The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  They haven’t seen them, Jake realised, not yet at least. I have to lead them away.

  With a cocky smile, Jake raised his middle finger at The Collector.

  The Collector stood for a moment, his mouth hanging open. It took him a few seconds to find his voice.

  “How dare you, boy,” he growled. “We’ll tear you limb from limb!”

  The Collector started forwards, quickly pacing around the large whirlpool, which still span and gurgled at the centre of the road. With chirps of excitement, the Prowlers followed.

  Jake allowed them to cover half of the distance to him before turning back to face forwards. He lifted his foot and drove the bike at a moderate speed to the head of the road. With The Collector and his small army still following, he cranked the throttle and sped away from Penny Crescent.

  10.

  Joe and Frank watched Jake leave the street, the flustered Collector in hot pursuit. Joe smiled at Jake giving him the finger. It had worked. The Collector and his Prowlers turned the corner, chasing the bike Joe could now only hear. A moment later, the street had emptied.

  “Good lad,” said Joe, “very good lad.”

  He entered his grandmother’s house.

  The exterior on first sight had seemed untouched, bar a broken window. Inside was a different matter entirely. Wallpaper and carpets were torn to shreds, and, in some places, chunks of plaster had been knocked from the wall. All the furniture was smashed. Chips of wood littered the floor from destroyed tables and bookcases. A thick, musty smell hung in the air, like decomposing leaves at the end of autumn.

  “Look at this place,” said Frank, lifting a torn table leg from the floor. “Your grandmother is going to be mortified.”

  “And you complained your house had been trashed,” said Joe. Every time his gaze fell on some destroyed keepsake or treasured possession belonging to his grandmother, it felt like a kick in the stomach. “She’s going to be devastated.”

  “What’s this?” said Frank, dropping the table leg and picking up a handful of black pellets from the floor. He ran them through his fingers like a cascade of raisins.

  “My guess,” said Joe, “would be Prowler shit.”

  Frank immediately dropped the small pellets and wiped his hand on the front of his T-shirt.

  “I’m going to go upstairs and get the car keys,” said Joe. “They should still be in my jeans pocket on the floor of the bedroom, but then again…” He looked around at the carnage. “…that’s no guarantee.”

  “Then hurry,” said Frank. “I’ll stay down here and watch for them coming back.”

  “Think the women and kids got away safe?”

  “Sure,” said Frank. “He was outside the whole time and now he’s gone. Well, as long as Jake can keep him away. They’re probably already at the estate around the back. The authorities might even show up before we get to blow up your car.”

  “I hope so,” said Joe. “Wait here, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  He walked past Frank and started up the stairs, treading cautiously. The steps had not escaped the destructive nature of the Prowlers, and large scratches criss-crossed the wood.

  Joe imagined The Collector leading the hordes in here – make yourselves at home, folks!

  He reached the top of the stairs and groaned, placing a hand on his chest.

  The landing was inches deep with torn paper, each scrap lined with print. An occasional patch of colour stood out in the black and white mess, a cover ripped in half or a hardback spine poking out of the sea of paper like a lighthouse. The scraps and crumpled pages had accumulated the highest in the doorway to his grandmother’s study. It was knee deep.

  Her books, thought Joe, the thing that kept her going since Granddad died. He is going to suffer for this.

  He raced down the landing to his bedroom, kicking the destroyed contents of numerous volumes from his path. Passing the door to the study, Joe kept his eyes forward, avoiding the destruction of his grandmother’s cherished collection.

  His bedroom had also been decimated, particularly the bed. Dull springs poked through gashes in the fluffy top layer of mattress. The ripped paper of the books had found its way into the bedroom like a snowdrift, and Joe fell to his knees among the shreds. He swept large handfuls aside to reveal more and more of the blue carpet beneath.

  He paused for a second, recalling the last time he kneeled on the floor in here. It had been the night before, hunting out that first Prowler, lurking under the bed. It felt like weeks ago.

