by Danny Weston
Owen stared defiantly back at him. ‘Mr Sparks is my friend,’ he said. ‘I can’t just walk away from him.’
‘He’s not the sort of friend a boy like you needs,’ insisted Wilkins.
‘How do you know?’ snapped Mr Sparks, talking for the first time since they’d been cornered. ‘How do you know what Owie wants?’
Wilkins’ eyes got very big and his mouth opened in a grin. ‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you over this last two years and finally, I hear you speak.’ He looked at Quinn. ‘He’s just as you said!’
‘What were you expecting?’ sneered Quinn.
‘But he’s … almost human!’
‘Don’t be fooled, Wilkins. That’s how he works.’
‘I tell you what,’ said Mr Sparks, concentrating all his attention on Wilkins now. ‘There’s something you don’t know. We’ve got money. A great deal of money.’ He glanced up at Owen. ‘Isn’t that right?’ he said.
‘Y … yes,’ said Owen.
‘What if we were to pay you to let us go?’ asked Mr Sparks.
‘We’re not interested,’ said Quinn.
There was a silence.
‘No, ’ang on a minute, let him speak,’ said Wilkins. ‘How much money are we talking about?’
Mr Sparks’ eyelids fluttered. ‘How does a hundred thousand smackers sound?’ he asked.
Wilkins’ expression suggested that it sounded very interesting indeed.
‘You see,’ continued Mr Sparks, ‘I know where I could lay my hands on that money today. I’d be happy to give it to you in exchange for my freedom.’
Wilkins licked his lips and looked at Quinn. ‘A hundred thousand,’ he muttered. ‘That’s a lot of money.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Quinn. ‘You surely don’t believe him? Can’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’ll say anything if he thinks it’ll get him off the hook.’
‘Ooh, no, I’m telling the truth,’ insisted Mr Sparks. ‘You see, this is my home place. Back near the house, there’s a fortune in gold and diamonds hidden away … stuff I’ve been accumulating over the years. A bit of a nest egg. It’s all yours if you let us go.’
Quinn thumbed back the hammer of the pistol. ‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘Now, boy, no more nonsense. I’m going to count to three and if you haven’t handed over the dummy—’
‘Wait,’ interrupted Wilkins. ‘Just a moment. We shouldn’t be too hasty,’ he said. ‘Maybe … maybe he has got some treasure. And besides, I didn’t sign on with you for this. Pointing a gun at a kid. I don’t think that’s right.’
‘You don’t think?’ Quinn’s mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. ‘Let me remind you, Wilkins, you signed on for whatever I tell you to do.’
‘Yes, but … with respect, Mr Quinn, it’s all right for you with your millions in the bank. Maybe this is a chance to do myself some good. Maybe we should let him show us where this gold is hidden and then—’
Quinn took a step forward, raising the gun as he did so. Before Wilkins could move, Quinn brought the heavy barrel down hard against the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. Wilkins fell heavily, groaned once and then lay still.
Quinn gazed down at him for a moment and then looked up into Owen’s appalled face. ‘I think that proves that I mean what I say,’ he murmured. ‘So, let’s go back to where we were, shall we? I’m going to count to three and if you haven’t handed that dummy to me, I am going to shoot you where you stand. Do I make myself clear?’
Owen swallowed hard and nodded.
‘Excellent. Right then, let’s see if you come to your senses. One … two …’
‘All right!’ It was Mr Sparks who spoke and Owen looked down at him in surprise. ‘It’s no use, Owie. The game’s up. I’ve had a good run, but it’s time to face up to reality.’
‘But … he’s going to …’
‘I know. But it’s all right. Just hand me over to him. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt.’ As he said the last line, he gave Owen a sly wink.
Owen nodded. Mr Sparks unhooked his arms from around Owen’s neck. ‘Turn me around,’ he murmured. Owen did as he was told and, gripping Mr Sparks by the waist, he began to hand him over. Quinn reached out his free hand to take him. And in that instant, Owen felt the dummy’s legs kick back against his chest with a power that Owen would never have credited – a power that propelled him forward through the air, his hands outstretched to claw at Quinn’s face. Mr Sparks’ gloved fingers tore at the thin man’s eyes and Quinn shouted something. He dropped the gun and lifted his own hands to try and push the dummy away, but Mr Sparks was screaming now, screaming like a wild beast. His legs wrapped themselves around Quinn’s neck in a powerful embrace as he punched and clawed and dug at the man’s face. Quinn turned around, trying to fend his attacker off. As he reeled backwards, he stepped on the pistol, which slid on the smooth stone, carrying him to the very edge of the platform. Owen saw what was about to happen and he lunged forward. Quinn’s heels teetered on the brink and he lost his balance, falling backwards towards the water. Mr Sparks threw out one hand and Owen managed to grasp it; just as Quinn, falling, grabbed hold of the dummy’s other hand.
