by John Moralee
“And then what if he doesn’t?”
“We try again until he does. He’ll have to leave eventually. Even hermits leave their caves.”
“Not all hermits live in caves. I doubt any do, in fact. When was the last time you saw someone living in a cave? Never.”
“Cavemen did,” he said.
“Shut up.”
“Just saying.”
“Question: How do we know he’s not out right now?”
“We have to assume it.”
“I wish our plan was foolproof,” she said. “This is going to be a long day. You want a book to read?”
“What kind of book?”
“I’ve got a choice.”
Saffron had brought along some second-hand science-fiction paperbacks by writers he’d heard of but had not read – Philip K Dick, Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, Ursula Le Guinn, Isaac Asimov.
Bringing the books turned out to be a good idea because waiting was boring, unbelievably boring.
Unfortunately, though Saffron looked interested in her choice, he tried reading one, then another, but he couldn’t get into either. They weren’t bad books - but he couldn’t focus on reading and keep his eyes on the house. Saffron was much better at multitasking. She could do both with admirable ease.
He stared through the gaps in the dirt. Ryan hated the waiting. He didn’t know how the police could stakeout somewhere for days, possibly weeks, when nothing, nothing was happening.
It would drive him insane.
Hours passed ... mind-numbing hours ... and there was no visible activity within the house.
Restless, he got up and paced up and down.
What if Saffron was right?
What if Ravencroft had gone out before they got there?
What if they were waiting needlessly?
He was sorely tempted to sneak up to the house to ring the buzzer. But if he did that and Ravencroft saw him then they would be in big trouble.
No. Waiting was part of the plan.
Patience was a virtue.
One that didn’t come naturally to him.
To alleviate the boredom, Ryan played a game involving the red and black cars that went by. He scored one point for a red car, but lost one for a black one. He had to get ten points to win or minus ten to lose. The game went on for a long time ... with no conclusion. He was minus four down when he gave up. The game was too boring.
Luckily, at eleven-thirty something did happen: a red Royal Mail van dropped off a postman who walked up Willow Lane. He delivered mail to several houses, including some for Number 16, which he slid into a letterbox fixed to the gatepost.
Two minutes after he had passed by, Ravencroft appeared.
“He’s there,” he whispered.
Saffron lowered her paperback. She peered through the Plexiglas. “I can’t see him very well. What’s he doing?”
“He’s opened the letterbox from his side. He’s taking out the mail. He’s opening the envelopes. Looks like he doesn’t like that one. It’s in a brown envelope. Hope it’s a nasty bill.”
Saffron spat on her finger and wiped the glass. “Okay, okay. I see him better now. Why’s he just standing at the gate?”
“Don’t know,” he answered.
Ravencroft was looking down the street, but then his head turned in their direction. Ryan could feel him looking at the bus shelter. Looking at him.
“Do you think he sees us?” Saffron whispered.
“Don’t move,” Ryan said.
They stayed very still.
After what felt like a year, Ravencroft turned around and disappeared back into the house.
“He didn’t see us,” Ryan said.
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t answer. He was thinking about the pain that he’d felt when the man’s fingers touched his forehead. Then his father’s voice ...
“Ryan?”
“Yes,” he said. “He couldn’t see us. We’ve got the local council to thank for keeping our bus shelters nice and filthy. Now we know he’s there, anyway. That’s progress, of a kind. Let’s just hope he feels in need of a walk this afternoon. The weather’s not bad, so with some luck ...”
At noon Ryan stretched his legs by walking around the street, looking at the house from every angle, making absolutely sure there wasn’t another way out. There wasn’t. When he got back to the bus shelter, Saffron reported no changes. She had a break herself. Another hour dragged by. Saffron finished her first book. She started another.
It was mid-afternoon when Ravencroft appeared for the second time. Ryan saw him as he unlocked the gates. He was wearing a long, black overcoat. The collar was raised making it hard to see his face. He was also wearing his black leather gloves. He was holding a briefcase and a walking cane with a silver handle. Ryan wondered why he needed the cane when he didn’t have any walking difficulties.
“It’s stage three,” Saffron said breathlessly.
Ravencroft locked the gate, then faced the street. He looked left and right, taking his time studying the neighbourhood. He looked left again, then slowly right once more, then walked down the street, briskly, without looking back. He swung the cane in a rhythm matching his pace.
Ryan and Saffron had already decided he would break into the house, while she would follow Ravencroft, making sure he didn’t come back without a phoned warning. Saffron had to be the one to follow Ravencroft because he had seen her once and only from a distance. He would recognise Ryan too easily.
Saffron pulled up her hood to hide her blonde hair. In her anonymous, baggy disguise, she could have been a boy. It was a good disguise, Ryan thought, bland and instantly forgettable. Now she was waiting for Ravencroft to be over a hundred metres ahead. “Okay – I’m going. See you later after the mission is over.”
“Be careful,” he said.
She smiled and surprised him with a hug. “You be careful too. See you later, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
Her last words echoing in his head, Ryan watched his best friend stalking after Ravencroft. Her hug had stunned him. Best friends didn’t do hugs! It had been nice, though.
Sighing, Ryan wished he had hugged Saffron back.
