Leave the Last Page (6 page)

ALEX PUSHED HIS PHONE AWAY FROM HIM, DEFEATED.

He was sat in the kitchen, still in the clothes he had worn the previous day. He'd managed a couple of hours' sleep on the couch but nothing more. Weak sunshine seeped through the blinds; it was half past eight in the morning. He could hear Charlotte in the living room on the house phone, talking to hospitals and hostels, anywhere where their son and Alex's mother might have turned up last night.

Alex had been having different phone conversations though. He'd spent the last forty minutes trying to salvage the business deals that were now slipping through his fingers like sand. He had refused to commit to any meetings today, let alone drive to London. Of course, there were other small companies that offered what he did, and now their product looked more appealing to the buyers. It meant that one by one the offers were falling away.

In a make or break week for his company, it was pretty much in pieces already. It was only Thursday.

What he hadn't told Charlie though was the scale of the investment he had put into the business. He gazed around his kitchen and wondered whether they'd be able to afford to live here in two months' time.

None of that mattered though. All that mattered was getting Tom back.

There was a knock at the door. Charlotte answered, but Alex knew before he heard the voices who it would be. Fields said he would be around bright and early and he was true to his word. The police were treating it as a runaway situation and a vandalism case, and therefore not worth the time of a detective, particularly as there was an adult member of the family involved and nobody appeared to be in peril.

And yet here he was.

Charlotte and Detective Fields joined Alex in the kitchen.

‘Ben's here,' said Charlotte.

‘I heard. Morning.'
Ben? Calling him by his first name now, are we? I suppose he's not our detective any more.
‘How do you think you can help us if we're not a case worthy of official police time?'

‘I've taken a couple days' holiday. They let me do it as I was in between cases. I'm going to help you find Tom and Patty.'

‘That's great, but why?'

Ben was holding the pages of Tom's story. ‘I want to show you something. It was my son, Daniel, that put me on to this. I can't get him off his computer and the internet, but for once it came in useful.' He pointed to the slight oval smudge on the first page of the story. ‘See this? I know what did it. Your grandmother, Aisling Cleary, put her lips to the paper, but of course we knew that yesterday afternoon. What I've learnt since is that it was her last breath that she put into the page.'

Alex was sceptical. ‘How can you possibly know that?'

‘Daniel showed me a website last night:
lastbreath.com
. It subscribes to the theory – a theory I didn't know even existed – that the final breath a person has contains a power that is very rarely channelled. In the past it's been documented that if a person passed peacefully, observers felt that they could almost sense the deceased moving forward to heaven. More likely is that the final moment is the power of the last breath entering the room and then dissipating.'

‘You expect me to believe that?' said Alex. ‘What evidence is there?'

‘The website had some case studies. One man in Colombia expelled his last breath via a kiss into his wife. The cancer she had that was efficiently killing her disappeared overnight. Another, a lady in Spain, blew onto the crucifix on her rosary beads and the metal has been too hot to touch ever since. A Russian boy was lying on one of his stuffed toys when he died; a cat I believe. Seems the toy came to life; the cat stayed with the family for twenty years.'

‘That is absolutely ridiculous. Are you listening to this rubbish, Charlotte?'

‘I am, Alex. What makes you believe in this so much, Ben?'

‘There was another case study. A fellow in Ireland. Died with paper over his mouth, paper he'd been writing on. He'd written down all the wishes he had for his family, almost like it was the story he wanted for their lives. And guess what?'

‘All their dreams came true!' exclaimed Alex, mockingly.

‘No,' replied Ben, ignoring the scorn in Alex's tone. ‘Not
their
dreams.
His
wishes. They weren't all pleasant either. Some had nice things happen to them, financially, health-wise and such. A couple of others met untimely ends.'

‘In accordance with his wishes,' said Charlotte.

Ben nodded. ‘That's some last will and testament. Your grandmother was Irish, right?'

Alex threw up his arms. ‘Oh I see! So she must have heard about this, is that it?' He turned his back on the others and stared out of the window.

Ben continued, undeterred. ‘I believe that your mother, knowing that your grandmother had moments left, arranged for her to breathe her last against the first page of your son's story. It could have been either one's idea, that I don't know, but what is clear is that the events in your son's story
are
happening. Patty and Tom aren't making it happen – the tale is coming to life.'

