The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (13 page)

“You’re an arsehole, you know that?” Jake sat up, dragging his fingers through his hair to slip it from his face. He peered up at his brother with eyes half open. “What do you want?”

“Got any smokes left?”

“Normal or special?”

“Just normal. Bit early to get started on the specials. I’m starving enough as it is.”

“Good stuff though, eh? I told you Smithy had some top gear.”

Jake rolled over and reaching under his bed, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Flipping the lid open revealed around a dozen Lambert and Butler with a couple of hand rolled. A batch had been prepared the night before in the garage, and these two were the only survivors. He tossed the pack to Adam.

“How much stuff we got left, Jay?”

“Plenty, and all for free. You still got the rest of the old girl’s money?”

Adam had pulled out a cigarette from the packet and was searching in his pockets for a lighter.

“Yeah, the notes and the cards. I binned the rest. But I’ve been thinking, you know, about the money…”

Jake lay back down and closed his eyes.

“What about it?”

“Well, why don’t we take the bike up to Wickerton? It’ll only take half an hour. We could use that money for petrol, a few drinks while we’re there, anything we like.”

“Why the fuck would we want to go to Wickerton?”

“The beach, bro! Take a look outside. It’s nice, I’m sure there’ll be loads of whores in bikinis there, tits all on show…”

“That’s all you ever think about.”

“C’mon! I had a massive hard on this morning. Thought I was going to stab myself in the stomach when I put my socks on. My guy needs some action.”

Jake yawned. “Can’t be bothered.”

“I’m sure there’ll be some fat Goth girls for you to have a dip in. That is, if they’re brave enough to come out in the daytime.”

“Fuck off!”

“I thought that’s what you lot were into. White make-up covering the acne, and flabby skin poking through fishnets?”

Jake rolled over, away from his brother. “Maybe later.”

“Come on. Tell you what, give me the keys to the bike and I’ll go and fill it up. Give you time to get up and sort yourself out.

“How long will you be?” Jake grumbled.

“I dunno, ‘bout an hour?”

“If it gives me an hour without you bothering me, then fine. The key’s on the desk.”

Adam abandoned the search for the lighter and stuck the cigarette behind his ear. He scanned the surface of the desk, searching through pens, magazines and various aftershaves.

“Are you sure it’s on here?”

“Yes…” Jake moaned.

“It’s not, bro.”

With a huff of annoyance, Jake rolled over and climbed off the bed to stand next to Adam. He rummaged through the contents of the desktop and even looked around on the floor.

“It was here,” he cried. “I swear down! I put it right here.” He slapped the corner of the desk. “It’s gone.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

“I mean it isn’t here, you dumb shit!”

“You could have left it in the garage, or downstairs.”

Jake growled.

“I definitely had it here. It’s one of the few things I can remember from last night. And it was on this desk this morning just before Mum…” He paused. “…before Mum…” He slammed his fist down, the impact sliding some magazines off the side of the desk. “Bitch!”

“What?”

“Our bloody mother was in here this morning. I could hear her rooting around. Bit of a coincidence that the key is missing.”

“Eh?”

“She took it!” Jake roared.

“Oh right,” said Adam. “Bitch!”

Jake scooped up a crumpled pair of black jeans from the floor and sat on his bed while he pulled them up his pale legs.

“This is all because of last night. Spiteful cow. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “We’ll have to see what talent’s in town now ‘cos we can’t get to Wickerton.”

Jake stood up and fastened his belt.

“It means we’re going to find that key.”

“Find the key?” asked Adam. “Where we going to look for it?”

“In Mum’s room, you stupid prick.”

“Don’t call me a stupid prick!”

“Then stop being one. Come on.”

Jake stormed out of the bedroom and along the landing with Adam following. He kicked open the door to Jenny’s room. It dented the wall behind.

“Check in her drawers. I’ll do the dresser.”

“I’m not going through Mum’s drawers,” Adam joked, elbowing his brother. “You think I’m some kind of pervert?”

“Oh hardy-fucking-har, bro. Get looking.”

3.

