The Game You Played

by Anni Taylor

  Yes, exactly like a ball on the stairs.

  Tommy?

  He could fall down the stairs in the dark.

  In a panic, I rushed to the door. Something was blocking me. Who’d left a piece of furniture here? I set my shoulder against the set of drawers and nudged it out of the way.

  I clicked the door lock open.

  Out in the hallway, I looked for the stairs. They were in a different place to normal. I’d been sleeping in the wrong bedroom.

  I forgot my confusion when I noticed Tommy’s small frame crouching at the top of the staircase.

  It was him. Holding a ball.

  He let the ball go and watched it bounce down the stairs.

  He was wearing the same T-shirt, shorts, and hat that he always wore, the plastic yacht under his arm. He covered his eyes like the wise monkey who could see no evil.

  Turning his head in my direction, he snatched his hands away and cried, “Boo!”

  “Tommy, it’s dangerous to play here,” I chided him.

  He tilted his head as he looked up at me, his church-pew eyes luminous in the dark. Rising, he jumped onto the first stair.

  “You’ll fall!” I ran, trying to reach him, but the hallway spanned out like a tunnel and suddenly Tommy was so, so far away from me. I panted with the effort of trying to reach the end of the tunnel. My lungs ached.

  Without warning, the stairs fell away, leaving a bottomless chasm.

  Time seemed to speed up now as I raced forward.

  I teetered at the edge of the gap, unable to jump it and get to Tommy. A moth fluttered in front of my face, blurring my vision. I swatted it away. It spiralled down into the hole, its wings broken.

  Tommy was running for the front door.

  Closing my eyes, I made the jump.

  I landed at the bottom of the staircase.

  Somehow, the ball was still bouncing down the last of the stairs. I held out my hands to catch it. The ball was Tommy’s, and I had to give it back to him. But the ball transformed into something else. An eyeball. It rolled in my palm until I cried out and dropped it.

  I turned sharply as I heard the squeaking sound of pedals behind me.

  Tommy was sitting on my old tricycle from Nan’s house. How had he managed to get that? He giggled, pedalling it towards the front door. How was he able to ride it? He wasn’t quite big enough.

  I didn’t have time to think on that because the front door was open, and Tommy was passing through it. Even at this time of night there would be cars out there.

  Wind made the door slam shut.

  I rattled the handle, but it was firmly locked.

  Key. I needed the key. Where was it?

  I remembered. I hurried to the hallstand and yanked the drawer open. With the key in hand, I returned to unlock the door.

  A blast of chilled air froze me instantly as I stepped outside. Where was Tommy? He wasn’t wearing warm enough clothes for this kind of weather. I searched along the garden path and out into the street.

  A hand grabbed me from the bushes of my neighbour’s front yard.

  Was it the wizard-man again? I couldn’t see him properly. It was dark, and he was well concealed.

  “Please help me,” I begged him. “I’m looking for Tommy.”

  He nodded and gave me something.

  It was a knife. A kitchen knife. A dark liquid gleamed on its blade. A coppery scent rose in the air. Blood. It was blood.

  What was I supposed to do with the knife? Did the wizard want me to kill Tommy’s abductor? I would do it. A cold rage flashed through me.

  But I didn’t know the identity of the abductor yet.

  The shadowy wizard told me to hide the knife until it was time. Obeying, I took the knife to a safe place.

  The sound of the tricycle echoed way down the hill. How did Tommy get down there so fast? He must have taken his feet off the ground and just let the bike go.

  I raced after him, the wind rushing against me. I found him sitting on the tricycle in the middle of the footpath, with the wide darkness bearing down on him. Waiting for me.

  He shuffled the bike around and tugged open a gate.

  Nan’s house. He was going into Nan’s house.

  Standing on the tricycle seat, he wriggled Nan’s front door open and rode inside.