‘Giving our Tom the adventure he craves,' added Charlotte.

Alex turned round. ‘I see the parallels, yes. The broken fountain, other things, whatever. But my mother's doing that, surely?'

‘Your mother didn't make us see those frogs yesterday-'

‘-Coincidence-'

‘-And your mother didn't arrange for me to be chased by a pack of wolves last night, either. They disappeared in front of my eyes, but not before leaving dints and scratches on my car. Go outside and have a look if you like. I think if they had caught me they would have killed me. These story pages, Tom is leaving them on purpose. For you two. They're his postcards. Helping you keep up with what he's doing. We need to study what we've got and look out for the next one. Hopefully we can catch up with them soon.'

Alex turned to Charlotte. ‘Do you buy all this?'

She shrugged. ‘What other option do we have?'

Alex looked at Ben. ‘So why do you want to help us so much?'

Ben took a moment's thought before answering. ‘I have a son too. He isn't missing like yours, but sometimes he might as well be. He lives with his mum most of the time which doesn't make things any easier. Your Tom's story is the first thing we've shared in a long time, and to be honest, seeing how interested he was in it made my week. He wants to see how this plays out as much as I do.'

‘I'm glad you're finding something positive out of our trauma,' said Alex bitterly.

‘Alex, enough,' said Charlotte. ‘Ben, I am glad, because it means you're helping us when you didn't have to. We need all the help we can get.' Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can't believe it's not even been a full day yet. I miss him so much.'

Alex went to Charlotte and gave her a hug. He looked over her shoulder at Ben. ‘Sorry, detective. Your help is appreciated.'

‘It's Ben, please. I'm off duty, remember. I've got some ideas from Tom's story that I think we might look at. Do you have a computer with internet access?'

*

Ten minutes later they were all sat around Alex's laptop ready to look up key words from the pages in a search engine. ‘The Dragon and Key pub got me thinking. Would Tom have ever seen that name or sign before?'

‘I doubt it,' said Charlotte. ‘I don't think I've ever taken him there. The park I mean, not the pub.'

Ben nodded. ‘That's what I thought. He couldn't have known about it to put it in his story. So how did that happen? Sheer coincidence? Not likely.'

‘None of this is likely,' said Alex, but he wasn't complaining, just stating a fact.

‘Now, that pub is on Tarleton Street. If I searched for it yesterday, I'm sure there would have been some reference on the web to the Dragon and Key. Today though…' He typed the information into the laptop, but there were no search matches found. ‘If I alter it a little…' He deleted the “
and key
” section from the search.

They found a pub on Tarleton Street. It was called the Red Dragon. A photo showed it to be in the precise location as the one they were looking for.

‘How is that possible?' asked Charlotte.

‘And look at this,' said Ben. He searched for the park itself. He found a site that had a number of photographs, including one of the fountain itself. ‘When you asked me yesterday, Alex, was it a horse statue that was damaged I told you it was a dragon. It was broken but I saw a dragon head piece and a stone wing with my own eyes. But look.' The fountain of the photograph was in the shape of a horse rearing up on its hind legs out of some waves. ‘I wonder if it had already started to change back when you turned up. You saw bits of horse where I had previously seen dragon.'

‘That's…amazing.' Alex looked closely at the image. It was definitely the same park.

Ben continued. ‘The story gave us frogs and wolves, and they were there, but they disappeared as the effect of the story faded. The Red Dragon pub and this horse fountain changed, perhaps only for those of us involved, for the time that it mattered. But I bet if we go back this lunchtime, it won't be The Dragon and Key that's open for business.'

‘It'll be back to the Red Dragon,' added Charlotte.

‘Exactly. Problem is, we're a few steps behind, and we're only getting a, a
residue
of the story, rather than the full effect. But looking at where his pages end, and what might be to come, I wonder about this.' He pointed to a phrase in Tom's story from the last paragraph:
Summerbridge volcano.
‘I don't imagine for one second that we've suddenly got a volcano in town, but maybe that name…'

He entered the word Summerbridge in combination with the various districts of the town and the surrounding area. It wasn't too long before he got a match. Charlotte read the screen from over Ben's shoulder. ‘Summerbridge Mill.'