  Joe shivered, peering at the dark space underneath the bed. He resumed his search.

  Within the piles of paper, his hand brushed something resting on the floor. He grabbed it and, feeling denim between his fingers, pulled the jeans out and held them up for inspection. The garment had also been unlucky during the Prowler occupation of the house, with narrow strips torn down the legs.

  Joe shook them and heard a faint jingle from within. His heart leapt. He reached inside one of the pockets and felt cold metal.

  “Thank Christ,” he whispered, removing the keys.

  Joe climbed to his feet and ran out of the room. He rushed across the landing, kicking up shreds of paper. He bounded down the stairs, expecting to find an eager Frank in the hall.

  “Frank?”

  Joe stepped off the bottom of the stairs.

  “Frank? Where are you? I’ve got the keys.”

  Joe looked through the open front doorway and out onto the bright street. Would Frank have done a runner? Gone out for some reason? Maybe The Collector had returned…

  No, he thought. He would have warned me. Wouldn’t he?

  “Frank? Are you still in here?”

  Leaving the front door for now, he ventured into the living room.

  “Frank? Where-”

  Light from the window glinted off the knife as it plunged towards his chest.

  11.

  Joe sidestepped, the butcher knife flying past him and sticking in the wall. Frank emerged from his hiding place behind the door, prised out the blade and turned towards him.

  Joe backed up with his hands out in front, retreating deeper into the living room.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Ending this,” said Frank, lifting the knife higher.

  Joe side-stepped around the wrecked coffee table, keeping it between Frank and himself. It provided no cover whatsoever, but held Frank at arm’s length.

  “What do you mean, end this? What have I done?”

  The teacher sniggered, an emotionless sound that chilled Joe. Frank didn’t blink despite the sweat around his eyes. His body twitched and jerked.

  “Talk to me,” shouted Joe. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  “You know,” snarled Frank. “You and that bitch! You both know…”

  The man’s finally gone mad, thought Joe. He’s raving!

  Frank growled and swept the knife at Joe.

  “Frank, stop this!”

  “I am. It’s the only way…”

  Frank moved around the ruined table, forcing an opposite step from Joe.

  “Listen to me,” ordered Joe. “Whatever you think I’ve done to upset you, we have to put it aside. We need to work together!”

  “I’ve listened. I’ve listened all fucking night. Do you think I’m stupid? All the times we did what you said; all the times I was doing what you suggested, just to keep the peace. Do you think I didn’t see what was going on? What you were up to?”

  “Up to? I don’t understand!”

  “I know you had your eyes on her straight away. I didn’t need him to tell me that. Can’t say I blame you, McGuire, she’s a good-looking woman. But she’s my woman, and that was your mistake!”

  Joe frowned. “What? You mean Anne? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You should learn to keep your hands to yourself!” continued Frank, sweeping the knife back and forth, catching the sunlight from the window. “She’s just a stupid woman, and women are e
asily led, McGuire. This is your doing. He showed me what you did in the bathroom with her. Memories don’t lie!”

  He swung the knife again. Joe easily avoided it.

  “We haven’t done anything,” he pleaded. “Do you honestly believe I was with Anne at any point in this? Our lives were in danger but I still took the time to bed your wife? Listen to yourself-”

  “But I have seen with my own eyes…”

  “Seen?” Joe spat. “Or were you shown? You can’t trust him!”

  Frank laughed.

  “And who can I trust, eh? You? Her? Anything anymore? Nothing is right! Nothing!”

  He lunged at Joe, who dove to the right. Frank fell over the coffee table. Joe ran to the door.

  “Wait,” gasped Frank, Holding out his free hand. “Please!”

  Joe hesitated.

  “I’m sorry,” said Frank, sitting on the floor and hanging his head. “I’m sorry! It’s just…just that my world’s falling apart around me and…and I can’t deal with it. I don’t know what to do anymore.” He looked up to meet Joe’s eyes. “Help me…”

  “Help you?” said Joe. “You just tried to kill me!”

