Soon I reached the public footpath, and I set off along the dusty gravel track. There was no one in sight, no one behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was no sign of the Brewers. Of course they wouldn’t be that stupid. They knew the police had discovered their hiding place. It wasn’t safe for them anymore. And even if they were looking for me, they’d expect me to be at school.
There was one other person who might come along and cause trouble—Mr. Drew. But he was old and slow, and I would see him coming and recognise him easily enough. He couldn’t cause me much of a problem, I thought. But I was wrong about that.
I made it to the hole in the fence without seeing a soul. But then I stopped, stared stupidly at the fence. It had been repaired. Fresh boards had been laid horizontally across the hole, with neat rows of shiny, new, heavy-duty nails along their edges. And that’s when I knew I’d been wrong about Mr. Drew. He’d beaten me. Those nails had to have been his handiwork. The local council would never have been so prompt. And Mr. Drew was the kind of man who had a shed full of nails and screws—all in clearly labelled jam jars.
I kicked at the new boards. Maybe I could prise them off with the hammer and chisel. But they were sturdy and securely nailed. Mr. Drew had done a good job, and it would be slow and noisy to undo it. I had a simple choice: either I gave up and went home, or I climbed over the fence. After all, I’d climbed it before. But back then I hadn’t been covered in bruises. Was it worth the pain? Was it worth it to have a chance of seeing Cally? A chance to find out what had happened to me?
I gritted my teeth and jumped up to reach the top of the fence. My arms burned as they took my weight. Best to be quick, I thought. Get it over with. I heaved myself up, gasping at the pain. But I was there, sitting on the top, looking down into the drop on the far side. “Damn,” I muttered. “How am I going to get back out?” I shuffled around, holding onto the top of the fence. I’ll find a way, I thought. And if I find Cally, she’ll show me the path she uses.
This was it—the point of no return. I twisted around, and, as slowly as I could, I lowered myself down into the quarry. My arms shook. I tried to keep my grip on the fence, tried to look for a safe landing spot. But it was no use, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I let myself fall.
The moment my feet hit the ground, the pain screamed through my tortured legs, surged through me. My legs buckled, and I collapsed, landing heavily on my backside. I pulled my legs to my chest, wrapped my arms around them and hugged them. I shut my eyes, fought back a sob, tried to breathe slowly. I don’t know how long I stayed there, squatting among the dead leaves. I only knew I couldn’t move—not yet.
Gradually, the pain faded. I opened my eyes. The worst part is over, I thought. I’m here now. I’ve done it. I stood as carefully as I could, leaning on the fence for support. I could’ve run into trouble in the street, but now, no one could see me. For the moment, I was safe. I took a deep breath and headed across the quarry floor, toward the ledge.
* * *
At the bottom of the steps I paused, listened. No voices. Nothing. Should I call out? I looked around, nervously. It should be all right. “Hello?” I called. “Anyone up there? Cally?”
No reply. I waited for a moment. Maybe they’d be there later. I could climb up and have a look. There might be something to show the dig was still going on—trenches dug, equipment lying about. At least then I’d know if it was worth waiting. “I’ve come this far,” I said. “I can’t stop now.” I put my foot on the first step and started to climb.
The first few steps were the hardest. My leg muscles burned at every footstep. I stopped to catch my breath. “Come on,” I muttered. “Almost there.” It wasn’t true, but it got me moving again. I clambered up, focusing on the next step. One by one, I told myself, one by one.
And then I’d done it. I staggered onto the ledge, red faced and breathing hard.
“Aw hell,” I muttered. There was no sign of Cally, no sign of a dig. Everything was just as I’d left it. I put my hands on my waist, hung my head and took a few deep breaths. I smiled to myself. With the dishevelled state of my clothes, perhaps it was just as well that Cally wasn’t there after all.