‘I know that area a little,' said Ben. ‘It was once a busy paper mill but it's been out of action for a couple of years. There are plenty of empty warehouse properties around there too.'

‘Perfect place to bed down for the night, maybe?' asked Alex.

‘That's just what I was thinking, and it won't hurt to look,' replied Ben. ‘Particularly as I know for a fact that before yesterday that mill was called
Sundbury Mill
and had been for at least thirty years. I knew of it when I was a kid.'

‘And I bet it'll be Sundbury Mill tomorrow too…' As unbelievable as all this was, Alex couldn't deny the evidence that was mounting up in front of his eyes. His earlier scepticism left him and all he saw now was a plan of action that might lead to his son and his mother.

He stood up taller and made a grab for his car keys. ‘So what are we waiting for?'

TOM WOKE UP ALONE.

He was wrapped up in the dust sheet, but his grandma wasn't beside him. He sat up and quickly scanned the room. Daylight came through the dirty windows in irregular streaks, but it was enough to see all sides of the long room they'd slept in. It was bare and grimy, and apart from doors, pipework, lose cable snaking around and broken pallets shoved in corners, there wasn't much to look at. There certainly wasn't another living soul in there with him.

He jumped to his feet.

Or rather, he tried to. He pushed up with his hands and his brain sent a command to his lower legs to fold up under him so that he could spring up in a second. Except that the legs wouldn't do as they were instructed. They moved slightly, slowly, but not in the manner he'd come to enjoy the day before. With some effort he got his feet flat on the floor and was able to balance his body sufficiently well to allow himself to ease himself up and stand.

But that was pretty much it. He tried to stride, and barely managed a shuffle.

Adventure's over then,
he thought.
Back to square one.

He shouted for his grandma.

Two minutes later Patty came into the room from a doorway behind him. She had a large bottle of water in her hands. ‘Sorry, dear. Just nipped out to the shop for a few bits and bobs. You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you. Have you been up long?'

‘Grandma, my legs aren't working properly!' He demonstrated a brief shamble of about a yard. ‘I can't run.'

‘Curious,' she said as she strode towards him. ‘Remember, you couldn't do that much twenty-four hours ago, so don't be downhearted. Perhaps it's just because you've been asleep. Here: take my stick.'

He accepted the walking stick and leant his weight against it. He used the extra support to lift his feet alternately. ‘Maybe it is because I just woke up. Is that the same for everybody?'

‘Well, it is for me, but I've got a dodgy hip. Give it time. Come to think of it, I didn't need the stick much yesterday, but this morning I've been aching.'

‘Do you want it back?'

‘No, don't be silly, I'll manage.'

While he was waiting to see if his legs warmed up, he inspected his grandmother's stick. She really had decorated almost all of its surface. ‘Hey, there's a sticker here says
Green Day
. We have that in school every year – we bring in tons of stuff for recycling.'

‘It isn't the same thing, dearie. They're an American punk rock band.'

‘Oh, I see. Okay. Hey look, you must be right!' He twirled a foot around. ‘It's all coming back!'

Then there was the sound of clicking and electrical humming, and all the lights came on. Tom looked up. Florescent tube lights hung from the high ceiling on rusty chains. He had to pull his eyes away as they burned brighter than he expected.

‘Why would the power just come on…' muttered Grandma Patty.

Then one of the lights fell to the ground and landed just behind them. The noise was ear-splitting as the tube shattered and the casing and chain clattered. The two of them jumped forward and yelped. Tom rolled on the floor then sprang athletically to his feet. He stared down at them, amazed at the speed with which they had found full life again.

Then another light fell. Then another.

‘Let's get out of here!' shouted Grandma Patty. The door she'd come from was furthest away, so they headed to one on the nearest wall, leading deeper into the building.

Lights popped and exploded all around them. The air fizzed with electricity.

Tom got to the door first. Thankfully it wasn't locked. He waited the extra couple of seconds for his grandma to catch up, and then they burst through the entryway together, slamming the door behind them.

They found themselves in a similar room to the one they had just left, although he was relieved to see that the lights were behaving normally. As he looked to the far side though, he could see a major difference. In bright yellow paint, across the back wall, someone had sprayed the words
Life's a Beach!
in five-foot high letters.

