to go back.
“We wait.”
“For what?”
“For one of the Watchers to come back.”
“But they’ll catch us!”
“Not if we catch them first,”
Boy held up a strange object.
“The torch?” Violet said surprised.
“I hid it in the estate incase we ever needed it again,” he smiled.
Violet would have smiled back but how on earth was the torch going to save them from the Watchers?
“What if there’s more than one of them Boy?”
“There’ll only be one. Fists is lazy, he normally sneaks off work long before the others. I reckon he’ll be back here soon. We clobber him and get the keys.”
“I hope you’re right,” Violet sighed, sliding down the wall onto the floor.
“Sure I’m never wrong!” Boy smiled.
It seemed like hours passed resting against the cold stone. Her head spun. She would have slept, her body almost weak with tiredness, had her mind let her. Suddenly keys jangled from behind the door. Nerve endings sparked, Violet climbed up from the floor ready to pounce.
“Blasted keys,” a gruff voice snarled.
Boy moved swiftly across the space and stood, torch held high, just inside the entrance. The lock turned. Slowly the door swung open. Fists was bent over fiddling with the keys, he didn’t see Boy swing for his head. There was a loud clatter, a howl of pain and he fell to the floor.
“Oi you mangy, wriggling, dirty, maggot!” a huge Watcher roared, as he rushed through the door grabbing Boy by the hair.
Violet froze to her spot by the wall. The Watcher didn’t see her and Boy signalled her to hide as he struggled with the beast.
“I knew we’d catch you someday ya ugly orphan. No wonder your parents didn’t want ya. I’m going to rip you to shreds.”
Boy kicked his capture in the shin. He tried to run but the Watcher grabbed him, clattering him hard against the wall. Her friend’s lifeless body was flung roughly over the Watcher’s shoulder. As the giant oaf turned his back Violet picked up the torch and ran. Boy was in the way. If she swung she’d hit him.
The Watcher disappeared down the s
tairwell. The keys hung idle in the door above Fist’s head. Grabbing them Violet slipped down the stairs. If the Watcher discovered the orphans they were goners.
Light trickled into the stairwell highlighting the figures ahead. Boy was still unconscious. Violet held her breath, close enough now that the Watcher might hear. He pounded into the room below. Where were the screams? She tiptoed in after him. The room was empty. The orphans were gone. The Watcher strode across the floor and flung Boy’s body onto the cold stone. She winced as her friend’s head smashed off the ground. Her mind on Boy, she didn’t notice the Watcher turn. He stared straight at her. Veins running down the side of his bald head pulsed under pressure. Roaring, he made a surge for Violet his fist firm. She couldn’t move. Arms, legs, wake up!
Suddenly hundreds of small bodies rushed out from cupboards, beds and boxes to grab hold of the Watcher’s ankles. He kicked in fury but the orphans held tight. The scene was manic, still Violet’s body wouldn’t respond. Everyone was shouting at her. They were pointing and shouting. What was it? Her hand, they were pointing at her hand. The torch. She still had the torch. Snapping from her trance, noise filled the room.
“The torch, the torch, Violet the torch!”
She sprung to life. Tightening her grip she steadied the solid wood in her hands. The Watcher moved quickly, his pace slowed only a little by the orphans. She was screaming then running. Paces from him she lifted the torch. With all the force she could muster, she slammed the wooden stick down on top of the Watcher’s bald head. There was a loud groan and the giant crashed solidly to the floor. On automatic, she kept running and tripped over his sprawling body. Then the orphans ambushed her. Like a soccer player who’d scored the winning goal, they screamed and jumped around her.
“You saved us, you saved us,” they cried.
“Boy!” Violet roared, her friend’s image suddenly springing to mind.
Ignoring the celebrations she rushed to his side. He was still unconscious.
“He’s breathing, someone help me,” she said, grabbing his ankles.
They lifted Boy onto one of the beds. Ensuring he was okay, Violet covered him in a blanket in case the Watchers came back. She turned to the group who were now a little calmer.
“We still have a job to do,” she said, “Follow me!”
Quickly and as quietly as possible she ushered everyone up the steps. Fists was still unconscious as they tiptoed past into the Archer’s storeroom.
“What are they?” a boy asked, pointing to the jars of colour.
“They’re imaginations,” Violet replied, loud enough for all to hear, “we have to take one each. Be careful when you’re carrying them. We can’t break any.”
Everyone stood back afraid. Then one of the older boys stepped forward and walked the length of the corridor inspecting the lids of the jars. He stopped and pulled one from the shelf. Reading it carefully, he held the glass aloft.
“It’s my dad’s,” he said to the group.
Amazed, the rest began to scour the shelves for their loved ones. Violet was helping a little girl when a jar caught her eye. Light pink and purple hues flooded the glass. Rose Brown 02.02.11, her mother’s name written in tiny type. Shaking, she took the jar gently from the shelf. Boy should be with her now. She needed him. With him she was safe and everything would be alright. Without him? No she wouldn’t think about that now.
She cradled the glass to her chest and helped the last of the orphans. Once everyone had an imagination, they dragged Fists’ unconscious body into the storeroom. Locking the door, they snuck back down the stairwell. Chimes of glass coloured the darkness.
“Be a bit quieter,” a voice whispered, up from the room below.
Boy! It was his voice. He was sitting upright on the Watcher’s bed as they entered the den.
“You’re alive,” Violet laughed, throwing herself around him.