  As I ran the rest of the way to Nan’s house and along the path, the door swung shut. I tried to open it, as Tommy had done, but it was locked now. I knew that Nan kept spare keys nearby, inside the screw-top head of the fisherman statue. Luke had bought her the statue to stop her from leaving the keys under a pot plant. Two keys were needed to open Nan’s door, but my fingers felt too fat and clumsy for the task. What was wrong with me? I persisted until I had the door open.

  Tommy was inside, waiting for me again. He rode the tricycle through the narrow hallway that led directly to Nan’s courtyard. Nan would be upset with him when she heard him riding the tricycle in here.

  At least I’d be able to corner him out in the courtyard. There were six-foot-high brick walls and nowhere for him to go.

  I dashed into the hallway and through to the courtyard. The familiar smell of damp, mouldy earth enveloped me.

  Tommy had climbed onto the seat of his tricycle again, and he was banging on the toolshed door.

  There must be something he wanted inside the shed. I had to get it for him.

  I started helping him, shifting the pot plants out of the way. Why did Nan have so many of these damned pots jammed up against the shed door? Three of the pots shattered, dirt spilling on the paving.

  When I turned around to Tommy, he was gone. And so was the tricycle.

  I didn’t get the shed open fast enough, and he’d grown impatient. I needed to do this thing for him, and then maybe I’d gain his trust. I couldn’t figure what could be in Nan’s old shed that he wanted. But then, I didn’t know everything there was to know about Tommy. Even though I was his mother. After all, he’d gone with a stranger all those months ago, and he hadn’t called out for me or screamed. No one had even reported seeing a crying child. Had he cried for me at all? The letter said he hadn’t.

  A mix of annoyance and anger burned through my veins.

  Tommy hadn’t grieved the loss of me.

  But I had a job to do right now, and I had to get it done.

  Encircling the largest pot with my arms, I puffed and grunted as I wrenched it out of the way. Then I returned to the shed.

  A rusted bolt was lying horizontally across the doors. Padlocked.

  Where was the key?

  Nan said she’d lost it.

  I rattled the doors repeatedly.

  I needed to get inside. I needed to get to Tommy. Kicking at the door, I cried out in frustration.

  Hands reached around my middle, forcing me back.

  The hands spun me around.

  Luke, dressed in nothing but sleep shorts, frowned at me. “Phoebe! For God’s sake! What are you doing?”

  I stared back at him in confusion. How did Luke suddenly get to Nan’s toolshed? “Tommy was just here. We need to—”

  “Tommy isn’t here. Calm down, honey. You’re dreaming. Just dreaming.”

  I wanted to hurt Luke for saying that. I wanted to—

  But then the fog inside my mind lifted.

  God, I was all the way down here, in Nan’s yard. Not just dreaming. Really here. Somehow I’d gotten myself out of the house.

  I remembered chasing Tommy outside into the street and down to Nan’s house. I remembered him trying to get into the toolshed.

  But of course, I hadn’t been chasing Tommy. I’d been chasing a dream. The familiar hollow feeling swept through me, as it always did after a Tommy dream.

  Nan stepped out from behind Luke. “You scared the living daylights out of me. Out here carrying on. I tried to call you inside, but you wouldn’t listen!”

  The lights were on at Mrs Wick’s house. She must have heard the pots smashing and me rattling doors and screaming like a lunatic. Ber
nice was staring down at me from her bedroom window, her fingers touched to the glass.

  Ignoring Bernice, I eyed the damage I’d caused to the yard. Upset pots were strewn across the ground, gaping mouths with earth vomiting from them.

  “I’m sorry,” I told Nan remorsefully. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Didn’t hear me? I think the whole neighbourhood heard me. I had to call your husband to come and restrain you!”

  “I’m sorry, Nan. I thought I was following Tommy, and then—”

  Her sharp eyes narrowed. “You’re not taking drugs, are you?”

  Luke slung an arm around me protectively. “Of course she’s not. I told you she must be sleepwalking.” His arm was cold on my neck. He must have run down here as soon as he got Nan’s call and not bothered getting dressed.

