by Tom Hoyle
‘Probably to be found,’ added Jack. ‘Or he might –’ he clicked his fingers again – ‘reappear! Like a card from a magician’s sleeve.’
I wrapped a tuft of hair round my finger and pulled in desperation. ‘You’re both completely mad.’ I looked at the acres of water. I was out of my depth with The Twins. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I said, my eyes welling up. ‘I just want you to take me back to Compton.’
‘Look, Ben,’ said Sam. ‘You know that we operate to higher principles. We can’t break the rules of the game. The rules are set by the Games Master – and he’s following the rules of the previous Games Master, back through our family for generations. You’re still very much part of our Challenge. We need you as much as you need us.’
I hoped that Mr Winter was still watching. I needed him to see us – I needed him to see this boat. Maybe he took photos.
‘What must I do now?’ I said. I hadn’t given up, but I had to regroup – to think.
Sam leaned forward as Jack started an outboard motor to take us back to the shore. ‘I promise you that we will never hurt you. You would hurt yourself before we hurt you. You’re part of our world now.’
Jack put his hand out but I shied away. ‘A promise from him is a promise from me,’ he said.
I nudged baked beans around my plate at lunch.
‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ my gran said.
‘I know,’ I mumbled.
The knowledge of knowing who had killed Will was hollow. I didn’t really feel sadness – it was more like despair.
I wished I had taken a second recording device or tipped the police off in advance. Now all I could claim was that they had destroyed my mobile phone.
To go to the police before getting evidence from Mr Winter would throw me into a battle I’d lose against The Twins and their dad. And Blake’s coat was upstairs – I was a suspect in Mike’s death. I shivered.
The house phone rang.
‘Hello,’ my gran said. ‘Yes he is . . . But that doesn’t mean he’s dead, does it? There’s still hope for the boy . . . Yes, Ben’s depressed, the poor lad . . . Just for some fresh air . . . No, I promise he won’t leave the village . . . Thank you . . . Thank you . . . Yes, thank you.’
My gran explained that there was still no news of Blake.
I pushed the beans around again, hoping I was clever enough to get myself out of this.
‘I don’t want to sit around in the house,’ I said. ‘I’m going out for another walk. I need to keep my head clear.’
‘You won’t leave the village, will you?’ my gran said. Don’t leave town. It sounded like something from a cop show. The police didn’t have a court order. I could do what I liked.
I didn’t want to tell her about visiting Lakeside House: it was too wrapped up in a complicated story. ‘I won’t go far.’ It wasn’t a lie.
‘You’ll take your phone with you?’
‘Yes, OK.’ The lie slid out easily.
I put on my jacket and trudged down the road, seen by only one person: Mr Winter, the watcher at the top of Lakeside House.
The driveway, even under trees that had shed their green, was damp and dreary. The trees above clicked their branches together as if they were impatient fingers. A wave of hopeless depression washed through me. Everything that The Twins had said rang in my ears.
Mr Winter was a mystery to me, but I was sure that his wife would help. She was weird, but she wasn’t awkward. If anything, she seemed to be the sort of person who would take my wacky logic seriously.
I gave a pile of leaves a kick, and as they settled I looked up and Mrs Winter was there. With papery skin under heavy make-up, she looked old. But her green eyes sparkled and she smiled energetically and widely, revealing gravestone-grey teeth.
‘Mrs Winter, I wonder if you could help me,’ I said, failing to smile.
‘I thought it was you leaving footprints in the road. My daaaahling boy, of course I will help.’ She stepped back and opened the door. ‘Please come in out of the whirling wind.’
The door clunked shut behind me.
The floor was tiled and the walls wood-panelled: it was dark despite three candle-like bulbs flickering high above me. There was a large picture of Lake Hintersea looking towards Lakeside House and Cormorant Holm, more or less the view from Timberline.
Mrs Winter saw me looking. ‘One of mine,’ she said. ‘Not that all of mine are landscapes. Not at all.’
There were four portraits hanging in the hall. ‘They’re very good,’ I said.
