The Silver Child

by Cliff McNish

  My hopeless jacket was no protection at all. How could I have left home on a night like this dressed in next to nothing? But I knew how. The boy – only a short while ago, nothing would have kept me away from him. Even now blasts of wind kept sweeping into my face, as if they hated me for abandoning him. Is that what I’d done? Abandoned him? But look what he’d done to me! Look how he’d terrified me!

  That wasn’t why I left home to be with him!

  In the distance I could see smeary illuminations – the town lights. To reach them I had to face into the brunt of the storm. I don’t know how long I blundered that way, but eventually I just couldn’t bear to walk into those gusts any more. I turned and leaned my back against the wind – as if it might hold me up, the way Walter had done.

  That astonishing boy! What a different mind, what a treasure he was. Walter had no selfish thoughts, just an overwhelming concern for me and everyone else. As for the twins, I saw immediately how they were driven to search for exceptional children. That was their purpose, and had I stayed with them longer I might have learned something about dedication.

  Thomas was different. I’d nearly cried when I first saw him, because for a moment I thought he was my boy – the one who had led me all this way. Toms, the twins called him. That wasn’t a lovely enough name for the beauty in his mind. What extraordinary gift was it? And what was linking Thomas with Milo? If I’d stayed I might have found out. But I couldn’t have stayed for another second so close to that much pain!

  I staggered on into the storm. There were vague shapes in the rainy darkness. At one point I passed a hut. Inside there was a crackle of light. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have listened in on the minds of those within, and might have found some kindness there. Instead, I kept moving. On and on, constantly falling over and getting up.

  The town lights seemed no closer, and at some point I stopped searching for them altogether. I turned in another direction – anything to get relief from the wind! The next time I looked up there was no light anywhere to guide me. I struggled on, with no idea where I was, just trying to keep in a straight line. At last I glanced down at my feet. They weren’t moving any more. I’d stopped walking. When had that happened? Frightened, I tottered a little further. Finally I slipped and hit the ground hard, catching my cheek on a sharp object. I didn’t realize there was a cut at first; my face was too numb to feel it. Then I noticed the blood, warmer than rain, flowing down my cheek.

  Dad, I thought, help me.

  ‘Up!’ I shouted at myself. ‘Get up! Keep moving, Helen!’

  I struggled upright, managed to stand. Into the storm again, a few more steps. And then I simply couldn’t any more. All I could think about was hiding from the wind and cold. Not lying down – not quite giving up completely – I sat on the ground, drew my jacket around my face and tried to find a place inside my blouse to protect my hands. I don’t know how long I stayed that way. I lost track of time. After a while my hands stopped feeling cold altogether. I could hold them into the wind and they felt no worse. I knew that was bad, but I didn’t have the energy to get up again. My mind started to drift. An image of Dad came to my mind, a stupid picture of him finding me, carrying me home and locking the windows and doors against all our enemies. Time passed, and I wanted more than anything to sleep – but I knew what would happen if I did. A tiny instinct of self-preservation made me keep my eyes open. I was no longer able to struggle against the cold, or anything else. I sensed the animals around me. Some were dying in this storm. Others were feeding. I gazed around, like one of the unfortunate ones, like an animal that was only capable, in its final moments, of looking around to see what would take advantage of it.

  Then I felt a tremor. In the darkness behind me the earth shook, and even in my wretched state I discovered a vestige of strength to be able to crawl away from whatever it was.

  But he took me in his arms, and as he lifted me up he examined the blood on my cheek.

  ‘Who has d-done this to you?’ Walter thundered.

  The wind ceased. Walter’s body cancelled it out. Like a little rag of wetness I curled up inside his denim-patched jacket, clutching for his warmth. For a time we said nothing. Walter just held me. Then he gave me a cautious smile, lifted an immense finger and used it to gently clean the muck from my face.

  His mind – I can’t describe how wonderful it was to be inside there.

  Walter examined me to ensure that I had no major injuries. The bone of Milo – the one that had snapped when he lifted him – still bothered Walter deeply. He believed some clumsiness of his own had been responsible.

  ‘You didn’t do it,’ I said. ‘The boy’s body – it’s … changing so much.’