Chapter Ten
Stage three: the rescue.
Ryan sprinted across the street and dashed around the back of Willow Lane. The perimeter wall was a major obstacle since he didn’t have a ladder, but he and Saffron had already worked out a solution during the planning phase. Every house in the street behind Willow Lane had a large black wheelie bin. He grabbed one from an unoccupied house and pushed it over the road. He pushed it up against the wall. Nobody was looking, he hoped, when he climbed onto it. He was worried the bin’s lid would not support his weight, or the bin would tip over, but his luck held.
Now his head was nearly at the level of the top of the wall. He couldn’t see over it, though - not even on the tip of his toes. He had no idea what lay on the other side, where he intended to drop down. He put his hands up onto the cold wall, then jumped up as hard as he could. Simultaneously, he straightened his arms like a gymnast climbing onto a pommel horse. He was suddenly perched on the wall via his straining arms, looking down into the rear garden.
Beneath the wall, he saw a hard gravel path going around an impressively large and ornate greenhouse. He hadn’t been able to see the greenhouse at all from outside, which seemed impossible because its glass roof was much higher than the perimeter wall. His arms strained. He could not balance for very long. Quickly, before his arms collapsed, he swung a leg over the wall. He was now sitting on the cold stone like a cowboy riding a horse. He held onto the wall as he lowered himself down on the other side as much as possible before leaving go. He dropped down into the garden. The fall was about two metres onto the hard gravel. He braced for impact. He landed hard and gracelessly, but he wasn’t hurt, though his knees protested at the punishment. His heavy backpack nearly toppled him. He stood up, rubbing his knees.
He flipped open his ph
one and called Saffron.
“Hello?” she answered immediately.
“I’m over the wall,” he said. “Where are you?”
“Walking along the high street. The subject is about a hundred metres ahead, turning left. He hasn’t seen me.”
“Okay. I’m approaching the house. Keep stalking him.”
He moved quickly along the side of the greenhouse. It was nearly as wide and long as the house itself. The glass was steamed up and obscured whatever was growing inside.
The source of the cold air appeared to be several pipes protruding from the ground around the greenhouse, pumping out frigid air. When he went past one, he felt an icy blast that made his teeth chatter. The ground nearby was frosted over and devoid of weeds, unlike the rest of the area, where the weeds were as thick as in the front yard.
He wondered why the pipes were there.
Not wanting to remain long in the chilling air, Ryan hurried towards the house.
*
Following Ravencroft had led Saffron along the high street and into a side street called Dixon Road. Normally, it wasn’t a street she would go down on her own because the area had a bad reputation ... but it was where Ravencroft had gone.
Off the high street, the shops were smaller and dirtier. Some had gone out of business months, perhaps years ago. Their windows were boarded up, spray painted with graffiti and covered with flyers advertising indie bands and nightclubs.
Ravencroft was a dozen shops ahead when her way was suddenly blocked.
“Oi, you!” someone snarled.
She was shocked to realised the person was addressing her.
“Who’s talking?” Ryan said in her earphone.
“Some boys,” she whispered. “They’re in my way.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know.”
Three teenage boys, who had been lurking in a doorway, would not let her pass them. Their heads were shaved to their skulls, making them look like wild animals. One was wearing a Hobley United shirt. The third wore a dragon earring and a T-shirt that showed his tattooed muscles. She saw they had been drinking cans of strong lager – a pile of empty cans were in the doorway, along with cigarette butts. They were all drunk or on their way. Their leader was about sixteen, a head taller than his gang, with hard blue eyes and an ugly sneer. He had a cigarette in one hand, which he sucked on and blew out his studded nostrils. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. “You’re on my turf, kid. You got to pay me a toll fee. Give us a fiver - or else.”
He held out a hand expecting her to obey him.
“I don’t have any fivers,” she said.
She tried walking around them, but Hobley Shirt grabbed her hood and yanked it off her head. His mouth fell open in surprise when he saw she wasn’t a boy.
“Hey, look, guys, it’s a chick!”
“A pretty one,” Tattoos said. He was grinning like a corpse. “What are you doing here, little girl?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Us, too,” he replied. “Join us for a smoke?”
“Uh – no thanks.”
He scowled. “Too good for us, huh?”
“Grab her,” the leader said. His gang obeyed. They pushed her into the doorway. She squirmed but they would not let go. The leader looked down at her, breathing smoky, beery breath in her face. “What’s this, eh? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
His friends chuckled like he’d said the funniest joke in the world.
“I’m the big bad wolf,” he said, grinning ear to ear.
Wrong fairytale, you moron, Saffron thought to herself, but it wasn’t the time to say so. She was scared and angry. “Let me go!”
“I will if you have a drink with us,” Bad Wolf said. He raised a can towards her face. The contents sloshed evilly. He tried to pour it in her mouth, but she shook her head. The lager spilled on her clothes.
“Stop it,” she said. “Leave me alone – or else.”
“You’re threatening me?” He sounded amused. “What are you going to do? Cry for your mummy?”
