Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (39 page)

Pulling
stone by stone from his jeans, he lines them on top of the well and
wonders if this is important.

He
rests his fingertips against the striped stone, the first in the
line. Exhaling a short breath, he pushes the first past the edge
where it plummets into the hole. It smacks against the stone as it
descends, then a strange thing happens. Instead of meeting with
water, or echoing from a hard surface, a soft glow comes from below
to consume it.

What
the hell was that about?

Bobby
takes the second that Benji made with feather imprints on that
reminds him of a bird. Holding it over the hole, he releases it and
watches until it falls out of sight. It ricochets off one side, then
the other. Like last time, the glow comes again and swallows the
stone.

It
may not be the same thing he saw at the wardrobe as his mother died
in his arms, but it is too similar for there to be no link.

Bobby
does the same with the seven remaining stones and watches the glowing
light appear and disappear with each. When he glances back around for
confirmation, all remains silent.

“
Is
that right? What do I do now?”

His
question is not answered, and he cannot help feeling foolish for
speaking to the empty place.

With
a sigh, he heads around the well where he notices the stones
disappearing from the ground to form grass again. But it is not the
vibrant blades he was hoping for.

Drifting
over the dead grass, he drags his body through the mist. He waits for
the voice to speak up again, or for the owner of the voice to show
themselves. Neither happens, but he stumbles upon something that
makes him gasp and take a step backwards.

He
stares ahead to where the woodland ends which he hasn't come to
before. As the mist departs, as though a curtain is opening on a
grand stage, he stands there gob smacked.

This
is not what he expected. In all honesty, he hoped for the white house
he has seen many times within his sleep, so he feels dejected by the
sight he finds instead.

Five
feet before him, the ground has broken apart. As he looks over the
cliff's edge, he hears the water crashing below. Taking a frigid step
forward, he leans as much as he dare over the dry twigs and stones.
When he peers below, he spots turquoise waves and foam as they crash
into the rocks. The breeze hits his face, lifts his hair and sends a
calm tingle running through his body.

Where
is the house?

Although
it is not present, the emotions he held while looking at the painting
are present. So is the feeling that swelled inside by visiting this
place so many times within his dreams.

Is
it here, but hidden somehow?

The
mist closes in behind him to conceal his path, but hearing the waves
relaxes him.

I'm
not in danger here.

And
as he stares toward the horizon, now lit with the dying ambers of the
sun, he recalls having flown within the clouds. Although dreamlike,
the remnants and message behind it mean so much more now, despite
nothing being as he thought it would be.

Bobby
shuffles closer to the edge, sending mud spiralling over the jutting
mounds of browning grass below. When he takes a final step forward,
his trainers become unsteady. Yet, the knowledge within his heart
tells him it is so close—so close he is almost within touching
distance.

Whatever
happens, I'm safe.

As
the remnants of orange rays fall away behind the land's edge, a bolt
of darkness strikes at his head. White light fills his eyes and his
body rocks backwards as though all his bones are flimsy. As the flash
of light screams out from his eyes, he plunges forward. His toes
patter over the precipice, and all he can see across the land is a
pair of glowing lights piercing through the darkness.

Like
a lighthouse guiding the way.

His
toes leave the earth and he stretches his arms out at his sides.
Bobby's body suspends within the air for a moment, then he plummets
thousands of feet below where no natural light can reach. As he
falls, his eyes illuminate like balls of burning gas within the night
sky.

•

A
blaring horn has his awake and alert in a second. Gripping his head,
he opens his eyes to a haze of distorted colours and slim shapes that
stretch horizontal across his vision in overlapping layers.

A
sticky substance slides over his forehead and into his eyebrows,
which he wipes away with little enthusiasm. His hand wavers before
his eyes with the substance coating his palm.

With
a grimace, he blinks until the shapes form something that makes
sense. When he glances back at his hand, he expects to find blood,
but the liquid is dark yellow. Bobby cannot place the substance, but
it smells foul, so he wipes his skin on the leg of his jeans. As he
is doing so, his elbow smacks against something which creates a
clattering echo around him.

He
turns to find a silver rubbish bin to his right. As he moves forward
to pull himself to his feet, another bin topples forward from behind,
spilling the contents at his feet.

“
Oh,
that's just great.”

Wiping
at his head, he realises whatever he is wearing down his face must
have come from the bins. He scowls as he steps free of the wrappers
and spilled food.

The
horn blares again, but from his right this time. Standing between two
walls, Bobby glances down the narrow passageway to see the street,
but he cannot see the car.

