A Place Called Perfect (9 page)

CHAPTER 19

The Locked Room

It was clear what she had to do, how to do it was the hard part. First things first, she had to get inside the house.

The windows! The upstairs ones at the back had no glass. Only white plastic sheeting covered the cavities. As quietly as possible she raced around the estate for something that would reach the windows. In the back garden of one of the derelict houses was a battered workbench. Stained coffee and teacups and a half eaten moldy sandwich sat on it’s surface as if the place was deserted in a hurry. A sudden chill danced up her spine and her arm hair stood to order. The garden was eerie as though the souls of ghostly builders still worked there. Behind the bench a pile of tools and oddities gathered rust on the dirt. Hidden amongst them was a wooden ladder. Though missing some steps it was long enough to reach the windows.

She picked up the heavy wood and dragged it as quietly as she could to the back garden of Boy’s prison. Propping it up against the wall, it fell just a little short of the ledge. With a deep breath she took her first step. The wood cracked under foot so she quickly climbed upwards. Pulling herself over the missing steps she reached the top. The ladder wobbled below as she stretched onto her toes inching her fingers up until they gripped the corner of the ledge. Resting for a minute she then pulled with all her might, wiggled onto the window ledge and tumbled inside, landing with a thump on the cold cement floor.

Thunder boomed loudly above, this time it was followed by a flash of white light that illuminated the empty hallway. It was grey and barren. Shadows haunted every corner. The house was silent. Deadly still.

There were four doors off the hall in front of her and she crawled quickly across the landing to the first. It was empty. Her body alive, she crawled through the darkness to the second. This room was bigger than the last and pitch black. The windows were blocked up with plastic sheeting. Violet felt her way across the floor as another bolt of lighting lit up the place illuminating Boy’s lifeless body in the corner.

Her arms weakened as she scurried on all fours towards him. A dog collar was fastened round his neck and secured to the floor by a steel chain. Bruno was etched into a metal tag that hung from the leather, she smiled, the name suited her friend perfectly. The chain was strong, too strong to break and the dog collar was locked shut at the catch. She searched for something to cut through the thick material. Suddenly the front door slammed. She froze. Laughter filled the hallway belo
w. Heavy footsteps walked past the stairs and into a room at the back of the house.

“What do ya suppose he’ll do with ‘im?” someone snorted.

“Haven’t a clue. Probably experiments,” another voice laughed.

“Ya reckon? He deserves it anyway. That boy was always a troublemaker. Could never get me hands on ‘im in No Mans Land. Slippery little one that.”

“Go up and check on him will ya! Make sure he hasn’t wriggled out of this one.”

Steps pounded towards the stairs. The room was bare, there was nowhere to hide. She scrambled for the door at the other side of the hall and rattled the handle. It was locked. She squealed on reflex.

“Crying like a girl eh Boy!” a voice laughed, nearing the top of the stairs.

Suddenly the door in front of Violet opened. A hand dragged her inside the room just as the Watcher stepped onto the landing. Heavy steps walked down the hall outside as Violet took in her rescuer, a dark haired lady. The
woman signalled for Violet to climb into an old wardrobe in the corner of the room. She did as instructed without question or sound.

“I definitely heard a squeal but he’s still asleep up here,” the Watcher shouted to his friend downstairs.

“How stupid are you ya twit! Go check on your one. Make sure she’s not up to no good,” roared the reply.

Violet’s heart pounded in the darkness as the room door creaked open.

“What are you playing at in here?” the Watcher scowled.

“Cards,” the woma
n coolly replied. 

“Mind if I join? Would like to give you a good beatin.”

“Of course I mind!”

“Oh ya cheeky,” the Watcher said, surging into the room, “I’ll smash your pretty little face in two.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the woman replied, her voice still even, “do you want me to report you to the Archers?”

“You…” the Watcher growled.

“What,” the woman replied, “you think I wouldn’t do it?”

The door slammed as the Watcher thundered back downstairs.

“One of these days,” he roared up from below.

