Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (48 page)

“
And
I told you he gave them to me. Put them and the money back down now!”

Something
in his father's features realises Bobby means it this time, but he
remains stationary.

“
Now!”

His
father grins again, making the lava bubble beneath Bobby's beaten
skin, but he dips his hands into his pockets and pulls the crumbled
notes free.

“
P
ut
them on the floor.”

“
Are
y
ou
going to shoot me if I don't?”

Without
a glimmer of hesitation, Bobby's eye twitches, but his words do not
falter. “Yes.”

Pulling
himself up from the floor with all the effort he can muster, he
doesn't remove his eyes from his father as he points the gun at his
chest. Ignoring the pain as best he can, he hopes his father won't
force him to use it.

With
one eye closed to avoid the liquid pouring through his eyelashes, he
watches his father drop the remaining notes on the floor. The notes
fall from his clammy grasp like leaves spiralling from trees in
autumn. The paper notes land between the chaos of broken wood,
magazines, blood and dry clumps of mud.

In
the distance, sirens wail. They sound as though they could be on the
outskirts of the village.

“
Right,
so let me guess, now you're the hero? Avenge your mum by turning me
in, is that your idea?”

“
Something
like that, yeah.” Bobby's teeth grind against one another,
coated in dark orange saliva.

“
T
here's
one problem with your plan, Bobby.”

“
And
what's that, dad?”

“
Do
y
ou
think I'm going to let them take me?”

His
feet hammer across the carpet, closing the distance between them
before Bobby can reply.

Panicking,
Bobby squeezes the trigger.

The
ear splitting noise fills the air as he falls onto the sofa from the
recoil he wasn't expecting. As the soft cushion hits his back, the
ringing blares in his ears, silencing the police cars now pulling
into the street.

Clutching
the fireplace, his father's back tumbles into the opening where the
coal sits. His legs stretch out before him—a position Bobby
finds ironic after all the years of being drunk.

His
father attempts to get to his feet, despite the moisture darkening
his skirt, so Bobby pulls the trigger again. He fires round after
round into his father's chest and gut until a mild clicking comes at
his finger and he finally acknowledges the wails escaping his own
mouth.

On
his father's breath, words attempt to form, but come out in forced
and distant gasps. His wrist twitches as he attempts to move toward
his chest, but he gets no further. His eyes fill with realisation,
then roll back into his skull.

His
fingers peel away from the wood as they lose their grip and he
topples over. He smacks his head against the open door without the
glass with a clunk.

When
Bobby can tear his eyes from the sight, he stares at the weapon in
his hand with his heart racing.

Holy
crap, what have I done?

As
he notices the blue and red lights beating on the front curtains, his
eyes widen with terror and the metal trembles in his hand.

About
to drop the weapon, Gage returns at his back and rests a reassuring
hand against his shoulder. Spinning on his heels, Bobby almost slaps
him with it.

“
Whoa,
calm down. Don't leave that, you'll need it.”

“
What
for? I'm not going to shoot my way through the cops, am I?”
With a mixture of confusion and shock, Bobby wipes at the snot and
tears on his face.

Gage
smiles when he glances at the slumped body with blood soaking through
the material. For a moment, an impressed expression graces his
features and, when he turns back, he nods. “Well done.”

Bobby
presses hard on his bottom jaw with confusion and panic seizing his
body.

“
C
ome
on, let's move. Don't forget the goggles, that'd be a shame after all
this.”

Bobby
leans over his father's lifeless body. His hand hovers above his
shirt where the wound soaks through. Before he can stop himself from
reaching out, Bobby lunges for the goggles and peels them from the
callous hands that struck his mother.

The
room fills with a blinding light, forcing him to whip his head
towards the wall and stare in awe.

“
That's
what I saw before.”

“
That's
good, now move.”

Not
content to leave it to Bobby, Gage grabs his striped polo shirt by
the sleeve and drags the bumbling boy away. His backpack, which he
collected from the hallway, smacks against his shoulder blade as he
yanks him along the carpet. He hopes for his sake the boy remembered
to pack the things he told him. Bobby stumbles as he is lead to where
the sofa begins.

“
Police!”
A gruff voice calls from the door.

Through
the gap in the curtains, Bobby spots shadowed figures moving behind
the netting.

“
They're
coming, what am I—?”

“
Just
hold on, kid.”

Bobby
doesn't realise what Gage means to do as he pulls him toward the
blinding light. As the police kick the door in, he spots the tip of a
boot entering his property, then Gage drags him into the light where
the reality he knew slips away.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Bobby's
feet bury into the sand as he stares at the ominous waves. They lap
against the shore where the crimson sky with the burgundy clouds end
against the horizon.

