“She’s not there.”
Miss Sonata smiled gently, but Christopher could see the concern in her eyes. “I’m sure she’s fine—she probably just went out for a moment.”
Chris looked at Miss Sonata. “In all the time that you’ve known my mum, has she ever left the house?”
Miss Sonata shook her head.
“She never goes out,” said Chris before Miss Sonata had a chance to respond. “She’s been convinced for years that if she does, something bad will happen.”
“I agree, Christopher, it’s unlike her. What do you think the explanation could be?”
“The boy—Ernest—he said it would be when I least expect it.”
Miss Sonata took a deep breath and sighed. “Look, Christopher. That boy—”
“Ernest. Miss Sonata, please listen to me,” said Chris, panic rising up in him. “He took her because he wants to get to me—I saw him looking at my home address in Ms. Lamb’s mind. I know that’s what he was thinking.”
“There would certainly be no need for him to take your mother. It just doesn’t make any sense—and why would he wait all this time? If he wanted to make you suffer for the accident with his brother, he could have done that a long time ago.”
Chris looked at Miss Sonata, and his eyes widened with understanding. “Suffer. That’s it! He wanted me to suffer. He knew nobody believed me. He knew that it would drive me crazy expecting something to happen at any time. That’s why he waited. Miss Sonata, I need to go home.”
“For what, Christopher? What on earth do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Ernest left me something—a clue. I can’t tell with my Ability—there’s too much stuff lying around to sort through.”
“Why don’t we give it a few more hours,” said Miss Sonata, trying to lead Chris back in through the front door. “Then, if she still hasn’t come home, you can give Ron and John your keys, and I’ll send them round to check the house.”
Chris shook himself free. “I’m sorry, Miss Sonata, I have to go right now. If my mum is in trouble, I need to find her.”
Chris stepped down the stairs and was about to run, not thinking about how he was going to get home, when Miss Sonata called out to him.
“Christopher, you are not going anywhere like this. Wait five minutes—John and Ron will take you.”
• • •
Chris jumped out of the car before John had even turned off the engine, and ran up the front path. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and fumbled with the lock.
“Argh!” said Chris, throwing the keys to the ground in frustration as he narrowed his eyes in the direction of the lock.
Click.
“Honestly, don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that trick,” said Ron to John as the door swung open on its own.
“MUM?”
Chris ran inside and stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“MUM? ARE YOU HERE?”
There was no answer.
Chris noticed Ron peering over his right shoulder as he looked up the stairs.
“I’ve already checked the attic,” said Chris, annoyed that Ron would think he’d make the same mistake twice. He ran up the stairs and checked the bedrooms as Ron and John checked downstairs. It was no surprise to Chris that she wasn’t there.
“Right,” said John as Chris came down the stairs shaking his head, “why don’t we all have a nice cup of tea and wait for her—I’m sure she’ll turn up in a moment.”
“She doesn’t go out!” said Chris, feeling as if he were speaking a language that nobody could understand. “Mum doesn’t leave the house. Ever.”
John sighed but didn’t look annoyed. “It’s all right, son. I’m sure she’s fine, but there’s not much we can do at the . . .”
“Uh . . .”
Chris and John both turned to the living room door to find Ron standing in the doorway, a strange look on his face.
“I think you’d both better come and have a look at this.”
• • •
Chris looked down at the newspaper cutting lying on his mother’s armchair, and his heart stopped.
Dominating the front page was a large photograph of Hunter Reid, the clean-cut American teenage music sensation, under this headline:
LET THE FAINTING BEGIN!
HUNTER REID ARRIVES IN THE UK
TO PROMOTE THE LAUNCH OF HIS NEW ALBUM
Chris barely registered this, however. All he could look at was the message that had been scrawled across Hunter Reid’s white jacket in thick bright red pen.
Chris,
If you want to see your mother again, meet me here. Same place as last time.
Ernest
A large red arrow pointed to the center of Hunter Reid’s forehead.
“I don’t believe it. You were right,” said John slowly, as he read the message over Chris’s shoulder.
Chris should have felt vindicated at last—finally, here was the proof that he wasn’t going crazy, but he felt nothing.
“I don’t get it,” said John. “What does he mean, ‘same place’?”
Chris picked up the paper without talking and stared at the page.
“Look,” said Ron, pointing. “That’s what he means.”
The three of them looked down at the caption below the photograph:
Thousands of fans have already lined up outside the Maximum Music Store on Oxford Street, where Hunter Reid will be signing autographs tomorrow from 2:00 p.m.
“Have you been to Maximum Music? Did you meet him there?” asked Ron.
Chris shook his head. “That’s not what he means,” he said quietly.
Ron and John waited for an explanation, but none came. Finally, John grabbed Chris by the shoulders and turned him round to face him.
“Chris, son. Look. We’re here to help you, so you need to tell us everything. Do you understand?”
Chris nodded, still in a daze. “He means meet him inside Hunter Reid’s mind—in the same place that I met him when we were in Ms. Lamb’s mind.”
