Leave the Last Page (4 page)

ALEX WAS ON THE PHONE SAYING ‘NO' TO A VERY IMPORTANT MAN. It was one of the directors of the company that he had hoped to sign a big deal with.

‘I'm sorry,' said Alex. ‘There's no way I can do that tonight. You see, it's my son – he's gone missing.'

The voice on the other end had little sympathy. ‘It would be advisable for you to make the dinner with the chairman, but if you think you really can't, at the very least you need to be at our London office in the morning to go through the other issues in the contract.'

‘Can't the contract be forwarded to me? Perhaps I could get it back to you in a day or two? In person if necessary.'

‘
If
necessary? I thought you understood the size and scale of what we were offering your business, Mr Holliday.'

‘It's just my son-'

‘Yes, he's missing, you said. And for how long? Less than a day? Eight hours or so? That's hardly an emergency yet. This deal can't wait.'

Alex tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible. ‘Then I'll certainly do all I can to be there in the morning.' After the call was finished, he threw the handset across the room onto the armchair then rubbed at his eyes.

Charlotte brought him a cup of tea.

‘Where are they, Charlie?'

She sat by him. ‘I wish I knew. She wouldn't hurt him, Alex, so until we know differently we've got to believe he's safe.'

‘I don't care what the
experts
said, someone had to be carrying him away from the home. If not my mum then someone with her. They couldn't have been his footprints.'

‘Perhaps they carried him between them, and that's why there wasn't a lot of extra pressure in the prints. She was probably getting him away from danger. She'll be looking out for him.'

‘She better be. Why hasn't she rung?'

Charlotte didn't have the answer. She sipped her tea. ‘That call just then didn't seem to go too well.'

‘It'll be fine. They wanted me to be at some dinner tonight but I told them no. They need me in London tomorrow morning though.'

‘You'll have to go.'

Alex shook his head. ‘I'm not going if Tom isn't home. I've made him second best too many times lately. I can't be miles away in case something happens.'

‘Won't the deal be in trouble? You said you needed it.'

Alex flushed pink from the neck upwards. Needing the deal was an understatement – everything was resting on it. But how could he when his family was in jeopardy? ‘Tom needs me more.'

*

They waited and waited for the phone to ring. At five past seven it did. It was Detective Fields. ‘Can you come to Victory Park? By the pavilion. We've found another piece of Tom's story.'

Fifteen minutes later they were in the car park on Victory Road. A police constable greeted them as they got out – their licence plate was written on his hand. ‘I'll escort you to the scene,' he said.

Scene
, thought Alex. The word always sounded so serious when spoken by a police officer.

The park was virtually empty which was uncommon for a summer evening. ‘We're having to evacuate the whole area,' said the constable. ‘Just to be safe.'

‘Safe from what?' asked Charlotte.

The constable looked uncertain. ‘I'll let Detective Fields explain.'

They crossed a football pitch in the direction of the whitewashed pavilion building and the wooded area beyond it. There were a number of officers working in the vicinity, but Benedict Fields was waiting for them on the pavilion steps. He offered his hand. ‘Mr and Mrs Holliday.'

‘Has Tom been here?'

‘We think so. Follow me please.'

They walked around the outside of the pavilion. Before the wooded area started there was a well-maintained garden with gravel paths and sculpted flower beds. In the centre of the garden was a stone fountain.

Or rather, the remains of one.

One of the flowerbeds was completely flooded as the shattered stone had spilled its contents across the gravel and into the soil. The centre-piece, whatever it had been, was in four large chunks in the bowl of the fountain, most of the existing water having been displaced. The pump had been shut off but puddles on one part of the path suggested that it had been shooting up into the air and spraying the gravel for some time after the demolition of the park's decorative feature.

‘What's happened here?' asked Charlotte.

‘I know I keep saying this,' said Fields, ‘But we can't be certain. The emergency services were called to the park for something else. When we got here we found the fountain shattered.' He walked over towards a bench. ‘And more of your son's story here.' They all stared at the empty seat. ‘Like before, we're getting copies of the original. We'll have them shortly, for what it's worth. You really can't see anything in the first part of the story that might give you a clue as to what's happening here?'

‘It's just a story,' said Alex.

‘Hmm. So why does he keep leaving pieces of it?'

Alex hung his head. ‘He's punishing me. For never giving him the time he wanted. For never reading his stories.' When he looked up his eyes were moist. ‘And my mother's helping him.' Charlotte put an arm on his shoulder.

‘That's how it's beginning to look,' said Fields, stroking his beard. ‘We don't think he has been abducted but is doing this of his own free will. We think he'll stay away until he's left you all his story, then his grandmother will bring him home. How long's the story?'

Alex sighed. ‘I've no idea.'

‘He will have filled the notebook,' said Charlotte. ‘He always fills the books, more or less.'

