Balance - Book 2

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Balance - Book 2 Page 47

by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 18

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to do an investigation,” I said to Trisha.

  She gaped at me. “An investigation…?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…why?”

  “I have reason to believe there are illegal magical activities occurring on your premises.”

  Her expression was one of utter disbelief. Behind her, drifting through the main doors, came the chaotic symphony of small children at play.

  “But…” she fumbled with words, “There must be some kind of mistake.”

  “No, ma’am. There is no mistake. I sensed the presence of an illegal spell. I’ll have to investigate.”

  “They’ll close down the school…” Her face contorted and tears streaked down her cheeks.

  “For a while. Just cooperate and it’ll be okay, ma’am. There’s nothing to worry about if you’ve done no wrong.”

  She covered her face and began to sob. I sighed. My eyes drifted up to the school and I realised I was being watched. A little boy, perhaps six, was looking blank faced out a window. Behind him came glimpses of other children engaged in animated activities. I smiled and waved. He did not wave back. His mouth pressed into a line and gaze intensified.

  I frowned and turned my attention back to Trisha. Only to find her frozen in mid-sob like a living statue. The world was contracting and my stomach lurching with vertigo. Black tentacles were reaching and probing my mind. The attack bowled through my defences with ease and my hands flew to my head. Even Delaney was put to shame.

  A chittering near my feet drew my attention. I looked down realised the ground was gone, replaced by a moving carpet. A second later I realised the carpet was a layer of enormous spiders. I gazed at the insects, some big enough to have legs resembling my index finger, and am proud to say the shock lasted only seconds. My Place of Calm was adopted and the full effects of the spell resisted.

  ‘Got the strength, not the talent,’ I thought.

  My eyes turned back up to the child. His gaze was boring into me. After a moment the contraction released. Trisha was once again crying and the spiders gone.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Trisha.

  I stepped passed her and ascended the stairs into the day care centre. The sounds of playing children engulfed me. I approached the child.

  “Hello,” I said to him.

  “Hi.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ken.”

  “I’m Jet. Why aren’t you playing with the other children, Ken?”

  He shrugged.

  “Why did you do that? With the spiders.”

  “You made Miss Trisha cry.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” He nodded.

  I hesitated. “How did you do it, Ken? It was very impressive for such a little boy.”

  He shrugged again. “I just did.”

  “Your mommy practices magic? Maybe your daddy? Did they teach you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Have you seen unusual things going on? Maybe some people around here that didn’t look like they should be?”

  His eyes inspected me. “You’re an Enforcer.”

  “Yes. I need your help, Ken. I need to know what’s going on in here. Will you help?”

  “I have a dog.”

  “Oh. Is he nice?”

  The boy shook his head. “No. He scares me.”

  “I see. Where did he come from?”

  “Everywhere. He barks and keeps me awake sometimes.”

  “Okay. I understand. Ken I need to ask you a favour.”

  “What?’

  “I’d like to have a look inside your head. Would that be okay? It would help me a lot.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “No, not at all. Not if you don’t resist.”

  He considered. “Will you make Buddy stop barking?”

  “Well, I can’t. It’s not really…”

  “Please? Sometimes I don’t think he’ll stop.”

  “I can try.”

  “Alright.”

  I knelt and brought myself down to the boy’s level. My eyes locked on his. Around me the sound of children playing faded.

  “Didn’t I tell you to keep the gate locked, Ken?”

  It was my grandmother’s voice.

  “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you left it open?”

  “Yes, gran,” Ken responded. His shoulders sagged.

  “See what happened now?” Gran continued, “See what happened to Buddy?”

  The boy looked down and a strangled gasp escaped him. In the street a few meters away lay a brown Labrador. The poor animal had been crushed by a car, its middle flattened. Beneath it a pool of blood was drying.

  “Oh Buddy!” Ken shrieked, “Oh no!”

  He stumbled forward, body shuddering with sobs, and crouched beside the animal. I wasn’t sure how a dog could still breathe after such an injury, but Buddy clung to life. The animal’s eyelids strained open and eyes swivelled to the boy. A limp tail twitched as it attempted to wag.

  “Oh no, oh buddy,” Ken wailed, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  “I told you to close the gate,” gran’s voice came again.

  I looked around, finding myself in a generic middleclass neighbourhood. There was no sign of the old woman, nor any street names.

  “You should have closed the gate,” gran repeated, “I told you to close the gate.”

  From nearby came the bark of a dog. At least something similar to the bark of a dog. Whatever creature had attempted the sound did not have all the necessary parts to produce a convincing ‘woof’. Simultaneously Buddy’s tail stopped twitching and his eyes glazed over. I groaned. A puzzle was coming together in my head, and part of me knew little Ken and I were kindred spirits. The boy continued to sob hysterically, hands planted over his face. I crouched beside him and leaned closer to his ear.

  “Ken. Can you hear me? It’s Jet. Remember?”

  He threw back his head and bellowed a guttural wail of despair. Beneath him the asphalt began to develop spidery golden cracks.