The dark haired lady chuckled.

Violet remained in her hiding place. She wasn’t afraid of the woman; she was in awe of her bravery, but for some reason she felt she should wait until asked to leave.

“You can come out now.”

Gently she pushed the door of the wardrobe so it swung open gradually revealing the room. The interior was a complete contrast to the rest of the house. It was lit in candles, which cast warm flickers of light and shadow across the ornate wallpaper. The room was full of rich reds and deep woody browns just like the Archer’s shop. She stepped out onto the lavish carpet and her feet sunk into it. Beautiful paintings of seascapes and countrysides in gold gilded frames decorated the walls. All of them were wild and full of life like the artists was trying to paint freedom. The room was homely and safe.

“Have a seat young lady,” the woman said, gesturing to a chair by an antique wooden table.

The woman was like a Queen or a Princess. Violet climbed the chair, her legs dangled over the ornate edge resting a little from the floor.

“So what brings you here?”

What could she say? She stared blankly at her host. The woman’s face was cast in shadow highlighting her delicate features. She was maybe the most beautiful woman Violet had ever seen. She was old though, probably as old as her mother and her hair was long, as long as Violet wished hers to be. It fell down the back of the chair and sat like a jet black veil on the floor. Her face was pale and her large eyes were green, as green as the grass in spring. If ever the word beautiful fit a person, it fitted this woman. Violet wished for a minute she could be just like her.

“Are you okay, has the cat got your tongue young lady?”

“Is there a cat?”

“Oh no it’s only an expression,” the woman smiled gently.

Violet shifted awkwardly in the chair.

“Are you in trouble?”

Should she tell this woman? She wasn’t afraid of her. Could she trust her? She needed a friend.

“Kind of,” she answered, “well I’m kind of in trouble but my friend Boy is in big trouble.”

“Boy?”

“Yes, I know,” Violet smiled, “he’s from No Mans Land. He says that’s his name.”

“Oh! Where is he now?”

“He’s next door in the room. He’s chained and has a collar on his neck. I’m trying to free him so we can go and find my father.”

“Is your father in trouble too?”

“Yes. Well I think so. I think the Archers have him and are making him do some sort of experiments.”

The woman’s face changed. She turned and walked to the window that overlooked the estate. She didn’t speak for a while. Unsure whether to break the silence, Violet distracted herself with the writing desk beside her where there was a letter half written. It wasn’t right to read it...

Dear Boys, it started, this is a day like all the others. I sit in my room and cry for all I have lost…

“What is your name young lady?” the woman said sharply.

Violet blushed tearing her eyes away from the letter.

“It’s…it’s Violet,” she stuttered.

“That’s beautiful. You must have wonderful parents to pick such a beautiful name.”

“Em…yes.”

Images of her parents flooded her mind. Her throat tightened.

“You know your father is looking for you,” the lady said mysteriously.

“Have you seen him?”

Violet sat forward.

“No I’m afraid not Violet but I know what it is like to lose your children and he will not rest until he finds you.”

“He didn’t lose me. I lost him.”

“For a parent it’s the same thing Violet. He’ll find you.”

“Did you find yours?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t.

“No,” the lady replied.

Silence flooded the room once more.

“I gave up my family a long time ago Violet but I will
always love them. I know when it is my time I will see them again.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“It’s okay,” the woman smiled, “now don’t you want to free your friend?  The Watchers will be back soon.”

Violet nodded.

“Well then,” the woman said.

Walking to the cabinet she pulled a knife from the depths of a drawer.

“Take this, it should cut through the collar.”

“Will you come with us?”

“No Violet, but I wish you the best of luck.”

“Are you a prisoner?”

“Of sorts.”

“But you’re not chained?”

“Not physically Violet but the world has changed. There is nothing out there for me now. I am happy here.”

“But it’s just a room?”

“It’s my room Violet,” the woman replied abruptly.

“I’m sorry, my Dad would kill me for asking so many questions,” Violet said, as she took the knife from the lady and walked to the door, “Thank you.”