I brushed myself down and looked around the ledge. I found myself staring at the mound of earth we’d hidden behind. At this distance, it looked like an ordinary grassy bank, a nice place to sit on a sunny day. But I knew what it held. I pictured the black stone platform, remembered the moment I’d reached across to grab the tools. In my mind I saw again the blinding flashes of light, relived the dizzying sensation of falling. My stomach lurched. I rubbed my eyes, but the memory was too strong: a flashback, vivid as a living nightmare. I stumbled. The ground swayed beneath my feet. I moaned, felt the burn of vomit in the back of my throat. I dropped to my knees, put my hands on the ground. I closed my eyes. If I’ve got to throw up, I thought, please let it be quick.
I didn’t hear him coming up the steps. He must’ve crept silently, knowing I was there, wanting to catch me by surprise. The first thing I heard was his voice:
“So this is where you hide away. Come back for your lesson, have you?”
Robbo.
I opened my eyes, staggered to my feet and turned. He walked casually toward me, both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. I stepped backward, shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “No.”
His eyes gleamed. He swaggered toward me. “Oh yes. You’ve got to learn some respect.”
I couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t tear my eyes from his cold stare. I backed away as fast as I could, stumbling as he closed in on me. I could hear his shoes moving through the grass, his breath whistling in his nostrils.
Suddenly, the back of my legs hit against something. The stone! I glanced behind me, and something within the dark stone caught the light, a flicker of blue racing across the rock’s smooth surface.
“It’s no use looking for help,” Robbo sneered. “There’s no one to save you this time.”
I faced him, the blood pounding in my ears. “Look, just leave me alone. I’ll go. I won’t come back, I swear.”
“You should’ve thought of that before.” His thin lips twisted into an evil grin. “You know what? I’m going to enjoy this.” He took his hand from his pocket, a knife clutched tightly in his curled fingers, its slim blade gleaming.
“No, you don’t have to do this.” I scrabbled away, climbing up onto the stone platform, my legs shaking. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let Robbo’s knife be the last thing I’d ever see. “Look, I’m going, all right? I told you, I won’t come back here. Never.”
And Robbo faltered, the grin falling from his face.
I took a breath, a flicker of hope stirring in my mind; I was getting through to him. I summoned up my courage and said, “That’s right. I’m going, and if you let me go, I won’t say anything, not to anybody. All right?”
But Robbo stared at me, his eyes darting from side to side. “What’s that noise? What did you do?”
I shook my head, but then I heard the noise too, and my eyes went wide. The sound came from beneath my feet, from the stone platform itself. It was a strange, warbling, crackling buzz, and I’d heard it once before. It was the same noise I’d heard when I’d hidden on the ledge with Matt. My mind reeled, unable to accept what was happening, but then a thrill of static electricity ran across my skin, prickling my legs, my arms, and I was certain; the stone was doing something, just like before. It was activating, coming alive.
Robbo said something, but I couldn’t make out his words; the noise from the stone was too loud and growing stronger by the second. He stared at me, his brow furrowed, anger and suspicion in his eyes. He was afraid, and though I didn’t understand what the stone was doing, I realised that its strangeness was keeping me safe. But what could I do? The last time I’d heard the harsh buzzing, I’d had a waking dream, a vision of an old man. But there’d been something else, and until that moment I hadn’t dared to admit, even to myself. When the old man had loo
ked at me, I’d felt an overwhelming sensation of otherness and disconnection. It had been like peering down into a well, so deep and dark it made me dizzy. The stone had some kind of power, and perhaps now, it could help me. If I stood my ground, Robbo’s fear might keep him back.
“Get down!” Robbo snapped. “Get down off that bloody thing, right now!”
I returned his gaze. “No. I’m staying right here, but it’s...not safe. It’s dangerous. You’d better back off, Robbo.”
“You little bastard!” Robbo lunged at me, reaching up, his knife slicing the air in front of my face. I leaned back, dodging the blow, but my feet wouldn’t move. It felt as though my shoes were glued to the rock.