“Violet, my head, it’s still sore you know!”
“Oh I’m sorry. I was afraid...”
“A mangy Watcher’s not going to kill me,” he interrupted, wobbling to his feet.
He put his hands out to balance against the wall and Violet slipped in under his armpit.
“Lean on me,” she whispered.
He smiled and steadied against her shoulder.
“We have them,” she said, turning so Boy could see the orphans proudly holding their jars, “we’re ready for William.”
“We better hurry then,” Boy replied groggily.
As quickly as possible they slipped through the winding tunnels and out into the Ghost Estate; their pace slowed a little by injury. Everyone held an imagination except Boy. As they crept passed the house where her father was held Violet hugged the jar in her hands. Even if her parents were a little mad, she was lucky to have them.
“There’s something up,” Boy whispered. as they neared the estate entrance.
“What do you mean?” Violet asked.
He picked up a stone and fired it at one of the windows. The glass smashed, the sound reverberating through the estate.
“Boy! What are you doing? You’ll get us caught.”
Violet spun on the spot. There wasn’t a stir from the houses, not a sound. Nothing happened. The eerie silence sent a shiver through her soul.
“There’s nobody here,” Boy said, “they’ve all gone. Everyone”
“Why?” Violet asked, keeping her voice as even as she could.
“I don’t know, but we need to get back to William.”
The group increased their pace. They passed through the Ghost Estate and out into No Mans Land, which was empty too. The Watchers who patrolled earlier had gone and not a soul walked the town. Curtains moved behind window frames as they slipped along the streets. They were being watched. They sped through the market square past empty stalls and towards the entrance to No Mans Land. The large, barbed wire pillars stood out just ahead. Two figures paced back and forth by their base.
William Archer and Merrill Marx turned in unison.
“Boy, Violet! We were so worried,” William said, running to greet his friends.
“What’s happened?” Boy asked.
“What is it?” Violet said catching her breath, “The Watchers- they’ve all gone!”
“They know there’s something up,” Merrill replied, “one of the No Mans Landers told them.”
“But why would someone do that?” Violet asked angrily.
“They’re afraid Violet,” William replied, “fear does funny things to folk.”
“But they’re No Mans Landers. They’re meant to be different…”
“Maybe not so different after all,” William sighed.
“We have to do something! We have the imaginations. We’re ready.”
“I know Violet,” William replied, “but we don’t stand a chance now. There aren’t enough of us.”
“But if we stuck to the plan, if we could give the people back their imaginations there would be,” Boy interrupted.
“We can’t get near the people,” Merrill sighed, “The Watchers have barricaded the main roads to Perfect. There’s no way in.”
Merrill walked away defeated. Violet looked at William then back at the jar in her hands. After all they’d done, everything was crashing down around them.
“This can’t be it Boy,” she pleaded.
For the first time since she’d met him, he looked lost. She slumped down by one of the pillars. Everything was gone. Her mother’s imagination floated oblivious through the jar. She’d never see her Mam again. She’d probably start a new family, a perfect one. Violet would be wiped from her memory. Her Dad, she’d probably never see him either. She’d be just like Boy and William. She’d be alone. Suddenly in all the despair an idea hit her.
“Your mother, Iris, she lives on a side road just outside the town,” she said, looking straight at William Archer.
“Leave her out of this Violet,” William replied sharply.
“But I know she will help. I met her and she’
s not like the others in Perfect. She’s different. She’s like one of us just living in there.”
“Violet’s right,” Boy said looking up, “she took me in sometimes, when the Watchers were chasing me. She can see us.”
“No,” William said angrily, “I won’t have it. Leave her out of this, I can’t lose her twice.”
As William walked away a little girl of about six stood up from the sea of seated orphans, her jar of yellowish gas held aloft.
“Em…If you’re going to your old house Mr. Archer can I come too?” she said nervously, “My house is on your street and I want to give this back to my Mammy. Boy said if she gets her imagination back she’ll remember who I am.”
Violet looked at the little girl then back at William Archer.
“Please William,” she said, “I think I have a plan.”
CHAPTER 31
The Reunion
After going vigorously through Violet’s plan for anything that could go wrong, they waited until cover of darkness before slipping out through the gates of No Mans Land. They made their way towards the intersection that marked the entrance to Perfect. Boy moved ahead of the party to peer around the corner.
“There’s about five Watchers at the bottom of the road,” he whispered.
“Right,” William said, addressing three orphans about Violet’s age, “Distract them so we can get up this street. Nothing dangerous though please.”
One of the orphans winked and the three scruffy scoundrels slipped round the corner of the street and marched laughing and joking towards the small band of Watchers. Once the Watchers were distracted, Violet, Boy and two more orphans each holding a jar of imagination, slipped round the corner and down the street in the opposite direction. They were followed slowly by Merrill and William carrying the “Reimaginator”. At the top of the street they turned left onto a side alley that ran parallel to Perfect.
Soon they came to the house. Even in the darkness it was easy to tell William was nervous. Leaving down the machine, he turned his back on the group and walked to the door. His hand shook as he raised it to knock on the painted wood. Violet’s stomach swam in butterflies. The click of the latch was magnified in the quiet of the street. A trickle of light fell out onto the cobble locked road. Then William Archer’s face was illuminated by the opened door. His tense stance softened in the swiftness of his mother’s embrace. Violet knew then that no matter what, her mother would never forget her.
A Place Called Perfect Page 14