  Walter nodded, tears flowing down his face. ‘N-not f-fair, Helen,’ he said. ‘Got to d-do s-something for him. G-got to.’

  Experiencing Walter’s overwhelming concern for Milo, I felt ashamed. But I also knew this: even if Milo was here with us now, I’d run a second time. I wasn’t ready to face him again. I doubted I ever would be.

  ‘Pardon m-me,’ Walter said. Gathering up my drenched hair, he wrung it out like a towel. Then he winked at me. ‘Cl-close your eyes.’ I knew what he was going to do and shut my lids tight. His breath ran over me like summer.

  Realizing how incredible it was, I asked Walter how he found me.

  ‘K-knew you would n-never g-get home, not in this,’ he replied.

  I looked into his mind, and saw journeys. Walter hadn’t known where to find me. He had just looked everywhere without stopping until he did.

  ‘Can you … would you take me home?’ I asked him.

  Walter’s mind blazed with hope. He thought I’d made a choice to return with him to Tommy, the twins and Milo.

  ‘It’s not f-far, Helen!’ he cried, ready to set off at once. ‘Not far at-at all! We –’

  ‘No,’ I said, feeling awful. ‘I didn’t mean that, Walter. I meant – to my real home, where my dad is. He’ll be worried about me.’

  ‘Oh …’ Walter tried to hide his disappointment. ‘C-course, Helen. C-c-course I’ll t-take you.’ He buried his hopes, concentrating instead on what to do for me. When I told him how far away I lived, Walter shook his head. He didn’t want to carry me so far in my exhausted state. An idea struck him. He liked it. He gave me a big grin, tucked me inside his jacket, and bounded southwards.

  It was the wrong way, but I knew what Walter intended.

  A run-down bungalow came into view, isolated on the outskirts of Coldharbour. Walter knocked diffidently, and put on his best face for whoever lived there. I could read the mind of the man inside. He lived alone, and was nervous even before he saw us. Of course, when he opened the door a crack and saw Walter he nearly wet himself.

  Walter asked – cordially – if he had a fire. With all the blood draining from his face, the man managed to nod, and backed away as Walter squeezed his way in.

  ‘Th-thanks. Fr-freezing out there,’ Walter said, by way of explanation. ‘I’m w-w-w –’ He sighed, started again. ‘I’m w-w-Walter – don’t mind me.’ He shook the man’s hand, rolling his eyes in apology at his own immense proportions.

  The man just blinked at him, wondering if this was the night he was going to die.

  There was an electric three-bar fire in the room.

  ‘Excuse m-me,’ Walter said. All this time he’d been hiding me inside his jacket. The man had no idea I was there. Now Walter unbuttoned, brought me out and held me next to the fire.

  ‘No!’ screamed the man. For a moment he thought Walter was going to roast me.

  Walter was taken aback. ‘I w-won’t hurt you,’ he said hurriedly. Then he started turning me so that the left and right sides of my body got an equal amount of heat. He smiled his very best at the man. ‘Have y-you got any c-clothes? For H-Helen, I mean.’ Walter turned my face towards the man, in case he had any doubt who Helen was. ‘She’s cold,’ Walter explained. ‘She n-needs to change.’

  A look of relief came
over the man. He rummaged around and found some old jeans, a shirt, a coat too. Walter helped me take off my waterlogged shoes and socks. The man was still wide-eyed, but beginning to recover some of his composure. ‘You want a towel, too?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got towels.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Walter said, shaking his hand again.

  When the man fetched them I slipped from Walter’s arms, went into a corner and changed into the rough new clothes. They didn’t fit, of course, but I didn’t care – it was just so good to feel dry again! For a while I simply lay near the fire, stretching out my feet, recovering.

  ‘N-nice place you have h-here,’ Walter noted, glancing round.

  ‘Nice of you to say so,’ the man answered. He seemed to understand by now that Walter wouldn’t harm him. He offered me some sandwiches, which I ate gratefully. ‘Want a drink as well, love?’ he asked. ‘Something hot? I’ve got cocoa.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘G-got any h-hot chocolate?’ Walter asked shyly.