  Frank sighed.

  “It’s not my fault,” he said. “We…we had a deal…”

  “A deal? Who with?” His eyes went wide. “With him? You made a deal with him? Fuck…”

  “I know…but I was weak. Surely you all could see it? I couldn’t see any other way out of this!”

  “What deal?”

  “He said,” Frank wiped his now streaming eyes, “that if I killed you, it would generate enough mana to replace what was lost. He knows it’s gone.”

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this, thought Joe.

  “He was in my head, when he was in the house. He talked to you all nice as pie, but the whole time…” He tapped his forehead.

  “My God, Frank! Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I wasn’t going to do it, not even consider what he wanted. I mean, kill you? I’m a physics teacher, not a murderer. But then he showed me what happened in the bathroom, and I thought about getting the children to safety…” Frank cleared his throat. “I just needed to wait for an opportunity.”

  “So you came along with Jake and me,” said Joe, shaking his head. “I assure you, Frank. I have not touched Anne, or even thought about.”

  Frank nodded and hung his head again. His shoulders shook as sobs escaped him.

  “Frank, this isn’t the time. We’ve come this far. All we have to do is drive the car into that portal outside. We’ve seen it! It’s there.”

  Joe stepped towards him.

  “We’ve made a good team so far. Jake too. We can beat him, but we need to get moving. Are you all right now?”

  Frank gazed up.

  “I’m better, I think. Thank you, Joe. I had all this inside me and, well I guess I should have talked about it sooner.”

  “No problem. Can we finish this now?”

  Frank climbed from the floor.

  “Yes,” said Frank, thrusting the knife into Joe.

  12.

  White-hot pain shot through the front of Joe’s shoulder. Releasing Frank’s hand, he staggered back, stumbling over wrecked furniture.

  Frank kept hold of the bloodied knife and chuckled. He climbed to his feet.

  Blood poured from the wound, soaking the cotton of Joe’s T-shirt to the waistband of his jeans. Joe clamped his other hand over his shoulder, crying out, pressing the opened flesh.

  “Won’t be long now,” said Frank. His manic stare darted around the room, not seeming to focus on Joe. He released a high-pitched chortle, sounding like a hyena. “Not long now.”

  Joe winced as a wave of nausea swept over him. He swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth and groaned. Swaying on his feet, he backed up closer to the door.

  He’s crazy, he thought. Ladies and gentlemen, Frank Harper has left the building.

  “Just another little cut here and there,” raved Frank, licking his lips, “and the job’s finished. Think I’ll see the mana rise out of you, McGuire? Eh? You think that?”

  Joe staggered further back, swallowing again.

  “And after you, I’ll have the pleasure of dealing with that whore. That will be fun…so much fun…”

  Anne? He’s going to kill Anne?

  I have to get away from him.

  Joe spun around and lurched to the door. The room seemed to rock around him.

  Oh Christ, he thought. Even the voice inside his head sounded groggy and slurred. He put a hand to the wall, which sent a bolt of fire through his shoulder.

  “You can’t get away!” came Frank’s mocking voice from behind. “He won’t let you. You’re mine!”

  I’m at the door. A few more steps and I’m out. If I can just get to the front…

  He stepped forwards into the doorway.

  Several bulbous eyes stared up at him from the hall carpet.

  No! Oh please no!

  The Prowlers darted forwards.

  Joe backed into the living room, slamming the door closed. He leaned back against it.

  Frank still stood in the corner, a lunatic’s grin splashed across his face, pointing the knife at Joe’s heart.

  “See, McGuire? He won’t let you leave.”

  Joe’s vision blurred and he blinked away the gathering tears. Thuds from the other side of the door sent vibrations coursing through his body. The stream of blood had thinned to a trickle down his chest.

  “No, Frank,” Joe screamed. “Don’t do this. You can’t trust him!”

  “It’s you I can’t trust. You and her.” He started forwards. “But enough talk. Time is running out.”