Taking
a step forward, his toes touch something that squelches against his
skin. He cannot hold the gasp that forms against the air as he
stumbles away from the body that lies on the floor. Naked, the pale
flesh looks to have been in the water for a long time before being
spat back out onto land. Matted wet strands fall over the face with
the tip of the milky nose poking out.

Pieces
of flesh are missing, leaving gaping holes of muscle and tissue, but
whatever caused these wounds must have been while the body was
submerged because there is no blood on the sand.

Allowing
his eyes to travel across the body, he spots another figure sprawled
feet away. The lean male's arm rests bent above his head with sickly,
translucent grey skin. Past that, another lies with his bruised and
disfigured knees bent over a woman's legs.

Spinning
on the spot, Bobby sees body after body appear on the golden grains.
Features remain frozen in shock, or pain. Many even look relieved to
find death. Most of the bodies a nude, but a handful are drowning in
red cloaks with vague white, sagging flesh. Some still have the
remnants of striped paint smeared across their faces, or have masks
hanging askew. Others are lying in pools of their own blood while
others are void of any.

Nothing
but material ruffles on the modest breeze as he stares at the
destruction with hopeless intrigue.

What
happened here?

He
spots misshapen bodies within the mass that aren't human with their
coats of dark, matted fur and deformed hooves. Others resemble the
hybrid form he saw within his dream. Almost all are wearing the same
striped masks with the thin slits at the eyes, or are not too far
from one that has fallen off in the chaos.

At
his back, the silhouette of the fairground stands, shrouded in
mystery. It appears closer than it did before, which is strange
because he is closer to the sea than he was. It is as though somebody
has pinched the scene and expanded it into his view to create a deep
uneasiness inside.

The
crackling above his head breaks the clouds apart. With that, the
first droplets fall upon the ground and stain the gold with crimson
puddles. The moisture falls against his scalp, soaking his hair to
his skin where the wounds were.

Nothing
hurts anymore. There is no sting to his jaw where it clicked from
Toad's punch. He can feel no pain from his father's hands, or from
falling through the table. Even his heart feels moulded and coated in
bubble wrap.

To
his right, the graveyard stands lonely with the same material
attached to the cross. The rain soaks the cloth down to turn the
white into a wild berry colour.

The
darkness of the waves ripple with the blood penetrating its surface.
As he stares out into the sea, a figure rises from the water and foam
with graceful movements. The woman's pointed ears protrude through
her raven hair as it clings to her skin.

She
wades through the calm tide and stops before reaching the shallow
end, revealing her narrow shoulders and slender waist. Behind the
creased and drenched dress, Bobby's attention drifts to the erect,
darkened mounds against the white material. A tingling sensation
arouses his groin at the sight and causes a wildfire to engulf his
cheeks. He finds himself desiring to trace his fingertips over the
smooth curve of her hips.

Where
the dress hitches up, her bare thighs tremble. Bobby gets the feeling
it isn't though fear, or the chill, but from the anticipation of what
is to come. When he meets her gaze, her eyes stare through the gloom
and straight into Bobby's soul.

“
It
is time to begin, Bobby. Your destiny awaits.” The soft hum of
her voice calls out, pulling him closer toward her. It's like an
invisible lasso has caught him around the waist and is reeling him
into the depths. He is unable to control the urge—his body
doesn't seem to belong to him anymore—so he shuffles forward.

He
treads over the hordes of bodies, but doesn't break eye contact with
the women for a moment. He knows he has seen her in his dreams
before—the woman with the scar—but her identity remains
elusive.

The
woman uncurls one finger as she raises it in his direction and
motions for him to follow.

The
sand sticks to his feet as he slops in and out of the red puddles and
reaches the first set of foamy waves.

Within
its protective casing, his heart beats steady for the first time in
years. The burdens he was carrying feel as though they have
disappeared, despite the surrounding destruction.

“
You
must leave now, Bobby—leave everything you once knew behind.”

Bobby
considers what he will have to part with to go on whatever journey he
has accepted.

Gage
is the only one who doesn't think I'm crazy, so if he goes I'll have
no one.

Despite
their last conversation, he cannot help the deep longing to go back
and say goodbye to Danny. He might have labelled him crazy, but he is
still his pal and that will never change.

What
will he think has happened when he finds out about my dad? Will he
think I've run away?

Bobby
knows if he tries to go back now, he will never get another chance
like this again. It may be worse than living alone, he doesn't know,
but it is a risk he is willing to take.