Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (38 page)

“
A
ladybird? I don't think that colour ladybird exists, Stick.”

“
Why
not? Have you seen one before?”

Benji
shakes his head and releases a carefree chuckle. The sun beats on his
face as he straddles the plastic deck chair. They are happily
painting pebbles they've collected from over the field that morning.

“
No,”
he replies, letting the word carry as though he knows what is coming.

“
Well
then, how'd you know?”

Benji
smiles and looks past Bobby at the clear sky. When he turns around
again, he smiles. He delves into the plastic, ribbed cup which holds
shiny and glittered art pieces. His fingers rummage inside until he
finds two googly eyes, then he throws them over.

“
Yeah
well, it can't be a ladybird without eyes, can it?”

I
stuck eyes on the coloured stone with glue, but it still didn't look
like a ladybird.

That
day, Benji helped paint stones in green and yellow stripes and
swirls—that is what Bobby is seeing now as he stares into his
palm. As he rubs his thumb over the smooth surface, he can almost
hear Benji laughing before flicking the brush at Bobby's face, giving
him freckles of green across his pale skin. He joined in with the
laughter because it felt so good—so right—as though that
summer was destined to continue forever.

“
It
was t
oo
short,” he whispers.

It
is amazing how sharing life with loved ones is so short-lived, no
matter how long it lasts, he muses.

But
now that love has gone, life stretches out in meaningless hours, days
and years. The shortest stretch of time without them drones on and
on. Endless.

Peering
past his hand, Bobby spots another stone among the mild colours now
vibrating within his sight. This stone has stripes of black, dark
green, lime green and cheddar yellow in all different widths.

He
steps over the peddles, crunching them beneath the soles of his
shoes. After he bends to retrieve it, he holds both out before his
eyes.

“
Why
are you doing them in stripes and spirals?”

“
I
don't know, Stick.” Benji's tongue sits between his lips in
concentration as he checks the stone to see if it is complete, or
needs touching up.

“
Why
do
you
keep painting them in those colours?”

“
I
don't know, Stick.”

“
You
don't know?”

A
distant look fills Benji's eyes as he stares at the stone. The
expression is so mild no one else would have noticed, but Bobby sees
it as though a glossy, white veil has skimmed across his irises. He
has no idea what it means, but it instills an unnerving sensation
inside his heart for the rest of the day.

“
I
guess I just like these colours.”

Ahead
of where the last was lying face up in the glass pebbles, he spots
another painted stone.

“
What
is this?”

Ahead
of that one, visible through the low hanging mist, sits another with
a yellow body and greens stars.

It's
like a trail of bread crumbs. A trail to what though?

Sparing
a glance behind him once more, he makes sure he is still alone.
Despite seeing no one else visiting here before, the sense someone
else is here is strong.

Who
knows what can happen now the place is in this state?

Seeing
he is still all by himself, Bobby pauses before taking a step
forward.

Could
Benji be at the end of wherever this leads?

With
that thought hanging at the forefront of his mind, he continues. Each
step becomes more prominent and a complacent sensation cloaks his
shoulders. For a moment, he feels he can redeem everything he's had
taken from him if he can find where these pebbles lead.

When
he reaches the next stone, he piles the others within his left hand
and plucks the new one from the floor. This one has wavy stripes that
resemble the sea.

How
did they get here?

Bobby
pockets all the stones, making his jeans come loose around his waist
and dip with the weight.

Bobby
goes through the whiteness that resembles cotton candy floating
around his head. He cannot help the sense he is nothing but an animal
heading into a trap, but he has no choice but to follow.

The
fourth stone has got dark green stars on the body and spirals of lime
green painted between.

“
Why
are you putting them there, Benny?”

“
Mum
said it'd be nice to decorate the garden,” Benji replies as he
leans over the dirt, gathering it on his palms. His knees lean on the
pathway to place the pebbles in the dirt so they head towards the
shed between the bluebells.

They
look like stepping stones over a stream, Bobby muses.

He
spaces each pebble evenly as he moves from one to the next and pushes
them into the dirt. The nine pebbles fit between the pavement leading
from the back door and shed perfectly.

Once
he finishes, he stands to wipe at his hands. Brown crumbs spiral to
the ground among the bluebells and green foliage.