The
walls of the two buildings have been subject to a graffiti assault.
Funky words decorate the brick in various colours. He cannot make out
what they should spell, but they look like a map leading into an
abstract forest to him.

The
opposite way is a street lamp surrounded by bushes. Above his head,
clouds glide against the deep blue hue, and he cannot fathom where he
is. That is not the point, he reminds himself.

How
did I get here?

The
last thing he can recall is walking through the woods where all the
trees and bluebells had died.

“
I
stood at the edge of the cliff.”

Did
I fall off the edge like those stones down the well? H
ow
did I get from that mysterious land to here?

Whenever
he went with his mother, they would leave the way they entered.

But
we never went that far out before.

He
is mumbling to himself as spots a woman on the street with her blonde
hair slicked back against her scalp in a ponytail. She wears a
three-quarter length, purple shirt and a tight fitting knee-length
skirt. As she stops between the buildings, she stares at him with her
eyebrows raised.

“
She
thinks you're crazy,” Gage chuckles form behind him.

“
Yeah
well, I'm not crazy. I know what I saw,” Bobby says as he turns
to see him. But when he does, Gage is gone, leaving no sign he was
there in the first place.

I
felt him, so he's not gone for good after all.

“
You
want to stay off the drugs, they'll only bring you down,” the
woman remarks. She shoves her pointy nose in the air in an act of
snobbery and proceeds on her way.

“
I'm
not on drugs, lady! And I'm not crazy!”

Spinning
around, he kicks the bin and yelps as his toe catches hard on the
handle. He grabs his foot and hops with it in the air, cursing under
his breath.

“
Why
does he think I can save anyone? I can't even fight a bloody bin
without getting my ass kicked.”

As
he is hopping about, he spots red spray paint on the wall opposite
where the bins lean. The number 103 has dried after dripping down the
bricks and behind the bins.

“
One
hundred and three?” Something in his stomach does a somersault
as he receives a brief glimpse of the polo shirt he wore in the
dream.

That
had a number sewn into the collar area.

Bobby
goes through the rubbish, ignoring his feet as they submerge within
the soggy remains. He pushes at the bins still in the way, but they
refuse to budge.

“
What
the hell's in these?”

When
it becomes clear they don't intend on moving, he peers behind to find
a cardboard tube against the wall which he plucks free. There is no
address, or name on the cardboard as he inspects it.

He
glanes back out into the street before uncapping the white plug
shoved in one side, then throws it to the ground. Tipping the tube
upside down, he shakes it but nothing comes out, so he holds the
circular end up to his eye to see curled paper inside. Using his
fingers, he slides the paper far enough out to get sufficient
purchase to pull it free.

It
isn't normal paper, but feels much rougher. When he has its entire
length free, he drops the tube and stares at the textured paper.

Bobby
does a double check to see he's still alone, then unravels one end of
the paper. His tongue hangs against his lip in anticipation and his
breathing becoming erratic.

As
he stretches it out, he goes onto his knees and rolls it against the
gravel where the rubbish has not reached. After a moment, he releases
the paper and it coils itself back up. In shock, Bobby leans against
the wall on his ass.

He
has no doubt it's the painting from the elderly home and, judging by
the expensive feel of the paper, he doubts it is a copy. Exhaling
deeply with his mind racing with questions, he works his way back to
his knees and opens it up again.

“
I
must be wrong, it just looks similar.”

But
it is not just similar; it is the exact painting with the white house
on the cliff with the blue shutters and crimson door. The well sits
in front, surrounded by trees, bluebells and the red path. R. Kuffs's
signature is also on the same blue shutter.

Tracing
a fingertip over the textured lines, it's rough in places and smooth
in others. He cannot help visualising those waves he saw as he stood
where this house should have been.

“
I
fell from the cliff and somehow ended up here.” It makes no
sense, but that is all his mind has to go on.

Rolling
the paper back up as neatly as possible, he grabs the cardboard tube,
which misses a pile of curdled and lumpy yogurt by mere centimeters
as it attempts to make a getaway. After plucking it from the ground,
he is about to slide the painting back inside when he stops. Peering
inside, he spots another piece of paper lodged against the opposite
end.

Placing
the painting between his thighs, Bobby pulls the white plug out and
retrieves the paper. After sliding the painting back inside, he plugs
the end, then picks the other back up. He wipes it against his
trousers where it was not so fortunate to miss the mess and does the
same the other side.

With
the painting inside the tube, Bobby unrolls the A6 paper to find a
hand written message. The writing is almost intangible it is so
messy, but he reads the words with a struggle which outlines what to
do with the painting.