There was an instant, while everything seemed to freeze. Owen clung on, as Quinn clung on and Mr Sparks, torn between the two of them, looked up into Owen’s face and said, ‘Well, I didn’t see this coming!’ Then Owen felt himself being dragged forward, Quinn’s weight pulling him towards destruction. He slid face-down across the smooth stone, until his head and shoulders crossed the edge of the drop. Then, unexpectedly, a pair of strong hands grabbed Owen’s ankles, anchoring him. He glanced back in surprise to see Wilkins’ bloody face, grinning at him.
Owen opened his mouth to shout something. But then he saw the look of agony on Mr Sparks’ eyes, mingled with one of defeat. A fraction of a second later, the dummy’s upraised arm tore away from his body with a hideous rending sound. Quinn started to fall again, still clutching his prize. Owen watched, horrified, as the two figures hurtled hand in hand to destruction. They seemed to fall for a very long time. Then they hit the water in a great splash of foam and went straight under. Owen lay there, staring down, holding his breath, waiting for one or the other of them to come back to the surface. But neither of them did.
There was a silence, a long deep silence, during which he heard a distant bird calling. Something moved in his hand. He looked in mute horror, to see that he was still clutching Mr Sparks’ arm. It was twitching, the gloved hand opening and closing against Owen’s, as though trying to find something that was now out of reach. Owen gave a grunt of disgust and let the arm go. It fell, spinning end over end, then hit the water with a small splash, and sank quickly out of sight. Owen lay there, staring down. He heard a grunt from beside him and when he looked up, he saw Wilkins trying to sit up, the deep gash in his head still pumping blood down his face. He said, ‘Is either of ’em alive?’
Owen looked again and the water was nearly still now, the last ripples settling themselves on the green surface. Nothing had come up from the depths – nothing. He waited, thinking that if he counted to ten, something would appear. But he got to ten and there was still nothing. His vision blurred and something hot swelled like a balloon in his chest. His shoulders began to move rhythmically up and down and it was only after a few moments that he realised he was crying.
EPILOGUE
Wilkins steered the Daimler in through the entrance gates and cruised along the driveway towards the Denbigh Mental Asylum. It was good to be back behind the wheel of the beloved automobile. It had been waiting for him in Portsmouth, right where he’d left it. When he’d tried the engine, it had started first time. He’d pretty much decided to hang onto it, at least until somebody started asking awkward questions about it. He loved that Daimler.
He looked in the driving mirror at the boy and his father, sitting side by side in the back. Wilkins had no idea how the father had suddenly appeared on the scene. As he’d unders
tood it, he was supposed to have died in the War. Wilkins would have loved to talk the matter through, ask a few questions in that policeman way he still had, but his two passengers had barely spoken a word on the long drive from Portsmouth and had made it clear that Wilkins was only travelling with them on sufferance. Oh, they’d accepted his offer of a lift across country to North Wales, but grudgingly, as though they were doing him the favour.
He could understand how they felt. He’d put the kid through a bad time, after all … but at the end there, he’d grabbed onto his ankles and stopped him going over the edge. He’d actually saved the boy’s life. Surely that had to count for something?
Looking back over the last few days, Wilkins felt as though he was remembering some kind of bad dream. But he had to admit that being free of Quinn after so long in his employment did feel unexpectedly liberating, even if it also meant an end to his regular wage. No matter, he told himself. He’d find some other way to earn a crust. Something would turn up.
The last day or so at the cottage in the woods had been strange, to say the least. The French toymaker, Lacombe, had spent a lot of time splashing around in the shallows of the lake and eventually, he’d found Quinn’s body, mired amongst the weeds on the lake bed and had managed to pull him to shore, so Wilkins could have a proper look at him. Quinn’s head was lolling at a peculiar angle, and on his face there was still a look of indignation, as though even in death, he couldn’t believe that the dummy had got the better of him.
As for Mr Sparks, there was no sign of him, not a scrap, though the Frenchman had spent the best part of two days searching. It was as though the dark, cold lake had swallowed him whole, as though it had been waiting all those hundreds of years for his return.
And that had been the end of it. Lacombe had promised to wait a day or so before informing the police of the ‘accident’ that he’d chanced upon, which would give Owen, his father and Wilkins time to make themselves scarce. Wilkins still had the hire car, which he could take back to Erquy. Lacombe’s shady friend had organised safe passage across the channel, something that Wilkins felt obliged to pay for, though admittedly, he’d used what was left of Quinn’s money. After everything that had happened, it seemed the least he could do.
And now here they were, the three of them, at their parting of the ways. Wilkins watched as the boy and his father climbed out of the back of the automobile and stood staring towards the big grey building with looks of apprehension on their faces.
Wilkins wound down the window and smiled out at them, though he knew that the livid half-healed scar on the side of his head made him look like something out of Frankenstein. ‘Will you two be all right from here?’ he asked.
Owen turned back and managed a thin smile. ‘Yes, thank you,’ he said. He seemed to think for a moment. ‘What will you do?’ he asked.