‘Thank you. They’re just half-remembered faces.’ She shuffled on and we came into a large sitting room. ‘Would you like tea here, in the drawing room?’
‘Well, yeah, OK,’ I said, nervously perching on a stiff sofa.
The room was dominated by a very large painting that included most of the lake. I saw the title at the bottom: The Wardship of Hintersea. This was the view from Ward’s Fell – Lakeside House in the foreground, then the lake, and on the opposite side, roughly in the middle, Timberline, surrounded by trees.
I stood up and had a closer look while she left the room. It was a picture that captured all the scenes of my life. There were even boats on the lake. I liked the idea that one of them could be Will.
‘I am very proud of that one,’ Mrs Winter said, returning with a tray carrying a teapot. ‘I painted that soon after I came here. I was up on the mountain.’
‘How long ago was that?’ I asked. ‘Um, if that’s not a rude question.’
‘1971. And in case you wonder, my darling, I was twenty-two. Forty wonderful years ago.’
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. ‘It was Mr Winter I was hoping to see, actually. I sometimes see him up in the Lantern Room.’
Mrs Winter cackled. ‘My darling, darling sweet boy. My name is Winter, not his. I’m Miss Winter, really.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘We’re not married, but I know that’s what many people think.’
‘Well,’ I mumbled, shrugging, giggling a little in embarrassment rather than amusement. ‘Lots of people don’t get married these days.’
She laughed again, longer and louder. ‘My sweet darling. What they say about you is true.’
I forced myself to chuckle politely, but didn’t get the joke. ‘I just want a quick word with him. He may have seen something important.’
‘Everything looks brighter after a nice cup of tea,’ Miss Winter said as she poured from a flower-patterned tea pot. ‘Biscuit?’
I was impatient to get upstairs to see the man I thought was Mr Winter, but there was no point forcing her. She was probably lonely. It was like a magic trick: be patient; go at the speed that draws your audience in.
‘So,’ I said, searching for conversation. ‘Do you still paint?’
‘Sometimes. The occasional landscape. Some large modern pieces. Sometimes the family of the Master of the House,’ she said. Miss Winter looked out towards the lake. ‘I adore painting his beautiful darling nephews. And his son.’
There were no pictures of boys or girls in this room, unless they were the figures in the painting next to the French windows that overlooked the garden: the painting of a boat cutting across Lake Hintersea. At the top of the stairs to my left I could see a more modern piece, made of swirling colours and patterns. ‘Is that also yours?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘More tea?’
I quickly finished what I had and held out my cup.
‘Does your grandmother know that you’re here?’ Miss Winter asked.
‘Not exactly.’
‘She probably thinks you’re up on Ward’s Fell . . .’
‘Yes.’ I wriggled about on the hard sofa. I didn’t feel right.
‘Right, my darling.’ Miss Winter stood up and held out her hand. ‘Why don’t we go up to the Lantern Room? I’m afraid he can’t come down, you see. His mind won’t let him. That’s his whole world up there – looking at the village and the Lake, seeing what happens, studying every detail. Master of it.
’
‘That’s just what I was hoping for,’ I said. ‘Do you really think he sees everything?’
‘Oh, my darling, he sees absolutely everything and is in charge of it all.’
Miss Winter took my arm as I stumbled up the first few stairs.
‘Yes, it’s his whole world. He is the unseen hand pulling the strings. The Master of it all.’
But my mind was on the modern painting. It was extraordinary, spreading up the wall and on to the ceiling. It must have been twelve feet by six, a swirly sky above a mountain, lopsided houses at the bottom. Vaguely Van Gogh in style. Vaguely Van Gogh in style.
I couldn’t work it out. I had seen something very similar before. In The Twins’ house? I couldn’t focus.
We went up two more staircases. I didn’t look at anything apart from the stairs in front of me. Blue carpet and then red. Step after step. Unthinking. And then there was a final flight to the Lantern Room. The stairs were narrower here, and wooden. I could see the detail but didn’t understand what was going on around me. The stairs were dark wood with the swirly imprints of tree rings.
