Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (22 page)

“
You
sound like one of those disillusioned people in the films. 'You must
come with us, you're the world's last and only chance'.”

Gage
rubs at his face and settles himself against the wall beside the
wardrobe. He doesn't flinch like Bobby when a door slams somewhere
downstairs.

Bobby
moves toward the door, but a hand touches his chest to stop him from
venturing further. He cannot help the disgust that comes over his
face, especially with the lack of care he finds staring back.

Bobby
hears the the door creaking open and closed on the landing before
feet drift along the carpet. They sound tiny, somehow..

“
Don't.”

“
My
mum, she's going to—”

“
Get
hurt? Yeah. Nothing you can do though.”

He
scowls at the placid face, then shoves the scarred hand away. Yet,
it's right back on him, pulling him back by the t-shirt with little
effort. “No you don't.”

“
I'm
not a damn puppy, get off me!”

“
Not
until you stay put. It's not your time to die.”

Those
emotionless eyes reflect nothing, but still emit a pearlescent sheen.
He wants to fight back, ignorant of anything he says, but doesn't.
The concern imprinted on his face does what all the pleading in the
world cannot—it shows concern for Bobby's welfare and not his
own. So, Bobby drops his anger. He has learned over the last three
years how to read the guy's mannerisms. He knows whenever he touches
the scar on his face—stroking it in a reflective fashion—it's
a warning he might do something he may regret. Bobby isn't sure he
even knows he's doing it. He doesn't know how he got the scar, but he
can tell it causes him pain.

“
If
I go downstairs I will die, is that what you're saying?”

Gage
nods and looks away with a wistful glare. “Either that, or I'll
stop you and you don't want that.”

Inhaling
and releasing in one long wave, Bobby moves past the guy. He puts his
hand against the door handle, not sure what he intends on doing, but
the action startles Gage.

He
didn't expect that.

As
Bobby pulls the handle down and steps out onto the landing, Gage
moves after him. Moving with stealth, Bobby strains to listen to the
sounds of the house. He tries to locate where his parents are, but
finds he cannot within the silence.

“
Don't,”
Gage whispers from behind. Yet, he attempts to go after him as he
stands in the doorway, observing his movements. He doesn't twitch
while Bobby leans over the banister with a faint moan.

When
he catches a noise downstairs, Bobby withdraws and moves across the
landing. Gage is in pursuit until the boy veers left. Instead of
descending the stairs, he moves to the bathroom where he closes the
door in Gage's face.

When
it kicks off, there will at least be something standing between the
boy and his father.

As
the sound of a bolt locking comes, Gage feels a little more relieved.
If he has to get between the two, he will because it is not yet time
for that confrontation to take place. He will, but he shouldn't. Any
interference can change the course of everything and, in his
experience, it's never for the better. It may only be a simple lock,
but it might deter the man for a while.

Staring
at the door, Bobby wonders whether he will be so lucky this time. He
has survived in here when his father has been slamming a boot into
the wood. Luckily, in his drunken stupor, he always gives up.

The
orange tiles in the left corner is his usual place of refuge.--that
is where he cuddles himself up against the floor boards. The modest
size of the room means the sink, bath and toilet are all almost on
top of one another.

With
his pulse pounding at his throat and head, panic drives through every
part of him. Within his unsteady vision, the walls stretch wide
before coming back to close around him. They wrap around his flesh as
he slips his arms around his knees. He tucks himself into a ball and
tries to crawl inside himself.

A
white substance smudges the mirror above the sink. Spots of other
liquids spill down the tiles and grime gathers in places. Someone has
had a messy wash at the sink and has not bothered cleaning.

Hairs
gather round the edge of the bath tub. Trails and blobs of shower gel
stains the beige plastic from his mother's neglect and stress.

How
can I leave her down there alone with him again?

It
is a question he asks each time he does, and he cannot help also
questioning his love and loyalty.

His
legs twitch. For a second, he means to clamber to his feet and go
downstairs to ring the police. Yet, the figure that comes into view
halts him from doing anything more. Bloodshot eyes and irritated
scleras appear out of thin air, followed by his body.

Bobby's
body jolts, and he finds himself against the tiles, staring at the
magic act. He has seen him do it before, but it never fails to shock.

How
the hell does he do that?

“
I
know it's tough, but it's a necessity.”

“
What?”
Bobby cannot keep the high-pitched tone that sequels from his mouth.
He looks dumbfounded at the guy's audacity to suggest such a thing.
“My dad beating my mum black and blue is a 'necessity'?”