She had to think of a way of getting away from them. She couldn’t fight three boys, despite wanting to scratch out their eyes. But she had one thing none of them had: a brain. She could hear Ryan in her earphone, asking her what was going on. He couldn’t help her physically, but the phone gave her an answer.
“I have a phone with a digital camera,” she said. “My friend has already received pictures of you. Do you want him to call the police? You’ll all go to prison. My uncle’s a lawyer with the Crown Prosecution Service. He’ll see you get a long, long time. Unless you release me RIGHT NOW!”
The three boys suddenly looked worried. They looked at her phone like it was a gun. She had not sent Ryan any pictures of the boys – she had not had time before they grabbed her - but they didn’t know it. She stared defiantly at Bad Wolf.
“She didn’t send nothing,” Hobley Shirt said. “She’s bluffing ... right?”
“Wrong,” she said. “You want to ask my friend? I’m on the phone to him right now. Listen for yourself.”
“I will,” Bad Wolf said. He jerked the earphone out of her ear. He pressed it against his own. “Hello? Anyone there?”
She could hear Ryan saying something to Bad Wolf. Bad Wolf dropped the earphone quickly. “Listen, you know I was only joking?” he said. “It was just a game, wasn’t it, guys?”
“Yeah,” they muttered. “A game.”
“Let her go then,” Bad Wolf said.
Hobley Shirt and Baseball Cap released her.
“We didn’t do nothing,” Bad Wolf said. “Nothing. Get out of here, girl.”
She pushed past them onto the street, keeping her eyes on the boys until she was at the next street corner. She was ready to run if they moved an inch towards her, but they just sulked in the doorway, drinking and smoking. She wiped her earphone very clean before re-inserting it into her ear.
Cold sweat ran down her forehead. After narrowly escaping from the drunken teenagers, Saffron was jumping at shadows, hyped up as though she’d had too much caffeine. “Ryan, are you there?”
“Yes. I heard what was going on,” Ryan said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though her heart was thudding. “Thanks for saving me.”
“You saved yourself,” he said. “Your uncle’s not a lawyer.”
“He didn’t know that.”
When Saffron reached the corner, she looked down the next street with a sudden feeling of panic rising in her chest. No, it was impossible! There were no people walking up or down the street. Ravencroft had disappeared. Where on earth had he gone? All she could see were a few shops and terraced houses.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?” Ryan said.
“Don’t break into the house yet.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I’ve lost him.”
“You’ve lost him?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Those boys delayed me. I can’t see him now.”
Ryan’s loud curse hurt her ear. “You mean he could be coming back any minute?”
“Just a sec while I look for him,” she said. She sprinted to the other side of the road for a better view. She edged from doorway to doorway, looking in the windows of the houses and shops. There! She could see into a newsagent’s across the street someone who looked a little like him ... but she wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell because a fat woman was standing in front of the man. An assistant was serving the handful of customers from behind a counter laden with sweets and newspapers. When the fat woman moved, she saw it was definitely Ravencroft standing in the line. She sighed with relief.
“Ryan?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I found him.”
“Where was he?”
“He’s in a newsagent’s. You’d better not do anything until I’m sure he isn’t going to walk home straight after buying a paper.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “I’ll wait.”<
br />
He was indeed buying a paper. It was an oversized one – a broadsheet almost a thick as a phone book. She couldn’t see the title without sneaking closer, but it was probably The Times or The Guardian. Whatever it was, Ravencroft’s choice of reading material impressed her (for a mind-controlling fiend.) Despite wanting to read one out of curiosity for years, Saffron had never read a broadsheet because her dad had never brought one home in his life. Her dad just read the sport pages of The Sun. All her family read were tabloids full of celebrity gossip, political scandals and hardly any real news. A part of her almost wished her dad were more like Ravencroft, with interests beyond drinking, cars and football. Yes, the man was evil, but he wasn’t boring.
Ravencroft walked out of the shop. He looked both ways, then, apparently satisfied he wasn’t being watched, he stepped to one side of the shop and unfolded the newspaper. He looked through it until he found something near the back pages. He nodded and checked his watch. He dumped the newspaper in a waste bin and walked on.
“Good news. He’s not coming home,” she reported. “You can break in any time you like.”
“Great,” Ryan said. “I’m freezing out here. I need to break in just to thaw out.”
When Ravencroft had gone a hundred metres, Saffron crossed the road and retrieved the paper, which was folded at the Personal Adverts. What had he been looking at? She scanned the page for a clue as she hurried after him. She nearly passed over one message until she re-read it:
Poe Fan seeks Edgar, Thursday.
Poe Fan?
She remembered Edgar Allan Poe had written a poem called The Raven. It had been one of her favourites since she saw it featured in one of the Simpson’s Halloween Specials. She had read the poem over and over until she knew it by heart. The Raven. The message had to be a cryptic contact for Ravencroft.
Today was Thursday.
He was going to meet someone somewhere.
Who? Why?
Burning with curiosity, Saffron maintained her pursuit.
*
For the last few minutes, Ryan had looked for an easy way into the house that didn’t require violence. Unfortunately, there were no open windows or doors. He had decided the kitchen door looked the easiest to get in because it had a glass panel just above the lock. He had lain down his backpack on the icy ground and removed a long chisel.