  The man half-grinned. ‘Yeah, I’ve got that, too.’ He went into his kitchen to make the drinks, and when he came back we all sat around the fire sipping away, as if we did this every night. ‘You’ve been out in this storm, have you?’ the man ventured. ‘What on earth for?’

  Then it just tumbled out of Walter, didn’t it, the whole night: finding Milo, his appalling injuries, Tommy sick and scared of him, and Walter helpless, not knowing what to do. And as Walter stuttered out the story, I could sense an incredible thing happening to the man beside us. He’d been living on his own for years on the edge of Coldharbour, just trying to hold himself together on next to nothing, and suddenly here was Walter, so genuine, so anxious about someone else’s life, that the man felt this wonderful desire to reach out and help. It caught him completely by surprise.

  ‘Tell me what I can do?’ he offered. ‘You want me to talk to your Tommy lad? Would that help?’

  ‘You’ve done so much already,’ I said to him. ‘We’re really grateful.’ I nudged Walter, sensing it would be a mistake to get this well-intentioned man involved.

  ‘Y-yeah, we should g-go,’ Walter said apologetically.

  ‘Stay as long as you like,’ the man said, as Walter and I stood up – and he meant it. ‘No bother to me. You’re welcome, both of you.’

  But Walter wanted to leave as well, fearing what might happen if he didn’t return quickly to the shack. He’d only waited this long to give me a chance to recover. As he got up from the floor, stooping to avoid the ceiling, he said to the man, ‘Poor th-thing, Milo – his legs, they d-don’t work, you know.’

  We stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but the night wind was still fierce.

  ‘If you need anything, come back,’ the man said. ‘By the way, my name’s Stan.’

  I knew, of course, but hadn’t wanted to frighten him by letting on.

  ‘I’ll bring back the clothes,’ I told him.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, young lady,’ Stan said. ‘Are you sure you don’t need anything else?’

  ‘No, really,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine. Walter will look after me now.’

  As we left, Walter shook the man’s hand several more times, and Stan – touched deeply by him – waved us off until we were out of sight.

  With me hidden away inside his jacket, Walter set off. Using tremendous strides he crossed the river, avoided the town centre, and headed north. I got my bearings and was able to direct him up the steep fields leading towards the house.

  Home. I looked up. All the lights were on – Dad trying to make it as easy as possible for me to find my way back. He stood in the living room, talking with someone on the phone – the police, I realized.

  Walter smiled at me. ‘That’s your d-dad, is it?’ I knew in that moment he had no memory of his own father. Walter’s thoughts didn’t linger there. He was anxious to return to his duties in Coldharbour.

  ‘Y-you’re safe now,’ he said, putting me down. ‘You’re h-home, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  He gazed at me.

  ‘I have to go,’ I said.

  He nodded.

  ‘Please … take care of yourself, Walter,’ I whispered. Pathetic – as if I had nothing more to say than that to the boy who had just saved my life! Actually, I wanted to say much more, but I didn’t dare encourage Walter into thinking I would return to Coldharbour. That’s what he hoped; secretly Walter hoped that once I recovered from the shock of whatever Milo had done to me, I’d come back to help. Take care of yourself wasn’t enough, though. I tugged at Walter’s jacket to bring him down. As he bent over I reached up on my toes and kissed that massive bony cheek of his.

  He stared at me, embarrassed and happy. ‘Y-you don’t have to help with the b-boy M-Milo if you’re s-scared of him,’ he said. ‘Of c-course not! He … m-might not need that much, m-me and Emms and F-Freda can do it. You c-could just come b-back, m-maybe t-talk to Tommy, and –’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Walter, please … I can’t …’

  ‘N-not now!’ Walter exploded, smiling away. ‘Not yet! Of course n-not now! You n-need to see your dad! But … when you’re b-better, you –’

  ‘Walter, don’t …’

  He suddenly got down on his knees. ‘P-please come back, Helen,’ he begged. ‘I c-can’t do it on m-my own. I can’t!’

  ‘I’m too scared, Walter. Don’t you understand!’

