rasping as he moves his mouth and water trickles out.
You owe me, little brother, he says.
My head’s telling me not to believe this. Not to trust my own senses.
My heart’s beating fast and strong.
My poor punched, kicked, bruised and beaten guts twist inside me.
This isn’t happening. My brother’s dead. My brother is dead.
I stretch my arm across the gap between us. My fingers pass through his shoulder. There’s no resistance, nothing there. But that’s not quite true, because my hand is aching with cold, like I was holding it in a freezer.
I pull my hand back sharply, revolted by him, horrified.
“What did I do?”
His body convulses. He draws his knees in and jerks his head forward. Water gushes out of his mouth. Its foul stench fills my nostrils.
I scramble to my feet. He’s still lying there, twisting and twitching like a fish out of water, retching and gasping.He’s lying at my feet, in the grip of something terrible. He’s no threat, surely. But I’ve never been so terrified.
I can’t watch him. I can’t stay here.
He splutters again, You did this. You’ll pay, you little runt.
And I turn and start running.
I run through wet alleyways and footpaths, under yellow streetlights, through the driving rain, trying to leave him behind. The thing. The Rob that isn’t Rob.
But he’s with me all the way.
He appears out of nowhere in front of me and suddenly I find myself running toward him, not away. I veer into the road, increasing my pace. But he’s everywhere in the shadows. Oh God. Oh God.
Where are you going, Cee?
I realize my feet are still taking me toward Neisha’s. I’m desperate to get there, get away from this nightmare, but I can’t run any faster. My ankle is still sore from my flying leap off the stairs. My stomach and ribs hurt from the beating. I can’t get enough air into my lungs. There’s adrenaline surging through me but I can feel my strength sapping away.
I cross the bridge and turn the corner onto River Terrace. It’s a wide, tree-lined street, Victorian terraces set back from the road, each house with its own pretty garden. And he’s here, waiting by the solid stone gatepost at the entrance to Neisha’s. I screech to a halt thirty feet away.
He says nothing, just stares at me. What does he want?Am I going mad? I’ve got to walk past him to get to her door, and that fills me with dread.
The house is dark except for one light somewhere behind the stained glass in the front door. The light’s reflected on the polished tiles of the step. The curtains are open. Maybe everyone’s out.
I’m wondering how to get past Rob when he starts coughing. He buckles forward, water pouring from his mouth, and stands there with his head hanging over the pavement. Real or not, I don’t want to get any nearer than I have to. I take my chance and vault over the low wall into the front garden.
The ground is wet and slippery under my feet, the rain still hammering down. I stand by the window and look inside. Light from the hallway is shining softly into the living room, throwing a gentle glow onto a couple of big sofas, a tiled fireplace with vases and ornaments on the mantelpiece above. It’s just under a mile away from home, but it’s a million miles from a shitty flat like ours … What the hell was Neisha doing with Rob? Why would someone like her talk to people like us?
At first I think that the room is empty, but then I see that a discarded coat on one sofa has hands and a head and hair. It’s Neisha, curled in a ball, with her knees drawn up to her stomach. Her face is resting on her hands; her palms are together like she’s saying a prayer. Her eyes are closed and it feels wrong looking in at her … but I don’t want to stop. She’s beautiful.
Even in her sleep she looks troubled. I lean closer and my foot tips off the edge of the lawn into the flower bed, throwingme off balance. I put my hands out to stop myself and they slap against the window. I curse at my
You owe me, little brother, he says.
My head’s telling me not to believe this. Not to trust my own senses.
My heart’s beating fast and strong.
My poor punched, kicked, bruised and beaten guts twist inside me.
This isn’t happening. My brother’s dead. My brother is dead.
I stretch my arm across the gap between us. My fingers pass through his shoulder. There’s no resistance, nothing there. But that’s not quite true, because my hand is aching with cold, like I was holding it in a freezer.
I pull my hand back sharply, revolted by him, horrified.
“What did I do?”
His body convulses. He draws his knees in and jerks his head forward. Water gushes out of his mouth. Its foul stench fills my nostrils.
I scramble to my feet. He’s still lying there, twisting and twitching like a fish out of water, retching and gasping.He’s lying at my feet, in the grip of something terrible. He’s no threat, surely. But I’ve never been so terrified.
I can’t watch him. I can’t stay here.
He splutters again, You did this. You’ll pay, you little runt.
And I turn and start running.
I run through wet alleyways and footpaths, under yellow streetlights, through the driving rain, trying to leave him behind. The thing. The Rob that isn’t Rob.
But he’s with me all the way.
He appears out of nowhere in front of me and suddenly I find myself running toward him, not away. I veer into the road, increasing my pace. But he’s everywhere in the shadows. Oh God. Oh God.
Where are you going, Cee?
I realize my feet are still taking me toward Neisha’s. I’m desperate to get there, get away from this nightmare, but I can’t run any faster. My ankle is still sore from my flying leap off the stairs. My stomach and ribs hurt from the beating. I can’t get enough air into my lungs. There’s adrenaline surging through me but I can feel my strength sapping away.
I cross the bridge and turn the corner onto River Terrace. It’s a wide, tree-lined street, Victorian terraces set back from the road, each house with its own pretty garden. And he’s here, waiting by the solid stone gatepost at the entrance to Neisha’s. I screech to a halt thirty feet away.
He says nothing, just stares at me. What does he want?Am I going mad? I’ve got to walk past him to get to her door, and that fills me with dread.
The house is dark except for one light somewhere behind the stained glass in the front door. The light’s reflected on the polished tiles of the step. The curtains are open. Maybe everyone’s out.
I’m wondering how to get past Rob when he starts coughing. He buckles forward, water pouring from his mouth, and stands there with his head hanging over the pavement. Real or not, I don’t want to get any nearer than I have to. I take my chance and vault over the low wall into the front garden.
The ground is wet and slippery under my feet, the rain still hammering down. I stand by the window and look inside. Light from the hallway is shining softly into the living room, throwing a gentle glow onto a couple of big sofas, a tiled fireplace with vases and ornaments on the mantelpiece above. It’s just under a mile away from home, but it’s a million miles from a shitty flat like ours … What the hell was Neisha doing with Rob? Why would someone like her talk to people like us?
At first I think that the room is empty, but then I see that a discarded coat on one sofa has hands and a head and hair. It’s Neisha, curled in a ball, with her knees drawn up to her stomach. Her face is resting on her hands; her palms are together like she’s saying a prayer. Her eyes are closed and it feels wrong looking in at her … but I don’t want to stop. She’s beautiful.
Even in her sleep she looks troubled. I lean closer and my foot tips off the edge of the lawn into the flower bed, throwingme off balance. I put my hands out to stop myself and they slap against the window. I curse at my
Similar Books
