well.
The rain’s started again and another wave of panic breaks over me, my automatic response now to water.
Another shove to my chest and I grunt as my back hits the fence behind. Shaved Head sniffs hard, turning his head left and right.
“There’s a nasty smell around here,” he says. “How many times do I have to tell you not to pollute my part of town, you dickhead? I told you I’d kill you if I saw you here again.” He brings his hand up toward me and I feel something cold against my neck, a sharp edge digging in. Shit,he’s got a knife. ’Course, I’ve got one, too, but if I get it out, someone’s going to get hurt. This could be a bloodbath. I’m still hoping I can bluff my way out of this.
Behind him, something seems to crystallize in the drizzle. Something pale, shimmering. I’m distracted by it, but I’ve got to concentrate, play this smart, if I’m going to get out of here in one piece.
“Look,” I gasp, “I don’t want any trouble. Just let me go, okay?”
“You should’ve thought of that before you put your stinking feet on my patch.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “My head got bashed in the lake, I only got out of the hospital yesterday. I don’t even know who you are.”
The rain is getting harder and the thing behind him is taking shape. A face with dark, dark eyes. Black holes, a dark smudge for a mouth. Even though I’ve got a knife at my neck I can’t help staring at it, watching it form.
The face — distorted, blurred, strange — is the face in the school photo, the face on the front page.
Rob. My brother. He’s not dead after all. He’s here …
“You’re not even listening, you little arse-wipe.”
Suddenly the pressure on my neck is released and I think he’s backing off, that he’s seen what I can see, but a second later I realize he’s just stood back to let his mate do the dirty work. The first punch to my stomach doubles me over, and then I take another blow to the back of my neck. I hit the ground, completely helpless. My cheek scrapes on wet gravel as they pile in with their feet. My body jerks with each kick, to my stomach, myback, my neck, my head. I try to brace against it, but I can’t protect myself. All I can do is hope they won’t stick me with the knife. I close my eyes and curl up as tight as I can until they stop.
I don’t know if they think I’ve had enough or they just get bored, but eventually the kicking stops. I hear them walking away, their footsteps fading and then disappearing. I stay curled up for a while, on the wet ground, with the rain falling on the side of my head, starting to soak through my clothes. Blood trickles out of my mouth. I feel like a bit of rubbish someone’s dropped. Something left behind. Unwanted. Something to step over.
I’m cold and wet. Very cold, like I was lying in thick snow, not on a damp path.
Cee. Cee, can you hear me, you bastard?
It’s not the gang. Only one person calls me Cee. And now I smell him, smell the sharp, sour twang of muddy lake.
Can you hear me?
I open my eyes a little way, so there’s a narrow slit to see out of, and he’s there, not three feet away.
White face, streaked with mud. The face that got zipped up into the bag. My eyes open wide. My breathing goes shallow and fast.
I close my eyes again. I’m not seeing this. It isn’t real. It’s the beating I’ve taken messing up my head.
“Everywhere. He’s everywhere, isn’t he?” That’s what Mum said. She sees him, too, in her mind’s eye. I’ve got to rememberthat. I must be concussed, like I was after the lake. Confused. I’ll wake up for real soon and he’ll have gone.
I open my eyes again. He’s lying on the ground like me, his body parallel to mine, but he’s naked except for his boxers. There’s not a spare ounce on him. I can see his ribs moving under his skin as he lies there gasping, and the hedge behind him, dark stems and leaves. Shit! I can see through him.
He makes a gurgling noise, a wet
The rain’s started again and another wave of panic breaks over me, my automatic response now to water.
Another shove to my chest and I grunt as my back hits the fence behind. Shaved Head sniffs hard, turning his head left and right.
“There’s a nasty smell around here,” he says. “How many times do I have to tell you not to pollute my part of town, you dickhead? I told you I’d kill you if I saw you here again.” He brings his hand up toward me and I feel something cold against my neck, a sharp edge digging in. Shit,he’s got a knife. ’Course, I’ve got one, too, but if I get it out, someone’s going to get hurt. This could be a bloodbath. I’m still hoping I can bluff my way out of this.
Behind him, something seems to crystallize in the drizzle. Something pale, shimmering. I’m distracted by it, but I’ve got to concentrate, play this smart, if I’m going to get out of here in one piece.
“Look,” I gasp, “I don’t want any trouble. Just let me go, okay?”
“You should’ve thought of that before you put your stinking feet on my patch.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “My head got bashed in the lake, I only got out of the hospital yesterday. I don’t even know who you are.”
The rain is getting harder and the thing behind him is taking shape. A face with dark, dark eyes. Black holes, a dark smudge for a mouth. Even though I’ve got a knife at my neck I can’t help staring at it, watching it form.
The face — distorted, blurred, strange — is the face in the school photo, the face on the front page.
Rob. My brother. He’s not dead after all. He’s here …
“You’re not even listening, you little arse-wipe.”
Suddenly the pressure on my neck is released and I think he’s backing off, that he’s seen what I can see, but a second later I realize he’s just stood back to let his mate do the dirty work. The first punch to my stomach doubles me over, and then I take another blow to the back of my neck. I hit the ground, completely helpless. My cheek scrapes on wet gravel as they pile in with their feet. My body jerks with each kick, to my stomach, myback, my neck, my head. I try to brace against it, but I can’t protect myself. All I can do is hope they won’t stick me with the knife. I close my eyes and curl up as tight as I can until they stop.
I don’t know if they think I’ve had enough or they just get bored, but eventually the kicking stops. I hear them walking away, their footsteps fading and then disappearing. I stay curled up for a while, on the wet ground, with the rain falling on the side of my head, starting to soak through my clothes. Blood trickles out of my mouth. I feel like a bit of rubbish someone’s dropped. Something left behind. Unwanted. Something to step over.
I’m cold and wet. Very cold, like I was lying in thick snow, not on a damp path.
Cee. Cee, can you hear me, you bastard?
It’s not the gang. Only one person calls me Cee. And now I smell him, smell the sharp, sour twang of muddy lake.
Can you hear me?
I open my eyes a little way, so there’s a narrow slit to see out of, and he’s there, not three feet away.
White face, streaked with mud. The face that got zipped up into the bag. My eyes open wide. My breathing goes shallow and fast.
I close my eyes again. I’m not seeing this. It isn’t real. It’s the beating I’ve taken messing up my head.
“Everywhere. He’s everywhere, isn’t he?” That’s what Mum said. She sees him, too, in her mind’s eye. I’ve got to rememberthat. I must be concussed, like I was after the lake. Confused. I’ll wake up for real soon and he’ll have gone.
I open my eyes again. He’s lying on the ground like me, his body parallel to mine, but he’s naked except for his boxers. There’s not a spare ounce on him. I can see his ribs moving under his skin as he lies there gasping, and the hedge behind him, dark stems and leaves. Shit! I can see through him.
He makes a gurgling noise, a wet
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