Fields nodded. ‘So if it's the same length as the others you've shown me, we could be at this for some time. However, the main issue now is the vandalism.' He looked down at the statue. ‘I don't know how they're doing it, but they've busted some patio doors and managed to smash this fountain to the point where it's nothing but rubble. That must have taken some force.'

Alex scoffed. ‘So you think a sixty-year-old with a dodgy hip, and a boy who can't even walk can do that?'

‘Until we catch up with them, we've nothing else to go on.' Then Fields gave an involuntary flinch. His eyes dropped to the ground and the others followed his gaze.

A frog was on his shoe. With a small hop it left it and headed towards the flooded flowerbed. Then, from the fountain, others came. Dozens of them, leaving the drying fountain base and heading for the moist cover of fauna.

The three of them backed away and just stared, dumbfounded.

Bizarrely, the frogs didn't make a sound.

Within half a minute they were lost from sight.

‘That,' said Charlotte, ‘Was the strangest thing I've ever seen.'

‘The day we've had,' said Alex, ‘I'm not so sure.' He went to investigate the fountain. ‘What was this in the shape of before it broke? A horse?'

‘Before it was broken,' said Fields, ‘It was a dragon. You might have seen the pub on the corner before you turned into the car park? The Dragon and Key?'

‘Can't say I did.'

The detective's phone buzzed in his pocket. He took a quick call then spoke to the Hollidays. ‘They've got a copy of the new pages for you to look at. If you head back to your car there'll be a constable waiting.'

‘Is that it?' asked Charlotte. ‘We just go back home?'

‘I'll call you tonight to let you know where we're at, but I think I know already what I'll be telling you. We're viewing this now as a prank; a serious prank, but a prank all the same. It doesn't appear that your son is in danger and we expect him to return to you soon. Other than waiting for more bits of story we won't have the resources on this to do much more.'

Alex was stunned. ‘You're not serious? The police are going to pull away from this?'

‘Until they show up and then someone gets charged with the vandalism, yeah, I think this is where this is heading.'

Charlotte stepped forward. ‘You don't sound as if you fully believe it though.'

Fields shrugged. ‘It doesn't really matter what I believe. My superiors believe this case hasn't really got the legs to require such man power, so I wouldn't be surprised if I'm on something else tomorrow. I still will call you tonight, as a courtesy.'

‘
Courtesy?
' said Alex. ‘Oh, well thank you very much. We'll wait with bated breath.'

‘As you will,' said Fields. ‘Read the next bit of the story, and we'll talk later.' He gestured with his arm. ‘And remember what you've seen here, and the name of that pub.'

‘What are you on about?' asked Alex.

‘You've read it already,' said Charlotte.

‘Before they sent it for copying. I think our conversation later will be one worth having. The constable is waiting – he has your pages.'

Alex took his wife's hand and led her away. He just hoped there was something in the story – as the detective seemed to be suggesting – that was going to help them get their boy back.

BEN WALKED BACK TO THE PAVILION WITH HIS COPY OF THE STORY PAGES. He'd given the Hollidays a head start as he felt they had just about seen enough of him for one day. After a couple of minutes he walked to the car park and got the sheets from the waiting constable.

He didn't get in his car though; instead, having checked a particular detail in the story, (
yep, it definitely says frogs
) he went back to the broken fountain.

Once there he knelt down at the flowerbed where the frogs had disappeared into. He brushed through the plants with his fingers looking to see if any one of the little amphibious jumpers was still lingering around. There was nothing – not one. Of course, it had been maybe fifteen minutes since they'd seen them, and if they'd kept moving they could be pretty much anywhere on the park.

But there were dozens of them. Not one had stayed behind?

He strolled around the field to the left of the beds, eyes downwards, to see if there was any sign of a posse of frogs on the march. Nothing.

He went back to the flowerbeds and followed them along the gravel path, using his foot to push aside the plants as he went. Nothing.

Something did catch his eye though, at the far side, right behind the fountain and near to the pavilion. He crouched down for a closer look. Poking up, maybe three inches from the soil, was a cluster of mushrooms. There was nothing unusual in that, except that the domes of the mushrooms each had a pattern that seemed to swirl before his eyes. There were colours in the pattern, like in an oil or petrol spill; rainbow lines that grew then receded, in increasing and decreasing circles.

Not sure those frogs were real
, Ben thought.
Who's to say these are real?

He put out his fingers and touched the top of a mushroom. It disintegrated under the slightest pressure, like it was made of chalky powder. Puffs of dust rose through his splayed fingers, rising up into the air. He leant forward and gave it a sniff. Odourless.

Then he lost his balance and tipped backwards onto the gravel.

And all the lights went out.

*

When he came to, it was under the glare of a bright orange setting sun broken by the dark silhouette of someone leaning over him.