  Frank covered the short distance across the living room in seconds, the knife drifting back and forth, a lethal pendulum.

  Joe stepped away from the door to push Frank back with his good arm. Laughing, Frank staggered back a few feet. Hearing the door open, Joe leaned back again, his weight against the wood. The pressure from the other side increased with every passing second.

  Frank screamed, pouncing at Joe with the knife held high.

  With his escape route blocked, Joe ducked to his left.

  With the resistance gone, the door swung open.

  Frank stopped dead, staring at the black wall of eyes and claws that filled the doorway.

  “What the…?”

  The darkness rushed him; a blur of snapping claws.

  Clutching his shoulder, Joe watched Frank fall to the floor, the Prowlers swarming. The ripping of fabric sounded over the excited chirps of the creatures and the snip-snap-snip of their claws. Frank screamed, thrashing around and whipping the knife through the air. He managed to take out a few, slicing off claws and legs or puncturing eyeballs, but the slain were immediately replaced by more, rushing through the door. His screams became a wet gurgle. The Prowlers chirped on regardless.

  Joe staggered around the edge of the room, avoiding the carnage at the centre.

  The Prowlers seemed too occupied with Frank to pay him any attention. Joe hoped it would stay that way.

  They’re like sharks, he thought, sidling along the wall. A whiff of blood drives them frenzied.

  The claws of the Prowlers dripped deep scarlet. A pool of blood began to spread from the gathered group, darkening the carpet. Frank’s body remained hidden beneath the chirping mass.

  No-one could go through this and not be screaming, Joe thought. He’s dead.

  He bent down and picked up what remained of the coffee table. He strained to pick it up with one hand, not daring to aggravate his injured shoulder. With a grunt, he swung the heavy chunk of wood up and let go. It flew across the room and smashed the window.

  A screech cut through the room, followed by a spell of clicks and chirps. The Prowlers had noticed him, the sound of shattering glass disturbing their fun.

  Easy, no sudden movements…

  He blew out a long breath and inched towards the window.

  Sta
y there, nothing to bother with over here, nothing at all.

  Another step.

  Just me getting the hell out of here. Don’t mind me…

  Another screech, and a Prowler shot forwards, starting a stampede. The small creatures flocked across the carpet towards Joe, easily crawling over the obstacles of scattered furniture.

  Joe turned from the advancing horde and, trying to block out the pain from his screaming shoulder, ran for the broken window. Jumping through, hands before his face, he knocked the remaining shards of glass free of the frame. The points of glass nicked at his T-shirt, jeans and exposed skin. Some broke off and landed in his hair like shiny dandruff.

  Joe’s feet hit the loamy soil of the flowerbed beneath the window. He fell forwards and cried out as his shoulder thumped against the ground.

  The Prowlers crept out of the window.

  Joe leapt to his feet and ran across his grandmother’s immaculate garden, fumbling the car keys from his pocket.

  Close behind, the Prowlers dashed across the grass.

  Joe reached the end of the garden and crossed the pavement. He jumped over his car door, both feet landing in the driver’s seat. The sweet tang of petrol flooded his nose.

  He scrambled down, his feet banging against the pedals as his rear fell into the seat. With the keys grasped in his right hand, he tried to find the ignition.

  He looked to the side. The advancing black tide had reached the end of the garden.

  “Damn it!”

  The key hit the metal with a click, but failed to find the hole. The simple task of shoving the key into the ignition was usually accomplished first time, so well-practised he barely thought about it. Finally, the key slipped and found the ignition, the metal plunging into the hole. Joe gave it a firm twist and pumped the accelerator.

  The car rumbled to life.

  He dropped the handbrake and pushed the gear into first with a shaking hand. He slammed his foot down.

  The car shot forwards, just as the claws of the leading Prowler reached the tyres.

  Joe gripped the steering wheel tight, gaze locked on the circling area of road further up the street. He kept the car in first gear, despite the high-pitched whine from under the bonnet.