‘I don’t think I want to go up there,’ I said. It was difficult to focus outside a thin strip of clear vision. There was a hissing and gurgling in my ears. ‘I want to go home. Please.’
‘Answers are at the top of those stairs,’ she whispered in my ear.
My head was spinning.
I thought it was The Twins. The Twins said it was The Twins. But now I know it’s you. I don’t know if I said it aloud.
‘You go ahead of me,’ Miss Winter said.
I couldn’t stop my legs. Thud, thud, thud as I ascended.
At the top there were windows looking in all directions. I thought that the room was filled with bees or flies, but these were the dark splotches that precede unconsciousness.
‘Look, my darling,’ said Miss Winter. ‘It’s my most recent painting of the Ward’s nephews.’ It was on an easel in the middle of the room.
Oh my God. No!
‘Such beautiful Twins.’
Sam and Jack.
I stumbled back, two, three, four steps, until I bumped against a cabinet and my left hand shot out for balance and knocked over a vase. A Hintersea-shaped puddle formed next to flowers that grow in the fields near Compton – flowers of the same type as those on Will’s grave.
‘You lied,’ I mumbled, barely audible. ‘It was you who put the flowers there, not Mike.’
‘Something said to achieve a Challenge is never a lie,’ Miss Winter said.
I fell to the floor and saw two walking sticks guide feet towards my head.
Miss Winter held up my head so that I could see a man bend towards me. For a moment I thought that it was The Twins’ father.
‘Hello, my dear Ben. My name is Tobias Thatcher, Games Master. I am the direct descendant of the Ward of Hintersea. You will have to learn the honour and responsibility of that position.’
I tried to clamber away, to slide towards the stairs.
‘More tea?’ laughed Miss Winter. ‘Darling?’
Tobias Thatcher’s dark brown eyes captivated me. ‘I know that you’ve met my twin brother,’ he said, ponderously. ‘And his splendid twin sons.’ He smiled. ‘Sam and Jack are marvellous, aren’t they? Just like my brother and me when we were young.’
I groaned for help.
‘No one will hear you,’ he said as he stood upright, holding his back. ‘I gather you’re now a Challenger, as you should be.’ Each word seemed carefully considered, almost laboured. ‘You should be happy to be here, where you belong.’
What I said came out as a gurgle.
‘If you close your eyes, you will find out where the others went. I promise,’ he said. ‘Go on, close your eyes. . .’
I didn’t want to; but I couldn’t help it. My head touched the floor.
‘I want to paint him again, right now,’ said Mrs Winter.
The bubbles in front of my eyes grew bigger and bigger until one engulfed me. Everything went silent and black.
TWO DAYS TO GO
Draft Email
To: Carolineterm95
Cc:
Subject: The Past
Hi Caroline
Someone else has to know the whole truth.
‘Christmas Eve, 2016. The middle of London, next to Big Ben. Midday,’ he said. ThenI watched him disappear into the woodland. With anyone else, they’d be empty words.
It was so far in the future I thought we’d never get here.
I came close to telling you everything when we went to Compton for Gran’s funeral. You mentioned the view from the houses in Compton across Lake Hintersea and how it must be full of memories. ‘Yeah,’ I said. Just Yeah – not I can remember what we did as if it was yesterday. Not I can remember the faces of those who died.
Someone else has to know the truth in case it all goes wrong.
I’m not sure when it all started to change. Maybe that night at the party. It was the first time I’d set out to hurt someone else.
Now you see why I have a dog, despite the hassle that Ewok is. And you understand why he had to be a Leavitt Bulldog.
I still have all the documents from the story – they’re here in my bedroom in a small black metal case bound up with brown tape. You’ll know it when you see it.
I can’t believe this is about me. Please read the whole thing before judging me. I want you to know all of it.
I know you’ll understand. You were there.
I’m going |
Attachment
NOVEMBER 2011
BEYOND DEATH
I hazily remember being moved. The Twins were there, so was Mr Thatcher. Miss Winter’s voice gabbled in the background. But all I wanted to do was relax, close my eyes, and drift back to oblivion.