‘Thank goodness you're all right,' said the silhouette. It was a man's voice. ‘I thought you must have suffered a particularly nasty mishap.'

Ben got himself up on his elbows, pushed himself up into a seating position, then unsteadily got to his feet. The man put a hand on his bicep to help him straighten. ‘Thanks,' said Ben. He looked at his watch. He reckoned he'd lost an hour or so. He glanced down at the flowerbed. No multi-coloured mushrooms.

He looked at his assistant. He was a tall, lean man in a black suit. He had a long face – quite a pronounced chin – and slicked back dark hair. It was probably a result of the blood orange sun, but there appeared to be flecks of red in his eyes.

Ben looked around. The park was still empty. ‘Have they opened the park up again? I don't think you're allowed to be here.'

‘Yes, I heard that they'd closed it. Don't worry, I'm just passing through. I just wanted to check that you were okay.'

Ben brushed at his trousers. ‘I've been worse.'

The tall man smiled. ‘Oh ho ho! I'm sure you have, and will be again, no doubt!'

Ben gave a little laugh, but it was entirely fake.
What a strange thing to say
, he thought. It also crossed his mind that it was quite odd to be taking a walk through the park in a very formal black suit.

Of course, what was more concerning was the fact that he'd passed out at one whiff of a fungi that didn't appear to be there anymore.

‘So long then, Detective Fields.' The man headed off in the direction of the pavilion.

‘Yeah, bye.' Ben was already down in a crouch, looking for any lingering evidence in the soil. Then he stared at a fixed point for a second as a thought crossed his mind.
I never told him my name.

Ben stood up and whirled round. The man had got to the other side of the pavilion so Ben had to run around the building to catch up with him. Except that he wasn't there. He'd somehow already left the park. That seemed unlikely as it was a wide open field between here and the car park.
Unless he doubled back and went into the trees
, Ben thought. He turned around and investigated the fringes of the wooded section of the park, but there was no sign of the man in black.

He did hear something though. A low growl.

They had closed the park, not because of the vandalism to the fountain, but because of numerous sightings of wild dogs.
Wolves, one of the kids had said,
thought Ben. The animal handlers had been and gone, but had found nothing.

But there was that growl again.

As the sun disappeared, the light in the sky was fading fast, and it was very gloomy in the trees. You could only see so far in before the darkness became total.

Except for there, between two trunks, twin glints of light flashed briefly, before moving towards him. As they got closer, and flashed again, Ben could see the bared teeth below the bright eyes. The growl became more menacing, interspersed with short, sharp barks.

And then three more sets of eyes emerged from the blackness. The growling came from all sides.

Ben turned and ran.

He was an athletic man, but he knew in his mind that he couldn't outrun dogs –
or wolves
– and instantly regretted his choice. Still, it was the choice he made, and as he heard the snarling behind him, matching his pace, he pushed on as hard as he could.

He'd covered half the field. He anticipated the weight of an animal on his back, or a set of jaws around his calf, but somehow he was staying ahead. His heart seemed to be pumping in his throat. His ears were assaulted by the sound of his own ragged breathing, the pounding of his feet and the growling at his heels.

Still, he was ahead. His car came into view.

He shoved a hand in his inside pocket for his car keys. His step faltered as he lost his rhythm and he almost dropped them to the turf. However, he managed to cling on to them, snagging a finger in the key ring. His car was ever closer. It was side on to him, the passenger side in full view.

But the dogs were close too. He couldn't be sure but he might have felt a snout brush against his leg, a tooth almost catching the fabric. He heard a shout, and then realised he'd done it.

Should he reach the car in time, he was faced with a choice. Enter by the nearest door – but this would involve slowing down considerably and coming to a virtual stop before diving in, all with his back to his pursuers. Or run around the car to the driver's door, taking a few seconds longer but allowing the entry to the car to be a bit more fluid, and giving him a brief opportunity to see what he was up against.

Because was there a small part of him that thought these animals might just disappear? Like the mushrooms? Like the frogs?

Stop running then, Ben, and find out.

No way,
he thought, but he decided he would head to the driver's door, giving him a glimpse of the snarling pack behind him.

The car was yards away. He clicked the lock open with the keys. He swerved to the left to avoid the bonnet, then took a sharp right and reached for the door handle.

They were real. One followed him around the bonnet, another leapt and took the route over the roof, exposed yellow teeth bared and aiming in the direction of Ben's head.

He wrenched the door open, ducked and threw himself inside, just as a wolf –
they were definitely wolves
– flew over the top of the roof and landed in the spot where he had just been. It collided with the one that had been directly following him. Then they both pressed their faces against the driver's window, just as he got the door closed. Saliva splattered the glass. The growling and howling was still loud, even inside the car.

A third, then a fourth beast hit the car from the passenger side. It rocked a little under the impact. His hand shaking, Ben managed to put the key in the ignition.