“
It's
like a shortcut between the usual route.”

It
isn't anything like that Bobby thinks. To him, the stones mark an
unseen route between the plants that no one else can see.

“
They
look right there, don't you think, Stick?”

Bobby
nods. He cannot disagree with that. The blue flowers, yellow and
green stones and auburn shed door are perfect together.

Bobby
follows the path, filling his pockets with the stones until he
reaches stone nine. His jeans will be around his ankles if he fills
his pockets any more.

Stone
nine is different to the rest; on the surface is a symbol instead of
a pattern. He cannot help thinking of extra-terrestrials when he
looks at it. He's not sure why, but it's difficult to tear his eyes
from.

After
moments pass of staring at the stone his brother painted, he pockets
it.

What
comes next? He only painted nine.

For
a moment, he expects to see his own painted stones among the rest.
Yet, he didn't put them in the mud but in a bucket his father threw
in the bin when he needed to wash the windows.

Mum
saved them and put them in the flower pots.

Continuing
through the mist, Bobby walks until the stones at his feet become
sparse and a fading figure comes into view behind the white veil.
Whatever the figure is, it is larger than him with what looks like a
square head.

As
he approaches with trepidation, a dull panic seizes his chest.
Nothing here would have ever hurt him. Even now, with the place
deserted of its true beauty, he cannot conceive of anything doing so.

So
why do I feel so uneasy?

The
mist drifts by the object to reveal an old stone, circular structure
rising from the coloured pebbles on the ground. The charcoal and grey
stones lead into a red, painted clay roof. If he walks to the side of
the structure, he can see an upside down red sailed boat. A wooden
bucket hangs above the white hole with leaves and blue flowers
hanging over the edge.

Bobby
stares at the bucket with the red band going around its circumference
and the bluebells inside. Leaning against the stone well that looks
to have been here for decades, residue sticks to his palms.

He
wants to touch the bluebells, but instead, he looks downward. As far
as he can see, there is no water down there, only dry brick, and part
of himself wants to shout to hear his echo.

Benji
would already be doing so if he were here.

After
that day at the beach, they had gone out for dinner. Benji always
told him the place they went to was a burger joint. His mother said
it was a posh continental restaurant. Usually he would believe his
brother, but he leaned more towards his mother on this occasion.

Their
dad gave a penny to each boy to throw in the wishing well outside.
Benji threw his first and shouted his wish of never going back to
school out to everyone within earshot. It hadn't come true, to
nobody's surprise. Bobby went second, throwing his coin down the well
while clinging tight to his mother's hip. He has no idea what he
wished for, or if he made a wish at all.

“
Bobby.”

The
voice calling out brings Bobby into the present, despite wanting to
slip back into memories of a better time. As the voice speaks again,
it sounds like a soft hum of something mystical, echoing around his
head. He searches the mist for any sign of where the sweet, feminine
voice is coming from, yet he can see nothing but further concealment.

“
Hello?”

Bobby
peers around the wishing well and glances around himself again before
pressing on. Taking each step with caution now, he remains close to
the stone. He searches the mist for the hint of a figure that could
be lurking out here, but he still can find nothing.

“
Drop
the gifts into the well Bobby.”

Gifts?

Bobby
glances down at himself with confusion, then towards the well again.

Have
I got
something?

Patting
his jeans down, he acknowledges the bulky weight either side, and
pulls a stone free.
“
Do
you mean these?”

No
reply comes from the voice from before. Yet, an answer comes in a
quieter tone from within himself telling him it's the right thing to
do.

What
does it matter about stones my brother painted? Why put them in a
well in a place that probably doesn't exist?

“
Do
I drop them, or put them in the basket?”

There's
a brief wisp of an invisible breeze against his neck and Bobby swears
he hears wind chimes tingle in the distance.

“
You
chose, Bobby. It is your destiny, no one else's.”

Bobby
stares down the well where he can see no end, then glances back up to
the bluebells stuffed in the bucket. There is no room for the stones
unless he pulls them free. Yet, there is something about them being
messily assembled that remind him of his mother. The thought of
disturbing them is horrifying. She may have watered them so they grew
neat, but her nature made it irregular.