by Stuart Young
But Piper remained just beyond his reach, moving further back, further.
Grimacing through the pain Will saw that the door Piper had created had vanished, the wall smooth once more. Not that it mattered, the front door still hung open from where Will had rushed in – why hadn’t he locked it? He always locked it – and Piper dragged Josh through the door and they were gone.
Will closed his eyes, head bowing in despair. He had failed. Behind him Janie gave a small, horrified whimper.
Will pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain flaring in his knee.
Janie stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open, unable to speak. He barged past her into the study, grabbed the gun case off the desk, unlocked the drawer where he kept the bullets and yanked it open. Without even bothering to count them he stuffed the bullets in his pocket then headed for the front door.
Janie clutched at his arm. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I didn’t know – didn’t realise –’
He shook her off. ‘Stay here. I’m going to get my son back.’
As he limped out the door he heard Janie screaming after him. ‘He’s my son too!’
The wind whipped at Will as he staggered out onto the rooftop.
He had followed the trail of curses and pleas coming from up the stairwell as Piper struggled to keep Josh quiet.
Of course Piper had headed for the roof, on the street people would see him being chased, would give a description to the police, on the roof he could conjure up a getaway route without fear of witnesses.
Will looked out across the rooftop. Night had descended, the world turning dark, the air vents transformed to solid shadows. The glowing devil shone brightly, an infernal beacon cutting through the gloom.
Piper and Josh had vanished.
But he hadn’t heard the flute. They were still up here somewhere.
He took a step forward, trying to keep the weight off his bad knee. Turning his head he strained his ears. The sounds of the town greeted him; the murmur of distant voices, the hum of traffic, a faint mumble of pop music. And, behind it, something else.
Someone panting for breath. Someone hiding. Someone scared.
He slowed his own breath, transforming it to a gentle ebb and flow, not the ragged gasps that sucked at the air so violently they threatened to create a vacuum. Slowing his breathing hurt but he had been an athlete once, he’d won a football apprenticeship for Christ’s sake, so he ignored the exertion of running up the stairs and the years of nicotine abuse.
His determination paid off. He caught a quick snatch of someone whispering. ‘… hurt you.’
Then the background noise drowned out the words, a motorcycle revving crazily as it roared down the street. The bike receded into the distance and he caught more words.
‘Like I said, I won’t hurt you. I’m not a bad person.’
A vein throbbed in Will’s forehead. The bastard would regret filling Josh’s head with lies. Will fumbled with the gun case. He still couldn’t remember the bloody combination. The gun might as well not be in there.
‘I know I scared you, Josh. But I’ll make it up to you. How about if I take you to meet… ’
The wind caught the rest of the words, carrying them aloft to where only the clouds could hear them.
Then more whispering. Josh this time. Curious. Tempted. ‘You can really do that?’
‘Course I can.’
No, Josh, he’s lying! Don’t believe him!
‘But your dad will try to stop me.’
Too right he would.
‘Yeah, he’s always stopping me do stuff too.’
Will couldn’t believe the resentment in Josh’s voice.
‘I’ll take you there, Josh. Soon as I get my breath back enough to play my flute.’
Will crept forward, employing as much stealth as he could manage with an injured leg. Fortunately the gun case was lighter than he remembered. Or maybe it was just his fear propelling him, granting him strength.
‘What you got there, Josh?’ A nervous chuckle. ‘You’re not going to use that on me are you?’
A pause. ‘I s’pose not.’
Come on, Josh, whatever it is you’re holding use it on him. Give the bastard what he deserves.
Will slunk along the roof but he heard no more voices. He crouched beside the plastic devil. Old Nick grinned at him. The bulbs in the devil’s pitchfork cast a red glow over Will, matching his rage.
Where were they? They had to be close for him to have heard their words so clearly. But now they had clammed up. He couldn’t even hear their breathing.
He moved past the plastic devil, edging back towards the entrance to the building’s stairwell. They must have circled back to hide behind the entrance. It was the only thing left big enough to hide them.
He limped across the roof. His leg hurt, the migraine was killing him and he couldn’t get Josh to open the aspirin bottle for him. Josh had always been good at opening things.
Just as he was about to creep around the side of the entrance he heard two loud pops and two points of heat stabbed into his back, knocking him off his feet. The concrete stung the palm of his free hand as he tried to break his fall but he still banged his bad knee again. He curled up in agony at the pain in his knee and the two fiery stings in his back that felt as if two holes had been burned right through him.
Looking up he saw Josh standing over him, grimfaced, a pistol in his hands.
Josh’s face wavered and the pistol fell from his hands. It clattered on the roof, the plastic cracking, leaking water everywhere.
Will stared at the broken water pistol. It was Josh’s favourite toy. He would have to buy him a new one.
Then Will saw Piper looming over him, brandishing the plastic devil, the bulbs on the pitchfork broken where they had smashed into Will’s back.
Tossing the devil away Piper put his flute to his lips and began to play. The notes tore at the air, twisted it, warped it. The din stabbed at Will’s migraine. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sound and the pain.
When he opened his eyes again the stairwell entrance had gained a new door in its side.
Piper stopped playing, just long enough to fling open the door and call to Josh. ‘Come on.’
Josh hesitated. ‘Dad’s hurt.’
‘Not much. Now hurry. Remember what I promised you.’
Piper resumed his playing. Josh looked at him then back down at Will, indecision scrawled across his face. Wincing, Will pulled himself up to his knees and reached out a hand to Josh.
Josh stepped towards him.
Stopped.
Josh turned and walked over to Piper. One last look back at Will then Josh walked through the door.
Still playing his flute Piper followed him. The door began to shut.
Howling in pain Will flung himself forward, grabbing the door-handle. Pulling the door open he staggered through after his son.