Wooden pallets had been used to make a rickety structure that loosely resembled a shed.

Or a hut?
he thought.

And from the right-hand corner of the room, a dishevelled man lurched towards them.

He wore what looked like army fatigues but they were tattered and bedraggled, hanging off him in strips in places. His face was blotchy and pink. He had a bulbous nose, busted blood vessels running through it.

‘He's just a tramp,' said Grandma Patty, but she took her stick back from Tom and raised it so it rested against her shoulder. ‘Hello, friend!'

As he got closer they could see his red-rimmed eyes, and mucus encrusted in his stubbly top lip.

And the large hammer in his right hand.

He groaned and grumbled as he approached. Tom couldn't make out the words, but he certainly wasn't welcoming them into his life. As he lifted the hammer, Tom's heart began to pound. His mind made a quick leap to his story, and he tried to reassure himself that George and Helena didn't get hurt so that meant that they'd be okay.

The tramp had reached Grandma. He didn't attempt to speak to her but just swung away. Patty sidestepped to her left, twirled her stick around and struck the man in his lower back. He gave a howl and span around on one heel, rather inelegantly, so that he faced her again.

The hammer hand moved through the air.

This time the head of the hammer caught Grandma Patty flush on her elbow, causing her to drop her stick. She cried out and stumbled backwards, her left hand reaching for the injured joint.

He hit her!
thought Tom.
She's hurt! It can happen!

She winced as she tended to her elbow. The tramp laughed and shuffled towards her, arm raised once more.

Tom charged forward and tackled the tramp at the waist. Caught off guard, he lost his footing and they both went sprawling on the warehouse floor. With a grunt the tramp pushed Tom off him with his free hand. He still grasped the hammer in the other. He muttered something offensive about kids.

Tom got to his feet and rejoined Grandma Patty. She'd regained her composure, and her stick, although her injured arm hung limply by her side. She shouted to the tramp. ‘We don't want any trouble! We're going to leave now!'

He uncrumpled himself from the floor, standing as tall as he could.

And then he got taller.

Tom couldn't believe what he was seeing. As the tramp laughed at them, and flexed and stretched, he grew bigger. Six feet. Seven feet tall. He wasn't stopping either.

Neither were Patty and Tom. They turned to run.

Another giant tramp blocked their path. This one was stick thin and gaunt in the face; even at eight feet tall he wasn't wider than Patty. But he was terrifying. He opened his mouth wide to reveal yellow and broken teeth. He yelled out: ‘My beach! My beach!'

He pushed past Patty and Tom and headed straight for the other tramp. They slammed into each other, like starved sumo wrestlers. Despite the height of the ceiling their heads were now nearly touching the top. As they rocked back and forth they smashed into the hanging fluorescents, sending more lights crashing to the floor.

Tom and Patty tried to navigate a safe path to a door and their escape, but exploding lights, live electric wires and the outstretched legs of battling giants always seemed to block their path.

Then they saw the skeletal tramp swing his fist. It crunched into the temple of the other, sending him flying into a wall, rocking the very structure of the building. The air filled with dust as almost every surface seemed agitated by the impact. It made it virtually impossible to see.

Once it had cleared, Tom looked around swiftly. The stricken giant tramp had disappeared; only the thinner, second one remained. He had to stoop to fit in the room. He stared down at Patty and Tom. ‘My beach!' he bellowed, prodding himself in the chest with a bony finger.

Then he reached out towards them. He'd got so big that he could easily get his hands around the pair if they allowed themselves to be caught. His size was making it awkward for him to move with any speed, but they didn't stand a chance if he reached them. Tom wondered whether they would just disappear too if they met their doom in this story world he had created.

And then I'd never see Mum and Dad again.

‘What are we going to do, Grandma?' he yelled.

‘This one's on you, dearie! My arm's too sore!' With her good arm she took her stick and looped the curve around one of the loose live cables on the floor. As she lifted it and the exposed edge dragged along the floor, sparks flicked and spat.

Grandma Patty held it up in Tom's direction. ‘Be very careful!' she said. ‘You know what to do. Be quick!'

‘Electric eels?' Tom asked.

‘Electric eels!'