  “Its okay, Ken,” I whispered desperately, “its okay…”

  Truly no child deserved this.

  “Buddy is okay…”

  “He’s dead, he’s dead,” the boy wailed, “He’s dead. I should’ve closed the gate. Should have…”

  Another strangled bark drifted over, emerging from a clump of bushes further up the street.

  Woof…

  “No, no he’s not,” I said, “Buddy is fine.”

  “He’s dead!” the boy insisted.

  Woof… woof…

  The bushes rustled and I caught a glimpse of a something dark residing inside them. Something hunched and twisted.

  “No, he’s alive. You locked the gate. Don’t you remember? When you were leaving for school this morning. You had your bag on your shoulder, your lunch in your hand, you opened the gate, stepped through, turned around and…”

  He looked up at me, eyes swimming. “And…?”

  “And you locked it.”

  “I did?”

  “Of course you did.” I smiled reassuringly.

  He stared at me, uncertain. Wheels chugged in his head. He turned to looked at the gate. There, as if he had always been there, was Buddy. Happy, healthy, and wagging his tail. The boy’s mouth gaped, a parade of expressions playing across his face. I watched him, waiting.

  ‘God, what am I doing?’

  The bush rustled again.

  Woof…

  I bit my lip, ready to retreat. Fully expecting the boy to break down and wondering how I would explain the transgression if he did.

  “Buddy!”

  The boy ran forward and leapt over the low fence. Buddy’s tail wagged frantically as he was embraced, licking his master’s face.

  “Buddy!” Ken burbled in delight, “Oh, Buddy!”

  I let the reunion play out for a moment, eyeing the bushes. They were still.<
br />
  ‘What in God’s name am I doing? Respect the clicks, Jet, respect the clicks…’

  Click, click, click, click, click…

  I stepped forward and crouched by the gate.

  “Ken, listen to me,” I whispered, “Fran Clarence takes you somewhere, doesn’t she?”

  He ignored me. His arms were wrapped around the dog.

  “Where does gran take you?” I repeated.

  His delight dimmed. “Who?”

  “The old woman. She comes here sometimes. With the dark haired young man. Where does she take you?”

  “She doesn’t take me anywhere.”

  “Sure she does. Sometimes she takes you from day care. Where?”

  Now his little brow wrinkled. “I’m not…”

  “You’re not supposed to tell about it, I know. But you can tell me. Because we’re friends, right? Because I helped. Because Buddy is back home where he belongs.”

  “I’m not supposed to tell…”

  The wheels were grinding, young mind trying to access forbidden information.

  “You can tell me,” I urged. “Where does she take you?”

  His eyes widened and a sharp breath whistled passed his teeth…

  “You left the gate open,” Fran Clarence said, “I told you to close the gate.”

  She was seated across from him. Her old face contorted as she squinted into his eyes. Around us the room was lost in shadow. But it seemed somehow familiar. The dark haired young man, arms crossed, watched the proceedings from a corner.

  “You left the gate open,” she repeated, “And now Buddy is dead.”

  The boy was transfixed, mouth ajar. From either eye a tear spilled and traced down his cheeks.

  “Yes,” he responded, “I left the gate open and now Buddy is dead.”

  “Excellent. That’s good, Ken. And where will you go? If things go wrong. If events do not happen as they should. Where will you go?”

  “To the white wall.”

  “The white wall. That’s correct. The white wall. Just wait there and we’ll come and get you.”

  Gran looked over her shoulder at the young man and he raised a questioning eyebrow. She nodded.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I underestimated you. I’m impressed.”

  Her response was a wry smile. “It’s not wise to underestimate an old lady.”

  He turned and his hand scribbled in a notebook for a moment. He looked back at her. “You’re vouching for him then, I take it?”

  “He’s a keeper.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  He made another scribble and snapped the book shut. The sharp sound made Ken flinch.

  I stepped forward.

  “But where,” I urged him, “Where is this room, Ken?”

  The sound of a car engine came from behind and I turned.

  The vehicle, a sleek black model, pulled into a parking bay and the doors sprang open. Gran climbed out of one and the young man the other. He opened the back door, allowed Ken to climb out, and took the boy’s hand. He led him towards a building. I turned and looked up at the structure. It was a modern glass design stretching up six stories and surrounded on all sides by pristine gardens. A name was visible above the stylish entranceway; ‘Global Net.’

  The sound of children at play grew louder and engulfed me. Ken blinked and wiped tears from his cheeks.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you. Are you… feeling alright?”

  Click, click, click, click, click, click, click…

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good.”

  Outside Trisha was still audibly sobbing.

  “Do you have a dog, Ken?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Buddy.”

  “And Buddy lives with you? He’s well?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. That’s good. That’s nice.” I stood and dusted off my knees. “Thank you for your help, Ken.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

  “Maybe.”

  I gave him a long critical look. Then exited. A call was made from the radio in my car and the investigation started later that same day.

 

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