The Imaginary (15 page)

‘I see you, boy,' said a voice Rudger recognised.

Rudger jumped as he ran, and said, ‘Kinda busy now, Zinzan.'

The cat sat in a shadow in the middle of the alley, leg up in the air, giving its bum a good, if ineffectual, washing.

And Mr Bunting didn't see it there, not until his foot slammed into it and he flew forwards, falling to the floor in a tumbling, clattering heap.

Zinzan was tough and flexible enough to come out the other side of the collision a little stunned, somewhat topsy-turvy in the mess of the alley, but quite uninjured. Still, climbing to its feet, it realised there was something else to worry about, something it could smell but couldn't see. It wasn't the singed smell of Fading that had passed by with the boy. This was something else, something sickly, like something pickled too long.

Then cold fingers closed around the scruff of its neck and the cat fell numb.

Rudger ran. He heard Mr Bunting trip, heard the screech of the cat kicked, and gave thanks to Zinzan. The smart, fast-thinking cat had saved his bacon.

He turned one final corner and there was the flickering light above the Agency's door.

A second later he had his hand on the handle.

Looking behind him to see if Mr Bunting had got to his feet yet, Rudger was surprised to see a wall. He looked around. He was stood in a little brick-bound courtyard. The alley had sealed itself up, cutting itself off from where he'd just been. It looked as if he was safe at last.

Then he heard a voice say, ‘Where's he gone? What a confounding boy it is. Look, look, look. Look at that. All this running and we're back on the street. Madness, imaginary madness.'

It was Mr Bunting talking to himself, or probably, Rudger thought, talking to the girl. He was just the other side of the wall.

This was the brilliance of an imaginary door in an imaginary alleyway. Mr Bunting wouldn't find it now, he couldn't find it on his own and, Rudger really hoped, his girl was unable to work the trick either.

‘You're right,' the man said, after listening to his silent companion. ‘We must do something about him. I've got an idea where to begin. Remember his little friend…?'

There
was a hiss like a wheezing snake and then Rudger heard footsteps going away and finally silence surrounded him and he breathed easy.

He was, at last, once again, safe.
But
, he thought,
poor Emily
. With all the running he hadn't had a chance to really think about what he'd seen. Now he did. She'd been liquefied. Not eaten, but drunk by Mr Bunting. She was gone and he didn't know if there was any way to bring her back.

And then he thought,
Where's the cat?

And then he thought,
I need to get inside
.

‘No, no, no,' Cruncher-of-Bones, the person-sized imaginary teddy bear, said, waving her furry arms in the air to stop Rudger talking. ‘There
is
no “Mr Bunting”, it's just a story to frighten the recently forgotten with. It's all just an urban myth. We told you last night, remember?'

‘No!' Rudger insisted, gabbling, breathless with urgency. ‘It's not a myth. It's true. I've seen him again, him and the girl. Just now…looking for the alley… I had to run, but he got Emily. I saw him eat her. There was nothing I could do. I'm so sorry.'

‘Who?'

Rudger rubbed his eyes.

‘Emily,' he said. ‘She's gone, she's—'

‘Emily?'

The bear's face was hard to read. Was she playing some sort of
game
with him, pretending not to have heard the name before? But why?

‘I saw him eat her,' Rudger said quietly. ‘She's gone, isn't she? She's not coming back.' He paused for a second. ‘Or can you? Once he's swallowed you,
is
there a way to come back? Could we rescue her?'

Cruncher-of-Bones rubbed her chin with a paw as if thinking, before saying, ‘All the stories I've heard say once you're swallowed you're “lost to the world”, as if you never were. That's the phrase they use, “lost to the world”. Once you're gone, you're gone. It's worse than Fading.' She stopped and shook her head. ‘Or it would be, Rudger,
if
“Mr Bunting” were real, which he's not. He's just made up.' She offered him a cake off her trolley as if the matter were over. ‘Maybe a cup of hot chocolate? You like that, don't you?'

‘But what about Emily?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

It was clear Rudger was going to get nothing out of her. She wasn't playing a game, wasn't pretending. She simply didn't remember Emily. It was as if Emily had been removed from her memory at the same time as she was removed from the world. But Rudger had seen it happen and Rudger still remembered her.

He tried speaking to some of the other Friends.

The bouncing ping pong ball didn't remember her.

A group of a dozen tiny men dressed as gnomes who leapt on him from a bookcase shouting,
‘Surprise attack!'
didn't remember her either.

The Friend who looked like an old Victorian schoolmaster, The Great Fandango, requested that Rudger stop wasting his time. He was trying to read a book, he said it was very important, and even though he had it open upside down and had been snoring when Rudger had nudged him, Rudger didn't argue.

Emily had been forgotten by
everyone
.

He
wished Snowflake were here. The dinosaur was as big as an elephant and elephants never forget. But maybe even Snowflake would have forgotten Emily.

He'd thought he'd get help at the library, but it looked like he'd been wrong. All he'd found was a roof to hide under and some free food to eat while he tried to come up with a plan of his own to put an end to Mr Bunting's feeding.

Could he do that? Was that really what he wanted to do? Wouldn't he rather just hide away and be safe himself? Wouldn't that be more sensible?

Probably, but Amanda would never have forgiven him.

As he made his way to the hammocks later that night he was stopped by a bark.

He turned to find an imaginary dog behind him.

It
was black and white, a shaggy old thing. It looked faint at the edges and grey round the eyes, as if it had seen better days and was now beginning to fray. Rudger remembered seeing it the day before. It was the dog that had been asleep by the notice board.

‘Hello,' said Rudger.

The dog barked quietly and cocked its head to one side.

‘Can I help you?'

‘You're
him
, aren't you?' the dog said, its voice friendly but gruff.

‘Him who?'

‘The new chap Bones was talking about.'

‘I guess so. I'm Rudger.'