  “I haven’t known anyone to travel this far in their sleep.” Nan drew her dressing gown together under her neck. “Now, get back to your own house, the two of you. We’ll see about this trouble in the morning.”

  “I’ll come by in the morning to tidy the mess,” Luke told her. “And pay for the broken stuff.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  I took a few steps then stopped, hesitating. “Nan, why do you keep the shed locked?”

  “There’s nothing in there anyone needs,” she answered with irritation in her voice. “Just old things belonging to your grandfather. I locked it up when Tommy first started walking. I didn’t want him getting into anything nasty.”

  I sucked my lips in tightly, trying to hold back my growing desperation. “Could I see inside, just for peace of mind? I dreamed that Tommy needed something in there.”

  She shook her head “I’ve misplaced the key. I told you that when you wanted the broom handles.”

  “Then Luke can open it. With a hammer or something.”

  “He’ll do nothing of the sort.” She waved her hand as if to shoo us away like bothersome insects.

  “Phoebe, let it go.” Luke said gently. “It’s enough for one night.”

  My shoulders slumped inward. “Okay.”

  Like a contrite child, I let Luke lead me away and into Nan’s house. I sensed Nan’s gaze like sharp pins raining on my back. I’d forgotten about Bernice, but I knew she’d still be there, watching.

  A light rain began to mist in the air as Luke and I walked the hill to our house. Me in pyjamas and Luke just in sleep shorts.

  “Who’s that?” Luke said suddenly. He pointed ahead, quickening his steps.

  I peered into the night, trying to see what he did. Across the street and up a short distance, the tall shape of a man lingered near our front gate.

  Luke broke into a run. “Hey!”

  The man ran off. There was no way Luke was going to catch him, but he barrelled after the man anyway.

  I continued on to our house, shivering in my damp clothes.

  Luke returned, panting heavily, his hair plastered across his forehead. “Couldn’t—catch—him.”

  He clutched the gate, catching his breath. He’d grown unfit over the past few months, despite his nightly jogs.

  Frowning suddenly, he stepped past me to the mailbox.

  Something had been shoved inside it.

  Luke stared back at me. “It’s an envelope.”

  I gasped. Even in the deep of night, I could see that it was blue.

  The man we’d seen—he was the person who’d written those letters. He had to be. We’d almost had the guy in our grasp.

  When I looked up at Luke, I saw that he’d had the same thought. “We’re not letting him get away.”

  He charged into the house for the car keys and out again.

  We jumped in the car.

  Luke roared up our street and around onto the next block. And the next block, and the next after that and back again.

  The man had vanished.

  “Call the police,” Luke instructed me.

  I picked up his mobile phone from the car’s console and made the call.

  The police asked for a description. I couldn’t tell them anything apart from the fact he was wearing a long jacket and cap. I could barely think. My head was hazy from the sleepwalk episode and too full of terror at what this next letter would say. I stared across at Luke, but he shook his head. He hadn’t seen anything more than I had.

  The police said they’d send two police cars to scout the streets to see if they could find the man. We were to head back home and give the police a statement about what we’d seen.

  Luke pulled up outside our house and hit the steering wheel with both hands. “Hell, he was right there, Phoebe. He was right there.”

  “Maybe he wanted us to see him,” I said darkly.

  “What?”

  “It fits with the letters. It’s a game. He wanted us to see him. He already had a hiding place planned. That’s why we couldn’t find him.”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “Is it? Isn’t sending these letters to grieving parents a bold move as it is?”

  “Guess you’re right. It’s a risky thing to do.”

  The letter. We hadn’t forgotten it, but in the race to grab hold of the man, we’d pushed all thought of what this letter would say aside.

  “Feeb, go in and get dressed. I’ll stay out here and wait for the police. I don’t want to touch the letter, and I don’t want to leave it unguarded either. Don’t want to give him a chance to come back and grab it.” His voice hardened. “Maybe this is going to tell us something.”

  “I’m not going inside. I’ll stay with you.”