Tom took the cable in his hands, being very careful to keep the dangerous end away from him. The giant was almost upon them. It stooped so that its face was the closest thing to them. It grinned. The teeth were the size of stained and chipped coffee mugs. It opened its mouth as if to bite them.

Tom froze, cable in his hand.
I'm not a hero!
he thought.

The face leaned in. He could smell its rancid breath. The jaws loomed closer.

Then liquid shot into its mouth and nose. Tom turned to Grandma Patty. She was squeezing the water bottle she bought earlier into the giant tramp's face. ‘Now, Tom!' she screamed.

He thrust the cable forward, just as the soaked and shrivelled lips closed tight. The giant bit down on the live wires. The yellowy eyes opened as wide as serving platters and bulged a little. Smoke billowed out of the cavernous nostrils, as its whole body began to shake.

With a squeal the tramp pulled himself back. As he fell away he started to shrink so that he no longer filled the room. By the time he had staggered back to the other side he had reduced down to normal man size.

Then when he hit the far wall he exploded in a cloud of ash. His outline was left in black against the breeze blocks, like a giant-sized toilet sign.

Tom expelled a huge breath and put his hands on his knees.

Drops of water flicked on his neck. He turned to Grandma Patty, who was waving the empty bottle in his direction. ‘Good work, dearie. You've just taken down your first monster!'

‘Thanks. How's your elbow?'

She showed him the joint, already swollen and purple. ‘Sore enough. The rascal caught me good. I'm getting slow in my old age.'

Tom went over and gave his Grandma Patty a hug. ‘You're not old; you're just experienced!'

‘Let's just hope we don't get an experience like that one again! Thank you, Sunshine.'

They decided it was probably a good idea to leave the warehouse considering the ruckus they'd just made. It was a little way out of town, but no doubt news of the disturbance would bring some unwelcome attention.

A part of Tom then thought about whether or not they should just stay put.
If I waited here I bet Mum and Dad would be along soon enough.

He mentioned it to Grandma Patty. ‘That was scary, wasn't it? I'd understand if you felt you'd had enough adventure. My only worry is about your story though.'

‘What do you mean?'

She put a reassuring hand on his knee. ‘It's out there now, whether we like it or not. Sometimes it fades a little, sometimes it's right in your face – literally! But I don't think it'll finish until we finish it. And I take it there's some more weird and creepy things ahead, not to mention this Kildark fellow?'

‘Oh yeah; it gets pretty hairy! I think!' He was finding that it was difficult to remember exactly.

‘Then I think we've got to keep going.' She rubbed at his leg. ‘That way
you
can keep going.'

He knew what she meant. His legs had become sluggish and unresponsive because the story had faded away for a few hours. He imagined that if he'd tried to get up in the middle of the night for a pee then his lower half wouldn't have moved at all. But when the warehouse came to life – when the story came to life – so too did his legs.

No. He wasn't done with that particular adventure yet. He wiggled his toes in his trainers. Not at all.

He picked up his notebook and removed the pages that he'd torn out last night, the pages that told his eleven-year-old version of the events that they'd just lived through.

‘Wasn't quite the same as I wrote it, was it?'

Grandma Patty rubbed her elbow. ‘You're not wrong there. I think we can safely say we can get seriously hurt, or worse, even if George and Helena don't.' She took a deep breath. ‘Are you ready for that?'

Tom nodded. He slipped the pages behind a thin copper pipe that ran up the wall, so that it was secure but visible.
You'll not believe it, Dad,
he thought.

‘I'm ready to go,' he told his Grandma.

*

The man in the black suit watched the boy and his grandmother leave the warehouse. He sat in his car, across the road from the broken window they used to exit the building.

Something was compelling him to go and confront them, to goad them a little, to tell them that there was more than just the spirits of homeless men that he'd turned into monsters lying in wait for them. He had the old woman's necklace and he wasn't for giving it back, so their path wasn't going to get any easier.

But he chose to stay in his car. He fought the urge to vacate his seat. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he put it down to being stubborn. The idea to provoke and annoy them seemed to come from somewhere other than his own mind, and he didn't like that. Something made him feel that if he followed every impulse he had, there was a chance that he would be dancing to somebody else's tune, that someone else would be operating the strings of this puppet show. And that he didn't like. Not one bit.