“Violet, I try not to spend too much time at my window but when I do I notice there is always a lot of activity in that house,” she said, pointing across the park, “I think perhaps your father might be there.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, her body suddenly alive again.

The lady nodded and Violet slipped out the door and back across the hall.

CHAPTER 20

Wickham Terrace

Boy was still unconscious when Violet began to saw through the thick leather. Her progress was slow and he was coming round as she cut.

“Ssh,” she whispered, when he started to groan, “It’s me. Violet. I’m going to free you. You have to be quiet. There’s Watchers downstairs.”

Boy slowly opened his eyes and grimaced.

“Do you have to be so rough?” he coughed.

“Do you have to be so ungrateful?”

Chairs scraped across the floor downstairs and Violet increased her pace. Eventually the leather snapped. She helped Boy from the floor. He was a little groggy and wobbled to his feet. They stopped at the corner of the door. Violet checked the hallway.

“Thank you,” she whispered across the hall, as they left the room.

“For what?”

“Not you Boy,” she replied as they slipped quietly along the dark corridor.

The plastic sheeting blustered in the wind masking any noise as the pair climbed through onto the ledge and down the rickety ladder. Once back on solid ground, Violet pulled Boy round the side of the house and they slid onto their honkers by the pebble dashed wall. They sat in silence catching their breath.

“What happened?” Boy finally whispered.

“George Archer caught you. I saw him but there was nothing I could do. I thought maybe if he caught you he might lead me to Dad.”

“So you let him!?”

“Yeah but I rescued you didn’t I?” Violet snapped, “and anyway I think my plan might have worked.”

“Did you find your Dad?”

“No but I met this woman…”

Violet filled Boy in on all that happened while he slept. When he was up to speed, they decided to cross the estate and have a look at the house the woman had pointed to.

“I have a feeling about it,” Violet said, persuading her friend.

Taking care not to be seen the pair ran past the park and crouched down behind the half built wall that surrounded the house. Then, as they had done before, crawled up the clay garden coming to a rest under the main windowsill.

“You have a look,” Violet said, her voice shaking.

“You sure?”

She nodded and Boy lifted his head up over the rim of concrete.

“I can’t remember what your Dad looks like,” he whispered, returning quickly to her side.

“He’s tall for a Dad, has reddish brown hair, wears glasses,” she said, spurting out words to fill in her father.

“Well in that case I think I saw him,” Boy smiled.

“You what…you mean…what do you mean think!?” Violet stammered, quickly peering up over the ledge.

The room beyond the window was different to the others on the estate. Firstly it didn’t have rows of planted eyes. Instead it was filled with glass boxes sitting on top of shiny steel tables. Each box held a small red light and under the light rested a solitary eye. There were about six boxes that hugged the edges of the room. In the centre of the space was another table; this one too was shiny steel and filled with piles of papers that streamed onto the floor. A white board crowded with calculations filled the back wall. To the left of it stood a man in a white coat.

“Dad,” Violet gasped.

It was him. He’d lost weight; his eyes, underlined by half moon shadows, bulged out from sunken cheeks. He looked sad and lonely. Her Dad had always been strong. Anger filled her bones. She wanted to kill the Archers for what they’d done. She was about to knock on the murky glass when something moved in the corner of the room. She ducked down just as Edward Archer walked past inside.

“Edward Archer! He’s in there with my Dad. We have to do something!”

“I don’t know Violet,” Boy said desperately, “I can’t think. It must be the stuff George used to knock me out. My head’s cloudy.”

“Please Boy. We have to get him out.”

“Look, can we get out of here? Just for a bit. If we get some rest we’ll be able to think and come up with a plan. If we rush in now we’ll get caught.”

“No!” Violet snapped a little too loudly.

“Come on. Your Dad’s been there a while, a little longer won’t do any harm. If we go in without a plan we’ll get caught and then who’s going to rescue any of us?”

“No Boy. We have to do something now,” Violet demanded.

“Violet please be quiet. Edward Archer’s just in there.”