He revved hard. The roaring engine sent the animals back a few feet. He put it into gear, released the hand brake and pushed down the accelerator, causing the wheels to spin against the tarmac as he set off. His was the only car parked, so he was able to leave at some speed, quickly manoeuvring the steering wheel to get through the exit gate.

Then he slammed on his brakes.

There was nothing to be seen in his rear view mirror. He could see the entire car park and it was deserted. But then he looked at the passenger window. Saliva still ran down the glass.

He took a deep breath then carefully opened the car door. He slowly slipped out, eyes peeled for a second attack. When he felt it was clear he afforded a glance at the side of his car. There were definite dints and scratches, claw marks in the paintwork.

What on earth is going on?
he thought.

There was another howl. His body tensed. On the fringes of the car park, stood on the grass, was a lone wolf, its face pointing up to the dark. Then it dropped its head and locked eyes on Ben.

Then it just disappeared.

Not
‘running off'
disappeared, but actually winking out of existence, like someone flicked a switch.

Dumbfounded, Ben got back into the car and drove away.

*

He didn't go very far. He parked outside of the pub, and stared up at the swinging sign for the Dragon and Key. It portrayed the image of a smiling red dragon with a large gold key on a chain around its neck.

The kid must have seen this,
he thought.
He must have put it in his story, having liked the look of this sign.
But that was the only thing he could give a rational explanation for. Everything else was totally illogical and unbelievable.

This wasn't a prank. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that much at least. But what was he going to tell his superiors? Wolves from a story chased him and then just disappeared in front of his eyes, but by the way, take a look at the scratches on the side of the car?

He couldn't tell them anything. He had to let them take him off it and pass it to someone else. The best thing to do would be to walk away from it completely.

Maybe
, he thought.

He looked at his watch. He needed to get home, and make sure Dan was alright. He'd left him alone, having asked his neighbour just to keep an eye open.
So much for spending some quality time with him.
He decided to ring him and tell him he was on his way.

He had a missed call on his phone. From his father.
Dad never rings
, he thought.

He called back.

‘Jimmy Fields.'

‘Hi Dad, it's Benedict.' He had to use his full name with his father otherwise he got told off, even at the age of 36.

‘Oh, hi son. How are you?'

‘I'm fine, Dad.' A lie, of course. ‘What's up?'

‘Nothing, nothing's up. I just thought I'd call and see how you were.'

Jimmy Fields never called anyone just to see how they were. He had always been a practical, no-nonsense man who had spent most of his working life driving lorries, long distance. When he wasn't doing that he had always been at the gym, pounding a punch bag or sparring with willing partners. Talking was never his strong point, not if he could get his point across with a gloved fist. Even now, with the boxing gone and near the end of his working career – driving buses for the last couple of years – he wasn't one for small talk and polite conversation. Ben was a little taken aback at receiving a call. ‘Everything's okay, Dad. Busy with work as usual.'

‘And Daniel?'

‘Dan's good. He's with me this week so I'm hoping to get some time with him, work allowing.'

There was a lengthy pause on the other end.
We've nothing to talk about,
thought Ben. He was as bad as his father for keeping contact. His dad was always at the bottom of a list that he never seemed to get to the end of. He lived less than ten miles away, but he probably saw his dad maybe three times a year. Dan saw his grandfather even less.

‘Been busy in your workshop?' Ben asked, just to break the silence.

‘Not really. You're sure you're fine, Benedict? I just got a…feeling, I guess. Never felt anything like it. I got a bit panicky to be honest. I'm glad you called back.'

That was the most his father had ever said in one go on the telephone. ‘Don't worry about me, Dad. Look, I can't promise, with work and everything, but I'll try and get round to see you with Dan this week.'

‘Daniel,' Jimmy corrected.

‘Daniel.'
But you've never been ‘James' though, have you, Dad? Hypocrite.
He didn't say it though. ‘I'll talk to you in a day or two, Dad.'

‘That would be…good. Thanks, Benedict.'

Ben wrapped up the call but then kept staring at his phone. This day was getting weirder and weirder.

*

When Ben got home, Dan was in his room playing a game on the internet. It was a gloomy space, the only light coming from a reading lamp and the laptop screen. The walls were painted cream but you couldn't see any of them due to the posters tacked on every available surface. They displayed images of rock bands, movie stars and fantasy characters.

Dan was sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard. He looked up from the screen briefly to acknowledge his dad.

‘Have you eaten?' asked Ben.

Dan pointed to a plate that had some pizza crusts on it.

Ben picked it up and then leant on one of the walls, overlooking what was taking place on the laptop. It was a game set in some fantasy world; no doubt Dan was playing against other similarly serious-looking teens in other dark bedrooms all around the world. Dan rolled some virtual dice on the screen.

‘I remember when you played games with real dice, of all different shapes and sizes.'