‘Me?’ Wilkins shrugged. ‘Something legal,’ he said. ‘For a change.’ He chuckled. ‘Tell you the truth, I can’t wait to get home to my Ruby. Get a decent cup of tea and some kind words.’ He sighed. ‘Look kid, I want you to know … I was helping Quinn to get the dummy and all that, I can’t pretend otherwise. But I never wanted anybody to get hurt. Specially not a kid. You do believe that, don’t you?’
Owen shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said.
Wilkins smiled. ‘Well, I’ll get going,’ he said. He nodded towards the huge stone building. ‘I hope everything goes all right in—’
But the boy had already turned away. He was standing with his father now, and as Wilkins watched the two of them began to walk purposefully towards the main entrance. Wilkins watched them for a few moments. He’d only managed to get the odd word out of the boy on the way over. As far as Wilkins could tell, he seemed like a decent enough kid, but he could only begin to guess at his story.
It was time to go. Wilkins wound the window back up and hit the starter motor. He grinned as, once again, the engine purred smoothly into life. Now he only had the long drive back to London to think about. He sincerely hoped that nobody would come looking for the Daimler for a very long time. There were still a lot of places he planned to take it to.
He slipped the automobile into gear and drove away.
Ma still had the same room. It seemed to Owen that it was months since he’d been here, though it was really only a matter of days.
‘Please be careful what you say to her.’ It was the same ruddy-faced orderly as last time and Owen thought to himself that, after the last visit the man had good reason to be nervous. He’d told Owen, rather crossly in the reception, that it had taken days to calm Ma down and it was really only because his father was accompanying Owen this time that he’d finally agreed to risk another visit.
Looking through the bars, Owen saw that Ma was in her usual place, sitting on the wooden chair in front of the window, her face turned away.
The orderly unlocked the door and opened it. He seemed on the point of saying something else but the fierce look on Da’s face must have made him decide to stay silent. Owen and Da walked into the bare room and the door clanged shut behind them.
‘Remember now,’ said the orderly, through the bars. ‘Nice and calm.’ He moved away.
There was a long silence. Da stood there, looking as though he didn’t have the first idea what to say or do, so in the end, it was Owen who broke the silence. ‘Ma,’ he said. ‘Ma, I’ve brought somebody to see you.’
No reaction.
‘Ma, look! Look who’s here. It’s somebody you’ve been wanting to see for a long time.’
She turned in her seat then, and for a moment her expression was apprehensive, as though she was half expecting to see a malevolent dummy in Owen’s arms, a creature with a pale pink face and wild red hair. But then she saw Da looking down at her and she relaxed into a delighted smile. ‘Gareth,’ she said. ‘There you are!’ She looked at Owen. ‘See, didn’t I tell you he’d be back?’
‘You did,’ said Owen gently. ‘That’s exactly what you said.’ Impulsively, he took hold of Da’s arm and pulled him closer to Ma. Then he put his father’s hand against his mother’s and watched as the two hands enclosed each other in a strong but tender grip.
Ma turned and looked back out of the window. ‘I think it’s going to be a lovely day,’ she said. ‘I’ve been sitting here looking at the world and thinking that it’s not such a bad place. Shall we just stay here and watch for a while?’
‘Yes, Megan,’ said Da. He used his free hand to reach out and gently stroke her hair. ‘I’d like that very much.’
Owen stepped back a little and looked at the scene, a scene he’d imagined in his head a hundred times or more. He smiled. It was everything he’d been hoping for. Everything.
For a moment, an image flashed into his head, the image of a pale pink face and piercing blue eyes, staring up through fathoms of cold, green water … but he shook his head and with an effort, pushed the image away. He didn’t want to think about Mr Sparks or any of the things that had happened to him in France. He wanted to savour this moment, the one he’d longed for, and he didn’t want anything to spoil it.
He didn’t know what happened next. He only knew that for the first time in ages, there was the potential for something good to come along. Whatever form it chose to take, he was really looking forward to it.
He who pays the piper calls the tune
On the eve of World War Two, Peter and Daisy are evacuated to a remote farmhouse. From the moment they arrive, they are aware that something evil haunts the place. Who plays the eerie music that can only be heard at night? And why is Daisy so irresistibly drawn to it? When Peter uncovers a dark family secret, he begins to realise that his sister is in terrible danger, and to save her he must face an ancient curse…
‘Wonderfully twisty chiller that’s sure to make you want to keep all of the lights on’
Scotsman
9781783440511 £6.99
Cameron and his mom have been on the run for five years. His father is hunting them. At least, that’
s what Cameron’s been told. When they settle in an isolated farmhouse, Cameron starts to see and hear things that aren’t possible. Soon he’s questioning everything he thought he knew – and his own mind.
Something is waiting for him, something from long ago. Cameron must uncover its dark secrets before it tears him apart.
‘Brilliant, page-turning and eerie. Had me guessing to the very end’
Joseph Delaney
‘Creepy, satisfying and exciting’
Bookseller
9781783442256 £7.99