by Tom Hoyle
“Asa, you’re disgusting,” said Rachel, with the tiniest flicker of a smile. “You’ve got a one-track mind.”
Megan wandered over. “That’s what you’re interested in, is it?”
“You bet!” he chortled. “My parents wouldn’t let me look at that sort of thing.”
“I didn’t know that was your sort of thing,” said Megan, pausing just long enough. “They’re both men.”
Asa peered again at the cup. “Well. Nothing wrong with that.” Then, nudging Rachel, “But I happen to prefer the female of the species.”
People were staring.
It was then that Megan noticed the girl in the doorway. It was Cassie from the festival.
Viper, whom Megan still thought of as Cassie, was holding a small piece of paper, alternately tapping it against her chin and glancing at it. She slid it on top of a glass cabinet.
Megan strode across the room and collected the note. Viper retreated to the far end of the next gallery.
The message was blunt: “Follow me.”
Megan looked round. Her mind spun: What can go wrong? We’re in the middle of London.
Asa was pointing at other artifacts now, trying to locate the rude and amusing ones. Even Leo was joining in. Only Rachel saw Megan leave the room. She followed.
Viper stayed about twenty yards ahead of Megan as they wound their way toward the exit. Hundreds of people milled around. I must be safe here, thought Megan.
Just as Megan followed Viper, Rachel followed Megan—and it was Rachel that Mr. Sterling saw heading toward the door. The deputy head had positioned himself far away from the front line, where worksheets and ancient history did battle with thirteen-year-olds; he was by the exit, a packet of cigarettes tucked into his jacket pocket.
He followed, and the four parts of the chain were strung through the front door and outside. It was only as he left the building that Mr. Sterling saw Megan up ahead, approaching the street. He swore and started to run, already puffing by the time he passed Rachel.
Megan reached the road, which was busy but not wide. Cassie—Viper—stood on the other side. “Wait there,” she said.
Mr. Sterling could see Megan standing on the pavement talking to a girl—not one of his kids, she wasn’t in uniform—across the traffic. I really don’t have all the pieces, he thought, as he saw a white van stop and the side door slide open a few inches in front of Megan. Mr. Sterling ran.
And someone from behind pushed Megan into the van.
Weight giving him momentum, Mr. Sterling threw himself in front of the closing van door and looked inside to see Megan held by a woman. A voice in his ear: “Get back. We are taking the girl.”
“Bugger off. She’s staying with me.”
Megan struggled hopelessly. Viper climbed into the passenger seat and turned around.
Tourists wandered past, stared briefly, and quickly moved on.
Viper threatened him: “If you don’t go, you’re getting a bullet.” Then slyly, “Look up, sir.” She was holding a pistol.
Sterling didn’t think about being a hero. He didn’t weigh up chances or consider options. The words just tumbled from him: “I’m not leaving this girl. Let her out.”
Two seconds later there was the dull thud of a gun that has a silencer.
Megan screamed. Rachel and some passersby realized that something bad was happening.
Mr. Sterling was pushed from the van and the door slid shut. Despite a growing circle of blood beneath his left shoulder, he still tried to reach for the vehicle. “Let her go,” he croaked from the curb.
Rachel stood on the pavement, shaking with confusion and horror. She didn’t think to look at the license plate and hadn’t noticed what the people had looked like. She ran back into the museum, shouting, “Help, somebody help!”
Inside the van Megan was grabbed tightly. She could feel the press of a gun and was unable to speak because of the hand clasped over her mouth.
Viper turned around. “I’m going to enjoy this,” she said, smiling.
Megan was held hard against the floor in the back of the van as it jolted through London. Two adults pinned her down, but it was Viper’s voice that taunted. “I am going to punish you if I have the chance. It’s only right, given the way you’ve helped that boy. But I might show some mercy if you tell me where he has gone.”
Megan could see Mr. Sterling’s blood on the floor. A couple of trickles moved back and forth across the metal as the van twisted through the winding streets.
“I don’t know where he is,” mumbled Megan. She wanted to be brave, but her mind shuddered at the thought of dying so young.
“In that case, we might as well just kill you immediately,” Viper said. Then she turned to the driver. “Move into that lane; it’s going faster.” And to Megan again, “Or we might wait, if you help us.”
Megan pressed her lips together.
“We might even let you go.”
Megan gradually regained her composure. If they were going to kill her, they would have done that already. She tried to blot out what was being said and listen for clues. They were certainly in heavy traffic, but that could be on any of the routes out of London. Soon they were going faster, with occasional twisting stops, probably traffic circles. Then they were at speed. A highway?
Megan could hear one half of a phone conversation about her unwillingness to explain where Adam was. Viper was agreeing with someone. Then she was chuckling.
After about twenty-five minutes, Viper turned around and spoke to the adults in the back. “Please do make her less comfortable about . . . now!” They were passing the place where Adam had caused Hatfield to crash.
Megan was lifted and pushed and jabbed.
Soon after, the van slowed and started winding through smaller roads. Eventually it came to a stop, and there were voices outside. Then, thirty seconds and about six hundred yards later, the side door opened.