  ‘I’m s-scared, too!’ he said. ‘It’s all right t-t-to be scared, Helen. You can still d-do things! Even if you-you-you’re s-scared to, you can.’

  I shook my head, tears falling down my face. When Walter saw that it was too much for him. ‘Nah, nah,’ he said, managing a tortured smile. ‘N-never mind. B-better go.’

  He checked the cut on my cheek one last time. Then, making sure I could stand upright without his help, he raced away into what was left of the night.

  Thirteen

  monster

  THOMAS

  Milo lay on my mattress, falling to pieces.

  He hadn’t said a single word since the twins carried him into the shack, though he’d tried hard enough. In a world of pain he was, you could see that, but somehow he still managed a glance of gratitude for the efforts of the twins. For hours they’d been all over him with their care, propping him up with bits of foam, and cleaning him up where he’d let them.

  ‘I got hands all right,’ Freda murmured to me, ‘but what to do with ’em, Toms – that’s a different matter! Look at Milo, just burning away like soon there’ll be nothin’ left of ’im at all, wiv his arms all twisted up. We gotta find a way to give ’im a bit more comfort and respect.’ She tucked a blanket over Milo’s exposed foot, then said to Emily, ‘Ee’s a sorry sight, lying in bed wivout any clothes to his name. Even though we’d probably crack his bones to get a shirt on, I think ee’d like it, Emms.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Emily replied softly. ‘Not yet, though, eh? Just talk softly wiv ’im; ee don’t seem to want anything else right now.’

  ‘His breathing’s eased up anyways,’ Freda said, trying to convince herself. ‘And ee’s not so sad-looking, is ee?’

  Walter, who had recently returned from Helen’s house, offered Freda an encouraging smile, but he didn’t really mean it. Both he and I could see that there had been no improvement in Milo. The twins did their best, but they’d try one thing to ease Milo’s body, then some other part of him would snap, and we’d just have to close our eyes and hope. The noises coming from him! Even when the twins weren’t anywhere near Milo, the splintering and collapsing sounds from his body were enough to keep us all on edge.

  Walter raised the question of hospital, but only feebly. We all realized that whatever ailed our Milo couldn’t be fixed by doctors.

  Milo needed my beauty.

  And wasn’t I the one to give it? Wasn’t I the one person who could help him? I knew that was true, but I was still frightened of him. The beauty was pouring into him, and I kept wanting to hold some of it back. The twins
and the shivering girl I’d met on the northern tip had only needed a flicker of my beauty. Milo wanted so much! He was taking it all! And on top of everything else, I felt ill. Maybe I’d caught some kind of virus – either that or being out in the storm had really wiped out all my strength. Whatever it was, I could only lie there exhausted, my entire body itching and aching.

  Throughout the day Milo continued to change. Freda remained optimistic, but there was no pretending that his arms would ever be like ours again. The upper parts could no longer move; they were fixed like bone against his chest. His hands were no better, either; some fingers were missing, and those remaining were deformed.

  But I think the temperature was probably the hardest thing to bear. Milo’s body never stopped pumping out great chunks of heat. At the same time his golden skin continued to peel away. Something else lay under that gold, a brighter substance. I wished he would talk. Why couldn’t he just say a few words, anything to make him seem more like one of us? It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t kept staring at me – but there was no escaping those lidless eyes!

  During the night I kept falling into feverish dreamy sleeps. One time I woke up, and a lot of time must have passed because the storm had abated and the sun was out. I felt so hot! I considered leaving the shack – just to get some air – but felt sick as soon as I tried to move.

  ‘What is the matter with me?’ I cried out. ‘What’s going on?’

  Emily scampered over, offering some water. She put a hand against my temple.

  ‘You don’t look right, Toms, that’s true,’ she said worriedly. ‘A bit o’ fever you got.’

  I let her cool me down with a damp cloth, and felt slightly better afterwards. After that, I drifted off to sleep again. Sometime later Freda’s voice woke me.

  ‘Eh, look,’ she was whispering. ‘Ee’s … doing something!’

  I glanced across. Milo had managed to prop himself up on one arm. With his other arm he awkwardly reached out for a nearby cup of water.