“
Yes,”
he replies as he crouches to join Bobby on the floor opposite. As he
folds his legs out like a child in morning assembly, Bobby can see
dry blood trails falling from his eyes and down both cheeks. It is
faint, but unmistakable.

“
Please
explain that to me.”

Mimicking
Bobby's tense posture, his eyes roam the floor and Bobby can see the
cogs turning. He is trying to decide on the best way of answering,
not that there can be an appropriate answer to his statement.

He
will have to disappear again if he wants to avoid my questions this
time.

It
hurts whenever he appears through solid objects, judging by the way
he digs his fingers into his temple afterwards. It isn't the first
time he has shown signs he is suffering from a migraine despite his
usual serene composure.

“
This
is probably not the—”

“
Tell
me. Tell me now! If you want me to do what you want, then you better
be honest. Walking around being vague all the time and vanishing as
you please might be how you operate, but I don't. I operate through
truth. I want to stop this happening to her, so tell me how.”

Exhaling,
Gage glances up from the floor. He gives his palms the once over as
he unfolds them, then reverts to Bobby with a considerable amount of
effort. He may be nine years older, but he is still wrapped inside
his own insecurities.

He
runs his tongue over his bottom lip—another thing he does when
he's nervous, or in deep thought.

“
It
is a necessity to the cause. It might hurt you, but—”

“
'
Cause'?
What cause?”

“
You
cannot know that yet.”

Removing
his eyes from Gage, Bobby stares down at the floor again. Looking at
the pale flesh of his so-called friend is creating knots inside his
belly.

When
he wakes in the middle of the night to the groggy moans, yelps and
vile name calling, he often hides in here. He plays a game to fill
his time and try to drone out the noise from downstairs.

Since
he was two, Bobby formed a habit of finding patterns in things.
Whether that's materials, stone formations, buildings from a bird's
eye view—which look like markings built to communicate with
someone, or something else—clouds, textures, car parking,
flower arrangements, even simple things like the contents of a cup,
or stains and spills. His eyes form them into shapes the way one
might pour paint onto a piece of paper and use their fingers to
create beauty from chaos.

Sitting
in the bathroom has always been the same—he finds hundreds of
patterns on the floorboards alone. It keeps his mind entertained and
in a state where he cannot process other noises and actions. They
stay at a distance as though he is here in the same space and time,
yet cannot hear or interact with them. Maybe it is a coping
mechanism, but he will take that over what is really happening any
day of the week.

Even
the chipped plaster on the walls around the bath and toilet make
patterns. So do the cobwebs decorating them. He can see anything if
he looks hard enough, or at the right angle. Sometimes glancing at
the markings from the corner of his eye even creates new patterns he
wouldn't find when looking at them head on.

Eyes
are the most common—wide eyes that appear almost Manga in
style, angry eyes, sorrowful eyes, joyful and youthful eyes with high
eyelashes. And then there are faces—full faces, half faces,
pieces of floating faces.

Once
he found a caveman's upper body with a slumped back and misshapen
side face. On its head there appeared to be a hat which reminded
Bobby of a paper boat. The caveman seemed to carry a weapon, perhaps
a club.

There
are animals, birds, countries, trees and mundane household items—if
he stares hard enough he can find anything.

Sometimes
once he has spotted a pattern, he cannot lose it as the impression
remains on his brain. Other times, he will lose it and cannot place
it again. Instead, he finds a different pattern and cannot believe
any other form existed there at all.

Whether
spaced over a large scale, or modestly sized, patterns are
everywhere. Just like poetry, patterns create something from nothing.

The
habit may have gone from being cool to bordering on irritation over
the years, but it keeps him here and stops him from quitting this
world.

“
Who
tells you all this—a magical wizard?”

Gage
regards Bobby with an expression that can only suggest he finds the
question absurd.

“
Okay,
maybe not a wizard. An all-knowing being from the future? You keep
talking about getting that thing from Benji's room as though I'll
have no more worries if I do. If I'm important—as important as
you say I am—then why all this? And what are you
suggesting—that I just leave everything and everyone without
knowing why, or where I'm going? How can you expect that of me? I
want to help, but I can't leave my mum here. I won't.”

“
Trust,”
Gage huffs in a rugged tone and pulls himself back to his feet.

A
second later, a crash comes from downstairs which sounds as though
something has toppled from the dining table. Bobby wonders whether
his father will throw plates at the walls again.

At
least she didn't waste her time preparing the meal for him this time.

His
father might not have seen her face after that time, but Bobby had.
His actions made her hurt because he was cheating and dismissive and
couldn't stand her questions any longer.

Bobby
is about to move to stop it before it starts. Yet, before he can
lift, Gage pushes his shoulder and orders him to “stay put.”