The Boy in the Smoke
Page 7
He left the car in Windsor and walked over the bridge. There was smoke drifting over the water, a floating hint of a bonfire somewhere in the distance. The air smelled strongly of it. The day was grey and heavy, the frosty air cutting into his exposed skin.
He wondered how he would be when he got past the vast new boating centre and to the old boathouse. Would he shake or start crying? Would everything come back? His steps were steady, though. His heart rate was maybe a little quick, but nothing more.
And he didn’t even have to use the key in his pocket, the one he’d walked away with in June. Peter was sitting on the dock, looking at a cluster of ducks swimming in a circle. He didn’t turn, even when Stephen was almost on top of him.
“Peter?”
This got a jolt of a response.
“Stephen!” Peter jumped to his feet, all smiles. He looked like he was about to reach out, then he backed up nervously, moving from foot to foot before sinking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “You came back!”
“I did. Can I sit with you? Talk a bit?”
“Of course! Of course! You can stay as long as you like! I’ve been thinking of you. I always hoped you were doing well. And you look well!”
“I’m good,” Stephen said, sitting down on the cold boards of the dock. “Surprisingly so.”
Peter sat back down, cross-legged, facing Stephen directly.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Did you go to university?”
“In the end, no,” Stephen said. “I’m a police officer now.”
“You’re not! You said that’s what you wanted to do! What’s it like, being a police officer? Do you get your hat stolen a lot?”
Stephen shook his head.
“I’m not really a … normal police officer. I have a special job. That’s partly what I want to talk to you about.”
Stephen looked around to make sure they were entirely alone.
“Gosh,” Peter said. “Sounds secret.”
“It is, a bit. It’s a lot to explain, but … there is a police force that deals with … well, people like you.”
“You’re not serious,” Peter said.
Stephen put his hand on the phone in his pocket.
“I have a device,” he said. “If I used it on you, you would … leave.”
Peter stared at him dumbly, and the ducks, sensing weirdness, hustle-swam away from them.
“I won’t … ” Stephen said quickly. “I didn’t come to … I thought you’d want to know, and I promised … ”
“Does it hurt?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know,” Stephen said. “But probably not. That’s what I’ve been told. I’ve used it once. It’s quick.”
“And where do I go?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen said. “But you move on, away from here.”
“Which is something,” Peter said. “Freedom by any means.”
“Freedom by any means,” Stephen repeated.
“And you can do this?”
“I can,” Stephen said.
Peter looked out over the river. He seemed to blend into the smoke.
“I always thought a handsome boy would come back and save me,” he said, smiling a little. “That’s how fairy tales end.”
“I don’t know that this is much of a fairy tale,” Stephen said.
“It is for me.”
He reached out and took Stephen’s hand. Peter felt more solid than the girl, but cold.
“I’d like to go,” Peter said. “I’d like to get away from this blasted place. I’d like it if you did that for me, Stephen.”
Stephen nodded and took a deep breath.
“Now?”
“Now is as good a time as any. You’ll stay for the whole thing?”
“It’s very quick,” Stephen said again.
He removed the phone. It was an old model he’d picked up online for close to nothing. It had actual touch-buttons, not a screen, and an old battery that could be easily gutted. He’d cleaned out the insides and taped in the terminus, a lithium battery, and wired it all together. All he had to do was push 1 and 9 at the same time to complete the circuit.
Peter nodded a bit nervously, looked down, then got to his knees and gave Stephen a kiss on the cheek. Then he sat down again quickly.
“Thank you,” he said. “Now, Stephen, please.”
Stephen’s hand was shaking. This was different from the girl. Different, but …
But right.
Peter closed his eyes. Stephen held out the phone, pressing it into Peter’s hand. It had to touch, that was the only rule. You had to make contact.
“Thank you,” Stephen said. “For saving me.”
Then he pushed the buttons.
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hot Key Books
Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT
Copyright © Maureen Johnson 2014
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-4714-0394-1
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