“Oh,” said John. “At the signing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s not much use right now,” said Ron, frustrated. “Is there anything else? Anywhere you can think of that we could go?”
Chris shook his head.
“No. What about where Ernest lives? Do you know?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” said Chris. He folded up the newspaper page slowly and put it into his pocket. “I’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
“We’re going with you,” said Ron. He and John followed Chris as he walked in a daze out of the living room and toward the front door.
• • •
Chris lay on his bed that night, staring up at the glowing moon on his ceiling. In the bed across the room, Chris knew that Philip was also awake, but he, like everybody else, didn’t know what to say to Chris, who had not said a word since John had broken the news to everybody on their return to Myers Holt. Chris’s silence seemed to have unnerved everybody but he was not doing it intentionally. It was as if he were standing in a thick, dreamlike fog that had dulled everything around him—the sounds, the sights, the smells, and even his feelings. He knew he should have been panicking, and he was surprised that he wasn’t. He supposed it must have been because he knew he couldn’t do anything until he met with Ernest. In the meantime, he was sure that his mother was safe: Ernest needed her alive to get at him, and now he just needed to make sure he was rested enough to handle whatever lay in store for him. He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE •
Chris spoke once the next morning—to ask that none of the other pupils accompany him. Sir Bentley had agreed. Chris guessed that, given how everything had turned out, nobody felt in a position to argue with him anymore. The four-man police escort that Sir Bentley had arranged was waiting at the cordon that had been erected by Oxford Circus Station to contain the thousands of screaming girls who had gathe
red to get a glimpse of Hunter Reid. John and Ron spoke with them in hushed urgent tones making arrangements, while Chris hung back and looked out into the crowds searching for Ernest—a pointless exercise given that the crowds were thick and extended the length of the wide street up to the entrance of Maximum Music.
“Right, Chris,” said John. “This is a bit more hectic than we had thought so we’re going to have to rely on your help to find him. The singer is going to be arriving in twenty minutes, and we’ll make sure you’re right there. When you find him, just let us know where he is and we’ll take it from there. Yes?”
“Okay,” said Chris as John handed him a glittering gold pass hanging on a fluorescent green cord, which he put over his neck. He saw a group of girls staring at the large VIP emblazoned on the front of the pass with pure envy.
“Are you famous?” shouted one of them, as the police officers lifted the red cordon to allow Chris, Ron, and John through.
“Er, no,” said Chris, keeping his head down as he walked between Ron and John in their black suits with their sunglasses on. Rex would love this, he thought as the four police officers in front of him cleared the crowds to make way for him to pass. Chris, however, just kept a strong grip on the pass to stop the many reaching hands from snatching it off him and concentrated on finding Ernest.
• • •
The crowds of girls became increasingly angry as Chris made his way along the street until, by the time he was escorted through the glass entrance doors, he was surrounded by the sound of deafening boos.
“Go to the back!”
“We’ve been waiting all night!”
“Oi! Who do you think you are?”
Chris tried to ignore their fury as John and Ron, both straight-faced and staring intently around them, walked alongside him. Chris was thankful for their protection and breathed a sigh of relief as he was ushered past another cordon and through a side door.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said John as they followed a police officer down a corridor.
“You can wait in here,” said the officer, leading them into a room.
Chris walked in to find the place buzzing with the sound of people, all wearing white T-shirts with Hunter Reid’s face on it, frantically making preparations. Chris jumped out of the way to let a woman carrying a large box filled with plastic Hunter Reid dolls pass.
“Why don’t you stand at the back,” said John. “We’ll stay here by the door so we can keep an eye on everything and give you a shout when we’re ready to go.”
Chris nodded and weaved his way through the people and tables until he reached a small bit of cleared area near the far wall. Pushed up against it was a blue sofa, and on it was Hunter Reid, his blond hair gelled up, wearing silver trousers and a black vest, sitting quietly with his headphones on. He looked much younger than Chris had expected.
Chris searched for another chair, but not seeing one, he walked over to the corner and leaned up against the wall to wait.
“You can sit here.”
Chris turned and saw Hunter Reid looking at him as he pulled the headphones out of his ears.
“Oh . . . thanks,” Chris said. He walked over to the sofa and sat down awkwardly.
“Hi, I’m Hunter,” said Hunter. He smiled as he put his hand out to shake Chris’s.
“Hi—Chris,” said Chris, shaking his hand, and then, not knowing what else to say, he sat back, facing forward.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” said Hunter after a moment.
“What do you mean?” asked Chris.
“All this,” he said as he nodded at the room full of panicked people.
“Must be nice.”
Hunter shook his head. “No, it’s just business. It’s not about me, it’s all about the money.”
Chris was surprised. “What about all those girls?”
“They don’t really like me—they just like the whole fame-and-money thing. Next week they’ll be screaming for someone else,” said Hunter, sounding quite matter-of-fact about it.
“Really? They seem to be really into you.”
Hunter thought about this for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, maybe. And some of them seem really cool, but I never get to hang out with them—I don’t stay in one place for long enough.”