  We stood together, clutching hands, watching the envelope as though it were a bomb that was threatening to explode, each of us fighting an urge to yank it out and tear it open.

  17.

  LUKE

  Saturday morning

  FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, I cancelled all my appointments.

  Long hours dragged by as I waited with Phoebe for Gilroy to arrive. It was already 11:15 a.m.

  The police had taken the letter with them last night, at 3:40 in the morning. I didn’t know why the hell it was taking them so damned long to look at the letter and get back to us. My fear was starting to turn to frustration and anger. I wanted things to happen, but everything was moving like it was stuck in sludge.

  Phoebe and I spotted a couple of police cars moving up and down our street, still looking—we assumed—for the man from last night.

  Gilroy finally showed up at 11:27.

  He walked into our house with an expression that didn’t give a lot away, which only added to my frustration. He had us sit down, and he pulled out a handwritten note from his pocket. “I copied this down from the letter,” he started. “Like the others, the real letter was done on a typewriter. The same typewriter. The same paper.”

  “What . . . what does it say?” Phoebe’s fingers closed tightly around mine.

  Gilroy silently handed the letter to us. I murmured the words as I read the note:

  Little Boy Blue

  Why’d she let you go?

  On red ships and yellow boats

  ’Round and ’round you row

  “That gives us exactly nothing!” Phoebe cried.

  The pain in her voice tore at me.

  “We were hoping for more.” Gilroy’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed heavily. “I think we’re dealing with a person who just isn’t well.”

  I shot a sideways glance at Phoebe, not wanting to voice what was on my mind in front of Phoebe but losing the battle to hold it back. “It sticks in my throat to say this,” I said to Gilroy, “but could this person be wanting to tell us that Tommy drowned in the harbour, or that his body is being concealed on a boat there?”

  Phoebe made a choked noise, taking the letter from me with stiff fingers and rereading it, as though it had some proof in it of what I’d said.

  I shouldn’t have said it.

  Gilroy watched Phoebe then flicked his eyes to me. “We investigated both of those options in the weeks after To
mmy went missing. We searched all the boats.”

  “I know,” I said, rubbing my neck, “but I’m just trying to get some meaning out of that note.”

  Gilroy perched on the edge of the sofa opposite us. “I’ll tell you that we’re certainly going to follow this up to the best of our ability. But there just might not be any meaning to the rhymes.”

  “But the guy from last night has to have had something to do with Tommy’s disappearance, right?” I nodded at him, expecting him to agree with me.

  “We’re running a few lines of investigation, and of course we’ll take the man you saw into account.”

  “What about the lab tests on the letter?” I asked.

  He finally nodded, watching Phoebe again as she let the note drop through her fingers onto the coffee table. “They’ll take a while. We’ll be going over the envelope and letter with a fine-tooth comb, trust me.” He still had his eyes on my wife. “How are you today, Phoebe?”

  She glanced across at him. “Fine, thank you. I think these notes must be stressing me out. I’ve never been a sleepwalker.”

  “Well, that was some extreme sleepwalking last night.” He looked worried. “You’re going to have to take precautions to make sure it can’t happen again. Not safe to be out there wandering the streets at night.”

  Gilroy’s phone buzzed, and he had a brief conversation with the person on the other end of the line.

  “I’ve got to run,” Gilroy told us. “But I’ll let you know that we’re throwing everything at this. Luke, we’ve got your statement about the height and body shape of the man, and we’re following that up. We’ve got forensics analysing the letter and envelope. Rest assured we’re keeping our minds open.”

  I stayed by Phoebe’s side the rest of the day, waiting for more news. She read and reread and reread the note, as if trying to glean some meaning from between the lines.

  The hours had weights attached to them. It seemed like things were moving like a freight train and stalled at the station at the same time. Three notes in as many days. What the hell did they mean? I imagined having my hands around the throat of that guy. My mind should be fixed on Tommy, but it wasn’t. I wanted the cold release of choking this person until they had no air left in their lungs.