Coron stood on the gravel. “Hello, Megan. My name is Coron. Welcome to our home.” He put his hand on her shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. “Sooner or later, you are going to tell me where Adam is. Most people would feel awkward hurting you. But I am not like them.”
31
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2013
Adam’s sleep was shattered in an instant. A shaft of sunlight had squeezed past the window blind and sparkled on his face. For a few seconds the world would not settle and make sense. Where am I? What time is it? Then the heavy weight of truth fell on him. He was still in Simon’s flat. He had not stepped outside for four weeks.
He was lying on top of a duvet. Standing up, everything became blurred and liquid for a few seconds and blotches clouded his vision. His brow felt heavy with fatigue.
Enduring the confusion of light-headedness, Adam pulled open his bedroom door and saw Simon sitting at his computer. The television played in the background, something about government debt, then a noisy clip from parliament.
“What are you doing?” Adam yawned.
Simon picked up a subject they had discussed many times over the previous four weeks. “I’m looking again at that Google Street View image of the road outside the Old School House. I’ve seen that fence ten thousand times from the inside and four times from the outside. And one of those was when I escaped.” He left unsaid that the other three times accompanied murder.
“Just call the police. You don’t have to go there.”
“I have to be certain that the police will find something when we call them. What if the place is deserted? Or, worse, what if everything looks completely normal? I will have handed myself over and be a few fingerprints away from years and years in prison. You as well, possibly. I know that other murders took place, but I can’t prove it. I don’t even know where the bodies are buried.” Simon used both hands to ruffle his own hair vigorously. “I just need to see enough, or at least to know that Coron is there. Then I’ll call the police.”
Adam tried again to convince Simon that he should join him. “
I can’t bear being stuck here. Even you go out sometimes. It’s doing my head in! What if you’re caught? It’s been four weeks and there’s another month to go before you think I’m safe.” He flopped into a chair with as much force as possible. “And even then I might not be.”
There was a picture of earthquake damage on the TV screen.
Simon had heard it all before. “The real danger is now, while you’re thirteen. I didn’t help you to have you walk right into Coron’s hands. When the police see there’s something bad going on at the Old School House, we can let them know the full story.”
Adam was about to say that he had heard all this before when he froze. “Look!” he shouted, pointing at the screen. There was a picture of Megan and the single word KIDNAPPED.
He fumbled with the control, holding it the wrong way around. They heard a man’s sober voice mention teacher and shot before the sound rose.
“. . . British Museum. If anyone saw a white Transit van or anyone acting suspiciously at the time, please contact the police.”
“No! No!” The room closed in on Adam. He swore repeatedly about Coron and the situation, then turned to Simon, “I suppose she’s at the place you’re looking at.”
“Possibly; I don’t know. As you know, there’s the London house—if only I knew where; she could be there.” He pointed at Adam. “Let’s not be stupid.”
Anger tore through Adam, instantly, explosively. “It’s my fault.” He edged closer to Simon until he was under a foot away, shouting all the time, “How can I just sit here while she’s with him? Eh?”
Simon stood up and walked across the room and back. “Listen. I’ve messed up. I’ve killed innocent people. It’s different for you. You’re thirteen, for God’s sake. You’re being stupid.”
“And you’re only seventeen, Si.” Adam moved to even greater thunder: “Screw you! We’re going together.”
Simon knew that Adam would never give up. It was one of the things he liked about the younger boy. Simon pressed his left palm to his forehead and tried to disguise his admiration. “Okay. We’ll go together. But when we know that they’re there, or if we see anything odd, we’ll call the police immediately. They’ll have to arrest them all if Megan is in the house.”
Adam nodded, excitement, optimism and fear mingling to produce a nervous smile. This could be over soon, he thought.
Simon didn’t smile. “You are stupid. Brave, but stupid.”
32
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 28, TO FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2013
Coron was a tall, slim, athletic man, with a thin, even elongated, face. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t at all the demonic growl that Megan expected. “I think you should thank those who have brought you here. Please say thank you.” It was such a peculiar thing to say that Megan was unsure if he was being sarcastic or sincere.
Everyone waited. Megan said nothing. She found it difficult to stand and steadied herself against the van.
“Perhaps you were right, Viper. Perhaps we should take her upstairs straight away.” Coron opened his palms, showing fresh and deep wounds. “Please say thank you.”
Something about the scars told Megan to be compliant. “Thank you,” she said, hating and regretting it immediately.
Coron continued, his voice slow and musical. “I wonder if you know where Adam is.” He studied Megan’s face as if trying to sense, or smell, the answer. “Yes, I think you do.” He nodded. Oh yes. “I think you are a clever girl. You know that you will tell us eventually.” Then, softly, but very much a threat: “Or I will have to damage you.”
Megan wanted to protest, wanted to explain that she would never, ever cooperate. But she looked to the ground. Nothing would be gained by proud and foolish words that prompted a beating—or her death. Death. Ripples of fear spread through her stomach. When she thought of dying it was as if her insides were being shrunk.