Robbo lashed out with his knife, jabbing the blade toward my chest. I tried to jump back, but something pulled me down, forcing me to my knees. I raised my hands to protect my face and yelled, “No!” but Robbo’s attack went wide of the mark and he let out a vicious snarl.
I struggled to stand, fighting against the force dragging me down, but the stone shifted beneath me, and I fell backward, my arms waving wildly. I crashed down onto the stone platform, my head whipping back, whacking against the unforgiving rock. The world flashed white, the buzzing drone filled my ears, and I was frozen, pinned to the rock by an unseen force. I couldn’t move a muscle. I was ready to fight now, ready to kick and punch with every ounce of strength I possessed, but I couldn’t do anything to save myself. Not one damned thing. And when Robbo loomed above me, his teeth bared, and flecks of foaming spittle on his lips, I couldn’t even let out the roar of frustration rising in my throat.
Not like this, I thought. I don’t deserve this. Just let me get out of here. Let me get out of this damned place once and for all.
It begins.
A low, throbbing hum. Louder and louder, it buzzes, crackles, distorts. It vibrates in my chest, my stomach. Still louder—a torrent, a sizzling, pounding, roaring tsunami of sound.
I open my eyes, see blurs of light. Colours glow, shift, melt into a fierce whiteness. I shout, scream for all I’m worth, but I can’t hear my own voice. I gasp for air, but something slams into my chest, stealing my breath. A terrible pressure forces me flat against the stone. I can’t move my arms, my legs, my head. And still the noise drones on, throbbing faster and faster, rising to a high, whining wail.
This is it. He must’ve hit me, stabbed me. This chaos is the confusion of my last moments as my life leaks away onto the cold stone.
But then the pain comes. Wrenching, pulling, clawing at me. I am the frayed rope in a tug of war, strained to breaking point: threads snapping, slowly unravelling, flying apart. I’m being ripped into pieces—skin splitting, peeling back, curling away as something deep within me explodes outwards.
And then, above me, I see it. The darkness. It spreads across the sky, swarms toward me, gorging itself on sound, devouring all light. It hurls itself at me, and I am helpless. The impact judders through me, freezes my heart, like plunging into icy water.
Silence.
The pain swirls away, drowned by the darkness. The world drops away beneath me, and I fall. I plummet through the emptiness, rolling, tumbling. There is nothing to hold on to, no way to stop. There is no escape, no end, no hope.
This is surely death.
* * *
Stars. Just stars. Real stars in the sky above me. I blinked, moved my head. I could see the moon. How long had I been here? I took a deep breath. The air was cool and fresh. I rubbed my hands over my face, flexed my fingers, stretched my arms and legs. I was all right. I was a bit dizzy, and my ears were ringing, but I was all right. How could that be?
I shifted my weight and felt the cold beneath me. I was still on the black stone. But what had happened to me? I pictured Robbo, remembered the knife. Was he still there? Was he watching me even now? No. It was dark, so I must’ve escaped from him. I’d done it. I’d beaten Robbo.
I sat up, but when I swung my legs around to the stone’s edge, intending to push myself off the platform, my feet dangled in empty space. What the hell? I gripped the stone’s edge with both hands, and leaned forward. The sheer side of the dark stone fell away below me at least two metres to the moonlit grass. Slowly, I raised my head and turned to look around. My mouth hung open.
It wasn’t just the stone platform that was different. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, it was obvious that I was not on the ledge, not even in the quarry. I was on the top of a hill, a high, green hill. It was a clear, starlit night. I could see for miles. There was no sign of the town, no sign of any town. No road, wall, or even hedgerow. Only woodland and patches of scrub stretching to the horizon in every direction. I pushed my hand into my pocket, grabbed my phone. It was dead. I pressed the power button, but nothing happened. It was useless.
I remembered my backpack and slipped the straps from my shoulders. Was there anything useful in there? But even as I opened the top I recalled how I’d emptied it onto my bed before I rushed out. There was nothing inside it except the hammer and chisel. I dropped the bag to the ground.