“Don’t you like the whole singing thing, though?”
“Yeah, it’s my life—I love it. I just wish they’d let me sing what I wanted to sing.”
“Oh right. Um, what do you want to sing?”
Hunter leaned in, as if he didn’t want anybody else to hear. “Heavy metal.”
“Really?” asked Chris in surprise.
“Yeah. You into it?”
Chris gave a small smile. “I went to see the Death Screamers once.”
Hunter broke into a wide approving grin. “Awesome! They’re amazing! ‘The grim reaper! The grim reaper! Your soul’s—’ ”
“Hunter?”
Hunter looked up at the young woman who had interrupted him. She was wearing one of the white T-shirts with Hunter’s face on it and holding a clipboard.
“Everything’s ready.”
Hunter sighed and turned to Chris. “It’s been cool hanging out, man.”
He pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it to Chris.
“Here’s my card. Give me a call if you’re ever in LA—”
“Thanks,” said Chris. He slipped the card into his pocket and smiled. “Good luck with the heavy metal thing.”
Hunter grinned and gave Chris a double thumbs-up as he was shepherded away by the clipboard lady.
He’s really nice, thought Chris, suddenly feeling a bit guilty about entering Hunter’s mind without him knowing.
“Time for us, too,” said John, suddenly appearing in front of him as the room quickly emptied behind Hunter. Chris stood up and followed Ron and John out the doors and down the black corridor. Ahead of him, Hunter stepped out into the shop floor, and the crowds erupted into frenzied high-pitched screaming.
Although there was no need for Chris to hide, he still needed somewhere away from the hustle and bustle of the moving crowds to concentrate and, ideally, to save energy while using his Ability. But he also had to have a clear view of Hunter, who was now sitting at a table signing photographs of himself and smiling for pictures.
“Over there,” said John, leading them toward a triangle of empty space beneath the escalator. Chris followed behind him, all the time wondering if Ernest was watching.
“Right,” said John, “here’s the plan. You do your Ability thing, and we’ll keep an eye out for him. If you think there’s going to be any trouble, give us a thumbs-up and we’ll have you out of here before that boy can so much as blink. Got it?”
“Yes,” said Chris.
“Right, then, do whatever it is you do, and don’t worry—we’re here if you need us.”
Chris nodded but didn’t say anything as he prepared himself. He concentrated on breathing calmly as he stared at Hunter, who had his arm around a hysterical girl as her mother took their photograph. Chris felt his mind start to clear and his eyes begin to lose focus, and then everything in his mind went white.
The bright light disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, and when it did, Chris saw that he was standing inside Hunter’s Reception. The sound of the screaming crowd filled the large, white cavernous room as Chris walked through the floating thoughts filled with the pop star’s sense of boredom and over to the door on the other side. He opened it, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the mind of Hunter Reid.
Chris looked down from the grassy knoll that he had walked out onto and gazed around at the city. Every mind he had entered up until that point had been different: Each had its own, singular style, a defining characteristic that shaped the buildings and streets, such as Ms. Lamb’s Gothic architecture or Valentino Brick’s mind of paint. Hunter Reid’s mind, however, was a confused blend of two completely contrasting environments. The Family building in fr
ont of him, for example, was a small and modest family home, not unlike Chris’s own house, whilst the two buildings on either side of it were tall, sleek blocks of glass, corporate-looking structures that looked as if they were threatening to swallow up the tiny house in between them. Beyond People Street, the juxtaposition was even more obvious—some streets quaint and suburban, others a soulless parade of glass and steel. Chris, having found his bearings, looked in the direction of where he was heading, and even though it was far in the distance, he immediately found the building he was looking for: a gigantic block of blue-green glass sitting in the middle of what looked like a vast, empty parking lot. He started walking quickly toward it, constantly checking over his shoulder in case Ernest should suddenly appear behind him.
The imposing block that was Hunter’s Career building loomed high behind the small row of houses on Language Lane. As he reached the end of the small road and prepared to step out into the tarmacked clearing, his heart suddenly began to beat faster as he realized that his mother’s fate and his own were very soon to be decided.
• • •
The first thing Chris noticed when he turned the corner was that there was nowhere to hide. If Ernest was standing somewhere in the large glass building ahead of him, then he was surely watching him at that very moment, though the dull sunlight bouncing off the windows meant Chris couldn’t see anything inside. The only thing that gave him any comfort as he started to run as fast as he could across the gray expanse, was that it wasn’t possible to come to any physical harm in another person’s mind. Nevertheless, the thought of Ernest tracking him unnerved him, so when he finally reached the entrance, he let out a sigh of relief.
The door was closed. This in itself didn’t mean anything—Ernest was surely capable of closing doors behind him—but Chris had the feeling he was on his own.
“Ernest?” said Chris. His voice echoed around the vast room filled with sleek chrome filing cabinets, but there was no answer.
Chris walked across the polished floor, checking every aisle until he was sure that the room was empty.
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