Coron’s eyes were like dark marbles. “I think we will give you one day to tell us. Then you can have a central role at our final Feast here. It is one of our great events. After that we are leaving for somewhere else, you see. Somewhere less . . .” Coron gestured at the buildings and fields around him, “. . . less open.”
Megan wasn’t sure if attending a meal was a threat. “Will you let me go?”
Coron laughed. “It is not up to me. The Master decides everything here.” He continued, solemnly, “I would like you to join us.” He meant it. “But in the short term your only hope is to tell us where Adam is. You see, that’s the most important thing of all. He is the hinge on which all the events of the next few weeks depend.” Coron looked at the others. “We will try gentle persuasion over the next day. Then the Feast.”
Megan was taken to the second floor. Her room could easily have been part of a hotel and was certainly nothing like a prison. She immediately searched for something, anything, that could be of use. There was no phone, nothing sharp—not that Megan could have fought her way out—and the window was too high to jump from; besides, there were people outside. Megan had heard of stranded travelers reflecting the sun to call for help, but what with? And who would see? Or understand?
All too soon a knock came at the door, followed by Viper’s voice. “Don’t keep us waiting. There is something Lord Coron wants you to experience.”
Megan emerged, now dressed in a blue-and-white striped dress that had been laid out on the bed for her. She hadn’t wanted to change, but Viper had said that if she didn’t they would rip her old clothes from her. She sensed it was a threat they would have carried out.
Thoughts of making a run for it disappeared when she saw that Viper was accompanied by a large, silent, aggressive-looking man. They led Megan along a corridor, up a winding staircase, and then up a much smaller set of steps that turned twice at right angles. The walls were covered with brown paneled wood. It could have been a stately home. At the top of the final flight of stairs there was an open door.
The room was waiting, apparently empty. Step by step she edged closer to it.
Megan could see a number on the door: thirteen.
Dorm Thirteen. It was an empty, plain, windowless room, with a shiny wooden floor. Megan saw the three grilles in each of the walls and the single bright light.
Viper closed the door behind them. They were only a year or two apart, but she spoke as if she was an adult and Megan a child. “Here you are, little girl. This is where we put naughty people.”
Megan walked the five paces to the far end, trying to work out the danger. Perhaps something nasty would drop from the ceiling.
Viper anticipated her thoughts.
“No, no, no. That’s far too quick. This room gives you time to consider your errors. A lot of time.”
She thumped the door.
The noise started. It was loud, too loud for Megan to block out by putting her hands over her ears, but not quite damagingly loud. The noises were unpredictable, sometimes ugly descriptions or horrible phrases, sometimes screaming or other jarring sounds, always over and over and over. Not on a loop; similar, but varied. Different voices, crying and shouting, persistent and piercing—over and over again. A jumble of nastiness.
Megan heard a loud passing train, a bell and hysterical laughter, then screaming. It abruptly stopped.
Megan thought that she could probably blot it out if she tried to think of pleasant things.
“Yes, everyone believes that at first,” Viper said as if she had heard. “Would you like to stay and try?”
“No.” The noise had already generated images that made Megan shudder.
“Of course, not all of those screams are pretend. Maybe yours will be recorded and added.”
Megan felt her resolve breaking under the weight of her despair and fear. “You’re sick in the head.”
Viper opened the door. “You need to have some color thrust into that simple mind of yours. A little part of me hopes you won’t tell us where Adam is. I would enjoy seeing you hurt.”
“I don’t know where he is.” Meg
an felt that this was all unreal, a story that would end with and it was all a dream.
“Megan, Megan . . .” Viper put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Lord Coron is a great leader. He is our shepherd. He needs to know where Adam is, for the good of everyone. And you will tell him before the end of tomorrow. Lord Coron will ensure that the Feast is a special occasion.”
The word special sounded like a threat.
And, as if the mention of his name had summoned him, Coron appeared at the door. “This room is far more effective than you think. It’s useful as a short punishment, of course, and most people can withstand the first day. It’s the sleepless nights that break people down. After the third night, people will say anything for a few minutes’ rest. After the fourth, they don’t know what to say. It would work on you.”
Megan wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to. She was cornered prey.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have time for this method. And I can’t risk you getting confused. It’s simplest if you just tell us where Adam is.”
“I don’t know.”
One long breath later, Coron spoke again. “I feared and expected you would say that. The problem is that you don’t understand us. But I understand you, Megan. I know that if I left you in here all night, you still wouldn’t tell. No. You will sleep in your bed tonight. Safe and quiet. Viper, take her to her room. Feed her well. Make her comfortable.”
Megan frowned. Surely they did not think that they could charm her into telling?
Viper put her arm around Megan’s shoulder as they left, but it was shaken off. Then, just outside the room, Megan saw the large, threatening man holding the shoulders of a girl who looked about twelve. The girl stared at Megan, silently pleading.
Coron spoke when Megan was halfway down the first flight of stairs. “This is Peringuey. She is a good girl. An innocent. She will spend the night in Dorm Thirteen on your behalf.”