Beyond the Shroud by V M Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

dreaming now!
    I checked the door. Clicked on New Mail. Typed in: PLEEZ CUM AND GET ME! I didn’t dare write more. For Q, that would be enough.
    I clicked on Send. The computer made a ghastlyGLUNK! — its warning when you did something wrong. The sudden jolt of noise sent a spurt of adrenaline through me like an electric shock. I checked the door: nothing. Then the screen: The message could not be sent. You must specify a recipient for the message. I clicked on To, and typed: Q. Send.
    Checked the door.
    A dark figure was standing in the doorway, watching me.

Waiting
    We stared at each other in silence. All I could see was a dark silhouette in long winter pyjamas, but I could imagine the look on his face as clearly as if it was broad daylight. The smile … the shine of triumph in his eyes.
    All the anger I’d been fighting surged up inside me in a giant wave. ‘Get away from me!’ I hissed. ‘Leave me alone! I hate you!’
    The figure took a step backwards. ‘S-s-sorry …’
    I blinked. The wave of rage gurgled away like bath water disappearing down the plug hole. I gaped at him with my mouth open. It wasn’t Weevil — it was Frankie, a little kid with a stammer, his bunny clenched under one arm. ‘Frankie?’ I was out of the chair now, padding towards him in the cold light of the computer. He backed away from me, his eyes wide and frightened in his thin face.
    â€˜I th-th-th-thought I heard a b-b-b-b-b-’
    â€˜Shhhh. There’s no burglar — only me. I didn’t mean to yell. I thought you were … someone else. Frankie — noone must know I was here. Don’t tell, OK?’ He shook his head wordlessly. I put my hand on his shoulder. He was shivering. ‘Back to bed now. Quiet as a mouse, huh? And remember — not one word to anyone. Promise?’
    â€˜P-p-p-promise.’
    He turned and stole away down the passage like a little ghost. I turned the computer off, covered it carefully with its sheet, closed the rec room door, tiptoed back to bed … and lay there in a cold sweat of relief, my heart hammering hard enough to wake the whole of Highgate.

    I knew Q would come. Probably just after three o’clock, when I’d normally be getting back from school. Or during afternoon tea … or maybe just before dinner. One thing I knew for sure: he’d come.
    I spent the morning locked in the bathrooms on my hands and knees, cleaning the shower stalls and toilets. I thought of the other kids at school: the end-of-term lip-synch concert … the staff-versus-kids softball match … the sausage sizzle. Most of all, I thought of Q roaring along the highway in the big green four-by-four, his bodyguard Shaw at the wheel, every second bringing them closer to Highgate.
    Matron and Cook had pies for lunch, from the corner bakery. I sat by myself at the far end of the dining room, making my slice of bread and jam last as long as possible, breathing in the smell of rich gravy and flaky golden pastry. Matron didn’t take her eyes off me once.
    After lunch, though I knew it was way too early, I found myself starting to listen for the sound of the car. I was spring-cleaning the kitchen under Cook’s supervision, and it was hard to hear anything above the sound of my scrubbing brush, with my head stuck in the back ofcupboard after cupboard. But at last I heard the slam of the front door, and the excited chatter of voices. Who wouldn’t be excited, getting away from Highgate for two weeks?
    Any minute now … any minute now, they’ll come.
    That whole afternoon my senses were on super-alert, my ears pricked for the sound of a car engine, or a door slamming. And there were plenty of those, as first one kid, then another was picked up by guardians or foster-families for the holidays. But when the doorbell rang, it was never for me.
    By dinnertime my heart felt like a lead weight in my chest. My fingers were wrinkled up