What am I going to do? I thought. Shall I call for help? I shook my head. I’d got away from Robbo, but at what cost? Because one thing was very clear: there was no one to hear me. No one at all.
EPILOGUE
DON’T ASK ME WHAT I DID ON THAT FIRST NIGHT. I’ve stored those dark memories far too deep to bring them back with any clarity. Did I smash my fists against the dark stone? Did I shout and scream, yelling until I could call out no more? Did I shed hot tears of anger and frustration?
It shames me to admit it, but those were almost certainly my reactions. That’s what I was like back then: a frightened teenager. It’s who I was. But all that was about to change. I was in a place where self-pity was not an option. In my new and savage world, I was not a teenager, but a man, and I’d have to act like one if I wanted to survive. And I wanted more than that. So much more. Because I knew, deep down, that whatever it cost me and whatever I had to do, I was going home.
2010
DEREK SYMMONDS TUCKED HIS BRIEFCASE under his arm and pushed his way through the heavy door that led into the police station. Without pausing, he hurried across to the desk, raising a hand to greet the custody sergeant on duty. During his twenty-three year career as a solicitor, Derek had worked with Sergeant Knowles on more occasions than he cared to remember, and thankfully, Knowles was one of the good guys: whatever the case, procedures were followed, rules were applied, and sloppy shortcuts were avoided. It made for a much easier time all around when it came to preparing a defence.
“Evening, Sergeant,” Derek called out. “How’s it going? Any change since we spoke on the phone?”
Knowles made a show of clearing his throat, and he cast a meaningful glance over Derek’s shoulder. Derek half turned to see a man leaning heavily against the wall in the corner of the room. The man lifted his head and gazed at Derek, but there was no spark of interest in his eyes, and the man was pale and drawn, as though all the life had been drained from him.
Knowles gestured toward the door that led through to the custody suite. “I’ll see you inside, and we’ll take it from there.”
Derek gave a polite nod to the man in the corner, but he received no acknowledgment in return, so he moved over to the door and waited patiently while it was unlocked. He stepped inside, but Knowles didn’t speak until the door was safely closed behind them.
The sergeant inclined his head toward the door and said, “That’s the father.”
Derek’s mouth formed a silent O. “Any news on the missing boy?”
“No, I reckon he’s done a runner.” Knowles tutted under his breath. “I’ve seen it too many times. Nice kid by all accounts, and the dad’s a teacher so you might expect better, but you know how it is—the parents have split up, the mother works all day, putting in extra shifts to pay the bills, and the kid doesn’t know which way is up.”
“And I understand that he was picked up yesterday after the alleged assault, but he wasn’t off
icially cautioned.”
Knowles pursed his lips. “That’s right. He must’ve been hanging around with the Brewers and their crowd, and we both know what that implies. Anyway, my guess is that they had a falling out because, like I told you on the phone, our mutual friend Robert Dawson gave him a kicking.”
“And you think the boy got scared and ran away from home?”
“Seems the most likely explanation. The alleged victim didn’t say much at the time, but he probably had something to hide because he refused medical help. And you know what? When we took him home, there was no one there. Empty house.” Knowles folded his arms as if no further explanation was necessary.
“I see,” Derek said slowly. “And are you still going to charge Dawson for the assault, even though the victim can’t be found?”
Knowles nodded. “It’s not up to me, but we think so. It’s all in the file.” He held out a cardboard folder. “I’ve put it all together as usual. There should be everything you need in there.”
Derek took the folder, but he didn’t open it. “And is there anything to link Dawson with the boy’s disappearance directly? Any eye-witness testimony or other material evidence that I should know about?”
“Nothing that’ll stick. Officially, we’re keeping an open mind, but if you can get anything out of Dawson that’ll help us with our inquiries…”
“I’ll see what I can do. Is he being cooperative?”
Knowles let out a snort. “Dawson? What do you think?”
“All right, I’d better get started then,” Derek said. “Which room is he in?”
“Interview room two.”
Derek grimaced. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to get rid of that horrible smell have you?”
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