I awoke with a start with no idea of time or location. The shouting I heard was mine.
‘Keep it down. There’s no point. I’ve tried. I’ve done nothing but try.’ It was Blake – thick glasses, corduroy trousers, shirt with a collar. Alive and apparently unharmed.
‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘You’re safe! You’re here.’ For a fleeting moment I was actually pleased. Then the awful obvious truth hit me. We were both chained to metal beds by one hand. The mattresses were basic; there were no sheets.
‘I tried to warn you that they were trouble. I tried! I really tried. But you wouldn’t listen. It was all about you . . . And now look what’s happened. I tried to tell you but you were thick in the head. Thick in the head.’ Blake pressed thin lips together and pointed aggressively at his temple with one finger.
‘I know. I know. Blake, you were right and I was wrong.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Oh God – I can’t believe how wrong I’ve been. I suppose I was hoping for . . .’ I thought of Will.
Blake’s teeth were pressed hard together and his eyes bore into me. ‘I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen, and now look where we are. We’re going to die – before our lives have even begun.’ He turned his head away from me, empty of hope.
‘I know I’ve messed up,’ I whispered. ‘I know I’ve been stupid. Please look at me.’
Blake slowly turned back. His eyes were bloodshot.
‘But, look, we haven’t woken up dead, have we? We’re still alive for a reason,’ I said. Would they actually hurt me? ‘The Twins always have a reason.’
‘Yeah,’ Blake mumbled. He breathed out heavily, letting his shoulders and head fall. ‘That’s what worries me. Might be better if they’d just killed us at the start.’
I studied the room, a red brick cellar that smelt of urine. My bed was opposite a solid metal door and to my left, little more than six feet away, was Blake’s bed. There was a video camera in the top right corner. The cellar might have been that of a thousand houses around the country, but the door was purpose-built and slightly dented and scratched at the level a kick would land. We were not the first to be held here. ‘Where the hell are we?’
‘I’m not sure. Underg
round. There’s no noise.’ His voice was low and grim. ‘There’s no way out.’
‘Help!’ I shouted. Even louder: ‘Help! Let us out!’
‘I’ve tried that,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve tried it for all of yesterday and the day before and . . .’ He looked away. ‘I already can’t remember how long I’ve been here. That light never goes off.’
‘Have they said anything? Are they going to . . .’ My sentence faded away to nothing.
‘I don’t know,’ Blake said. He leaned across towards me, as far as he could. ‘But I’m scared. They’re not right in the head. They’re not normal.’
I looked at the room again, with a magician’s eye. People had been locked inside milk churns, buried underground, wrapped up in chains – a good magician could always find his way out. But the video camera made me swear under my breath. I noticed a bottle of water and an empty plastic plate by Blake’s bed. On the other side there was a plastic bucket, probably where the smell was coming from. There was an identical one within my reach. ‘Who brought this stuff?’
‘He said he was Jack, but I can’t tell.’ Blake stared at me. ‘I won’t ever go mad, you know that. I won’t go mad.’ He started to cry. He was going mad already.
‘We’re both going to get outta here,’ I said, though didn’t believe it for a second. The world was a Game to The Twins: that was what they had been told from birth: there were no limits: everything was a Challenge.
I looked at the lock on the door. ‘Does he use a key?’
‘Yes.’
I bit my tongue in thought.
Blake continued: ‘A key. And I think there’s a bolt.’
No magician, no matter how clever, can undo a bolt that’s on the far side of a door. No magician can do real magic. I strained at the chain and tried to move the bed, but it was screwed to the floor.
Without the sound of approaching footsteps, we heard a bolt slid back, then another, and a key turn in the lock. Sam and Jack strutted in.
They weren’t wearing masks. I had vaguely hoped that Blake had assumed it was Sam and Jack, but they were open about their identity. I knew what that meant: they were never going to let Blake leave alive. Me? Maybe – I couldn’t be sure how their logic was working. Perhaps, just perhaps, they still felt I was unable to report them without incriminating myself. But if they killed Blake? That would change the balance. Unless that was something they wanted to pin on me?