Most of the contents of the small dresser tumbled to the floor in seconds as Jake wasted no time getting on with the job at hand. He booted the small chair out of the way in his furious search. He hated it in here. It smelled like his mother: a sickly sweet odour of perfumes and make up, with an underlying tone of damp and stale sweat. His fast moving hands knocked over a glass bottle. The stopper fell free, and a clear liquid splashed over the dresser.

“Shit,” he cried, the sharp fumes from the perfume stinging his nostrils.

“What have you done?” asked Adam. “It stinks.”

“Forget about it.” He paused to look over at his brother.

Adam knelt in front of the chest of drawers, slinging various items of clothing over his shoulder. The clothes formed a pile behind him.

“Any luck?”

“No,” Adam replied. “No sign.”

Jake turned away from the dresser, his gaze darting around the large bedroom, searching for possible hiding places. The bed appeared empty underneath. A few ornaments sat on the window sills, but if the key was with them, it would be in plain view. The only other possible place was the wardrobe.

“Definitely not in here,” said Adam, standing. The drawers hung open, their contents scattered all over the floor.

“Come here and help me search this thing.”

Adam joined his brother by the wardrobe. It stood around seven foot tall with a solid dark wood door. Jake opened it and squinted into the dark.

“What’s in there?” said Adam.

“Just looks like a few old jackets and things hung up,” said Jake. “There’s some boxes and bags of stuff at the bottom. Let’s start there.”

The twins leaned forward and let their hands do the searching; the wardrobe’s interior was hidden in darkness. Various items of junk covered the bottom: Christmas decorations, half a dozen belts, a broken hair drier.

“This is stupid,” said Jake. “I bet she’s probably taken the key to work. You know that she-”

He yelped as a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. The twins froze.

“Naughty boys…” said a deep, hard voice behind them.

The Girl Who Doesn’t Want to Play

1.

Buttering bread, Anne’s hands still shook. She had all the ingredients needed for everyone’s sandwiches spread out on the work top: cheese for Charlie, jam for Bronwyn and a ham salad for herself. She considered making a ham and mustard for Frank, but she didn’t dare ask him. He sat in the living room, either watching the Saturday afternoon sport or reading his issue of
Physics World,
which had vanished from the kitchen.

Her face throbbed, and her mascara had run down her cheeks. The bathroom mirror showed her injuries to be minor, despite the beating Frank had dished out. Always so careful, even with his sudden rage. She knew her chest and belly would be a collage of black and blue soon; her one solitary bruise joined by so many companions. Every time she moved to pick up a fresh slice of bread or bend down to the fridge, each one cried out their tenderness.

Behind her, Charlie and Bronwyn sat at the dining table, patiently waiting for their lunch. Charlie played on his DS, the device playing a jolly electronic tune along to the clicks of the buttons. Bronwyn sat opposite with a pad of paper and a box of crayons, happily drawing away. Betsy had been allowed in the back garden to calm down. Through the window, Anne watched her investigating the overgrown flower bed and inside the open shed.

She presumed Charlie must have had some idea about earlier, which is why he remained so solemn. Bronwyn, on the other hand, may have been too young to understand, but she had probably picked up on the tense atmosphere of the house. Anne decided to play ignorant. Hopefully the stability of a normal day would carry them through.

She chopped an onion and dropped the chunky cubes into a bowl containing lettuce, peppers and tomatoes.

“What are you drawing there, Bronwyn?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Nothing, really.”

Anne wiped her hands on a tea towel and walked over to the table. On the paper, Bronwyn had drawn a man dressed in black with a bowler hat. His eyes, large blue orbs, consumed his face, and his bright red hair fell from underneath his hat down to his shoulders. Creatures like giant black spiders surrounded him, and two suns shone down on the scene. The detail Bronwyn had put into the picture surprised Anne, more used to admiring scribbled, rushed drawings.

“Who is that?” she asked, tapping the figure. “Is it your dad?”

Bronwyn squealed.

“Don’t be silly, Mummy! It’s the man, the man from my dream.”

“Oh, I see. What are these?” asked Anne, pointing to one of the creatures.

“His pets, I think.”