He found himself in a long corridor; stone walls and ceiling like something out of a castle. Oak doors lined the walls leading to God only knew where. And in the wall at the far end of the corridor was one final door. The one Piper and Josh were running towards.
Will limped after them, the gun case banging against his thigh as he ran. If only he could open the fucking thing he could shoot Piper and end this now.
Josh and Piper reached the door.
Still only halfway down the corridor Will put on an extra spurt of speed, knowing it was a wasted effort.
Piper opened the door, started to usher Josh through.
Will hurled the gun case with all his might. It wasn’t as aerodynamic as a football, spinning wildly, clumsily, but still his aim was true. The case smashed Piper in the face, sending the flute flying from his hand, the last few notes of screeching music still hanging in the air as he fell back through the doorway.
Without Josh.
Will staggered the last few yards to Josh’s side then grabbed him in a passionate bearhug. He was too exhausted to speak b
ut it didn’t matter, Josh was safe and he was never letting him go. He buried his face deep into Josh’s chest.
‘Dad.’
Will didn’t answer. He wanted this hug to last forever.
‘Dad.’
Finally he looked up. Josh was facing away from him, staring at the door. Staring at Piper framed in the doorway.
And beside Piper stood Michael.
Will gasped.
He could get Michael back. All he had to do was grab him and run back home.
He reached out to Michael. His hand wouldn’t go through the doorway. Some invisible barrier prevented his hand from getting through.
His face crumpled. To see his son but not to be able to touch him, to hold him, was too cruel.
Michael stared back at him. He held something in his hands. Something small and furry. Sully.
The mouse scampered around Michael’s hands with an energy and playfulness that Will hadn’t seen from him in weeks. The illness had completely gone.
Will frowned. Had Piper somehow healed Sully?
Then Will noticed what lay behind Michael.
It was Will’s hometown. But not as he had ever seen it before. Buildings rising majestically to a sky clean of pollution, people walking about happy, contented. A little girl skipped down the street, laughing. Will recognised the little girl Piper had snatched.
But why was she laughing? Why was everyone so happy? They were in Hell.
But no one cared. The place radiated warmth and happiness. He could hear the laughter, could smell the aroma of fish and chips, could see the pleasure that filled people’s faces. This was life as it should be, all the grime had been washed away leaving only the beauty that lay beneath.
This wasn’t Hell.
This was somewhere better than the world where Will had lived all his life. His world was lower, less pure – Josh learning to steal so he could impress his friends; Jerry Doyle stomping on Will’s knee just so he could win a football game; the police station with the prostitute and the man with the coal-black eyes and the blood on his hands; Cooper so desperate to stem the flow of crime that he framed criminals to get them off the street, sacrificing innocent people along the way if that was the price he had to pay. The whole world balancing on the tightrope between corruption and redemption. And more often than not falling, plummeting.
But this other world, here those problems had been solved. The problems had gone. Vanished.
Suddenly he realised why Piper had wanted to follow his brother, why he had taken the ailing Sully, why he had cried when Josh had refused to come with him. He wanted to share this better world, this paradise.
Will stared at Piper. Tears ran down Piper’s face. ‘You can’t get through. It took me years to learn how to play the flute to open this doorway for other people and even then I couldn’t get through myself if I was still holding the flute.’
Will clutched his stomach, he felt physically ill. He had prevented his son from entering paradise. Had condemned him to life in a world full of thieves and murderers.
Piper looked down at Michael as he stood by Piper’s side, weeping. ‘And no one can pass from this side to yours without the flute. Only inanimate objects can do that.’
Will picked up the flute and stared at it in wonder, its baroque arrangement of keys was like no flute he had ever seen.
‘It’ll take time,’ said Piper, ‘but eventually you’ll learn how to open the door.’
Will nodded. He would master the flute, he didn’t care how long it took. He had to make things up to Josh.
Even if it took a lifetime.
About the Author
Stuart Young has published stories in various magazines and anthologies such as We Fade to Grey, Strange Aeons, Alt-Dead, Alt-Zombie and Where the Heart Is. Some of these stories have even been read by people other than his mum. He has also published three short collections: Spare Parts, Shards of Dreams and The Mask Behind the Face; the title story of the latter collection went on to win the British Fantasy Award for Best Novella. (Obviously, more people read that one than just his mum. Unless everyone misread the voting form. Which, come to think of it, does sound frighteningly plausible. . .) During an agonising ordeal of gut-wrenching terror (otherwise known as a conversation with Peter Mark May) he was tricked into editing the anthology of black magic stories Demons & Devilry. Fortunately he survived the experience and now mention of Peter's name provokes only a mild attack of hysterics[1]. Stuart has a new collection of novellas forthcoming from Gray Friar Press but won't make any jokes about the publisher until he's signed the contract.
Stuart also writes the Sparking Neurones column for Matt Cardin's website at www.teemingbrain.com where he tries to disguise the fact that he's not as clever as the other columnists by constantly cracking silly jokes. Obviously this is at great odds with his serious and sober nature and so maintaining the pretence puts a great strain upon him, leading him to sit sobbing in the street yelling “Why me so stupid? Why me no understand big words???”
His blog is at stuyoung.blogspot.co.uk (See?? He really doesn't understand big words. He can't even cope with putting his full first name in the blog address!)
Other Pendragon titles available on Kindle
DRIVE
by Mark West
THE DERELICT
by Neil Williams
www.pendragonpress.net
facebook.com/pendragonFAB
@pendragonpress
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[1] Just kidding, Peter. You know I love you really. Please don't tear up my royalty cheque.
Table of Contents
Kung Fu Sex God
Heartache
Crashes
Reflections in the Mind's Eye
We Have all the Time in the World
Vanishings
About the Author