“You don’t want me to get my Dad. That’s what wrong with you. Just ‘cause you have no parents…”

“What did you say?”

Violet turned her back on her friend. Boy remained under the sill for a minute then without speaking, crawled down the garden and out onto the road. Violet didn’t look around. She didn’t need Boy. She was fine on her own. Shakily she made her way round the side of the house.

It was weird without him, scarier, but she had to forget her fear. Her Dad needed her. She walked to the back garden and looked at the windows. They all had glass, that plan was a no go. She tiptoed to the other side of the house. There was a narrow pathway separating this home from its neighbours.

The path was pitch black. She felt her way by the wall and about halfway down she came across a door. There was a faint sound over her shoulder. She looked round but couldn’t see anything in the darkness. She was about to grab the handle when she froze. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“Well look what I caught,” a Watcher whispered into her ear.

Violet turned quickly, her heart pounding. His arms rested either side of the doorway blocking her escape. She tried to dash under one but the Watcher was too quick and grabbed her shirt pulling her out onto the path.

“Well won’t I be Mr. Edward’s favourite,” he laughed, shining a torch directly into her eyes.

She kicked and wriggled but couldn’t get free.

“DUCK” somebody suddenly yelled.

It was Boy. Violet quickly ducked dow
n as a large rock whizzed past landing smack on the bridge of the Watcher’s nose. He fell to the ground roaring in pain. Boy grabbed Violet’s hand and they raced down the front garden.

As they reached the park Watchers were emerging from everywhere to give chase. The pair were sprinting through the sleeping plants when Violet tumbled roughly to the ground. One of the creatures had wrapped itself round her leg. Boy tried to pull his friend free but the eyeball wouldn’t let go. The Watchers were almost upon them when he grabbed the stem and ripped. Blood gushed out from the severed vein in all directions. Quickly Boy shoved the plant into his pocket and helped Violet from the grass.

Suddenly a terrifying noise cut through the night like a thousand wailing cats. The once sleeping flowers pulled back their petals and shrieked into the mist. Shaking in a manic frenzy they threw themselves at Boy and Violet as they raced passed. Barely escaping the park, the pair dashed by a large billboard of a happy family marking the entrance to the Ghost Estate. They were now in a world of narrow streets, the Watchers just behind.

“Where are we?” Violet panted.

“We’re in No Mans Land,” Boy said, as they raced down a laneway, “it’s the furthest edges.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” Violet asked breathless as they shot down another alley, the Watchers still on their tail.

“No!”

Suddenly she caught sight of a street sign. Wickham Terrace; she knew the name but from where?

“Down here,” she said.

The Watchers feet pounded just behind the last bend. There was an old shop sign hanging out on the street: “Prescription Optical Makers.”

“In here,” Violet said, forcing open the door.

They closed it gently and rested with their backs to the worn wood as the Watchers darted by outside oblivious to their hiding place.

“Where are we?” Boy whispered.

“I’m not sure,” Violet shrugged, just as a light lit up the shop.

“Who goes there?” someone said from the shadows.

“We don’t mean you any harm,” Violet insisted, “we were being chased and…”

“Where did you get those?” the man croaked, his voice was dusty as if it hadn’t been used in while.

Violet looked at Boy who shrugged.

“Answer me!” the man snapped.

“Where did I get what?” Violet replied, her voice now shaky too.

“Your glasses, where did you get them?”

“I found them.”

“Don’t lie to me girl. Where did you get them?”

“I found them, I promise. They were under my mattress. Here you can have them,” she said, taking the frames from her face and walking with her arm outstretched.

The man moved forward and grabbed the glasses from her grasp.

“How did they get under your mattress?” he said, stepping out from the shadows, “I think you’re telling fibs little girl. The last time I saw these they were in the hands of my brother.”

“You’re…you’re…you’re William Archer,” Violet stammered.

Boy looked at his friend as if she had ten heads.

“And you are?” the man continued.

“Violet, Violet Brown,” she stuttered, “and this is my friend Boy.”