Bronwyn dropped the yellow crayon she’d used to colour in the suns and picked up a red. She scribbled a long strip under the man’s feet.

“I thought that grass was green, honey.”

Bronwyn looked up.

“It’s not grass.”

“Oh…”

Charlie lowered his DS.

“I didn’t go into the bathroom, Mum. I swear.”

“Me neither,” said Bronwyn, back to her drawing.

“I know you didn’t. The door was locked. There was only your dad in there.”

“Then why did
we
get in trouble?” asked Charlie, continuing his game.

“Well, maybe your dad only thought he saw someone after he banged his head. Your eyes can play tricks on you after a blow like that, you know.”

“I thought he was going to hit us,” said Bronwyn, her attention not leaving the paper as she swept the red crayon back and forth.

“You know he wouldn’t do that,” said Anne.

Charlie glanced over his DS and gave his mother a sharp glare. She shuddered, suddenly cold.

“Look,” she said. “Why don’t one of you go upstairs and bring down a game or something we can all play together? We can play after lunch.”

Bronwyn placed her crayon on the table. “I’ll go!”

She pushed her chair back from the table and ran out of the room.

Anne and Charlie watched her go and listened to her hurried footsteps up the stairs.

“Mum?”

“Yes, Charlie?”

He swallowed.

“Why do you put up with it?”

She released a high, nervous laugh and returned to making lunch. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I might be young, but I’m not stupid.”

Anne winced at his words, like the wind had been knocked out of her.

“I know Dad’s been hitting you.”

“It’s nothing,” Anne snapped. She took a deep, shaky breath. “You want anything else on your sandwich?”

“I saw the bruise on your side yesterday,” Charlie continued. “You can’t let him do this, Mum.”

Realising he wasn’t going to drop the subject so readily, Anne abandoned the food and sat next to Charlie at the dining table.

“Come here, just for a minute.”

He laid his game down and slid out of his chair. Anne gently pulled him towards her onto her lap. His surprising weight reminded her he was no longer a little kid. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t say anything to your sister, she wouldn’t understand. Your dad is going through a rough time at the moment, especially at work. That’s all it is. I don’t think he knows how scary he can be when he loses his temper.” She paused and stroked his head. “You don’t think your dad is a bad person, do you? It would break his heart if you did. He loves us all very much.”

She tightened her arm around him and screwed up her eyes to try and stop the imminent tears.

“I don’t know,” said Charlie. “I don’t think he’s bad, but what he’s doing is bad. Why does he get so angry?”

Anne rocked him back and forth. He rested his head on her shoulder.

“He’s been like this since…since your big sister died. I guess he never really got over it. She was his special little girl. You were so young at the time. I suppose you can’t remember what things were like back then. I bet you can’t even remember much about Katie…”

Charlie put his arm around her waist and hugged her tight. She almost screamed at the pain it blasted through her battered body.

“I do remember her, Mum. I do remember…”

His voice cracked, and his body started to shake. She pulled him closer, and her own tears flowed in abundance.

They sat weeping in each other’s arms until Charlie raised his head. His tears had trailed down his cheeks and his nose was running. He sniffed.

“I’d better get up now. I don’t want Bronwyn to come in and see I’ve been crying. Dad, too.”

Hearing his words felt like a rock in Anne’s stomach. She’d forgotten Frank, sat in the next room. If he should come in and see the two of them like this, he’d know what had been discussed and would not be happy.

Anne allowed her son to climb off her lap and return to his own chair.

“That’s right,” she said. “You have to be strong for your little sister. She needs you more than she knows. Like last night. You were a superstar!”

“What do you mean?” he asked, wiping his nose with his hand. Anne decided that a lecture about using tissues could go amiss this time, under the circumstances.

“Well, when the storm scared her last night, you were there for her.”

“I don’t think it was the storm. It was the dream.”

“Dream? What dream?” Anne wiped her own tears away and returned to preparing lunch, relieved to be talking about something else.

“It must have been a nightmare, the way she screamed when she woke up. She said something like
he’s taking us away
and then something about a desert. Weird, huh?”