The Black Room (19 page)

“Shhhh,” he murmured again. And then, “Out.”

He began to back away, toward the trapdoor, holding his hands out for her to follow him. She edged forward suspiciously, stopping after each step, and Tom slowed down to keep pace with her, holding his breath as they reached the opening.

She put her head back and looked up, and he heard her sniff again. And then stop, as she caught Robert's scent. She was breathing very fast now, and Tom could feel how tense she was.

He moved beyond the opening and gestured up at it, to show that she was free to go up on her own. But she clearly didn't understand what he meant. She looked across at him and then copied his gesture, watching her own hand. Frowning as she tried to puzzle it out.

“I think we're going to have to lift her up,” Tom said softly. “Can you manage that, Robbo?”

Robert's head appeared in the space, blocking out most of the light. The girl tensed and shrank away, and Tom thought she was going to scuttle back to her corner.

“Shhh,” he said soothingly.

“Come on,” Robert said. He reached his long arms down into the space. “We only want you to come out.”

The girl put a hand over her mouth again. “Out,” she said between her fingers. And then, “Where everybody knows your name.”

She stood up and reached through the hole, wrapping her other arm around Robert's neck impersonally, as if he were a piece of furniture.

“You'll have to help, Tosh,” Robert muttered. “It's really awkward.”

Tom put his arms around the girl's legs and hoisted her up. Her body felt soft and thick, but all the bulk came from layers of clothes. Underneath them, her body was as light and fragile as a bird's under its feathers.

As soon as her head was through the conservatory floor, she went rigid. Tom felt her legs stiffen, and she began to dart her head from side to side, making small whimpering noises.

“Out,” he said quickly. “Shhh, shhh. Be quiet, please. Out.”

The television was loud enough to stop her voice from being heard beyond the conservatory, but the whimpering sounds went on and on.

“What's upset her?” Tom hissed, frustrated because he couldn't see properly.

“I don't know. Let's get her out as fast as we can.”

Robert hauled her up, almost roughly, and sat her on the edge of the hole, and Tom scrambled out behind her. She had a hand jammed over her mouth, but she was still whimpering. And each time she made a sound, she clenched her other hand into a loose fist and smacked it hard against her cheek.

“We can't do it,” Robert said. “Look at her. We can't take her out of here.”

“What are we supposed to do? Leave her?” Tom shook his head fiercely.
“We
didn't do this to her, Robbo. It's because she's been down in that hole. We've got to rescue her.”

“But she can't understand. She's not—”

The girl's head was still going from side to side, peering around the dark conservatory. Suddenly, she put her hands to the ground and scuttled across to the television, on all fours. The moment its light hit her face, she relaxed and held her hands out toward it.

And suddenly Tom knew what she wanted. “Give me the flashlight, Robbo.”

“But it's dangerous—”

“Hand it over.” Tom clicked his fingers. “Don't you see? She's not used to being in the dark up here. This is the light place.” He took the flashlight and turned it on, aiming it down at the floor, just in front of the television.

The girl froze, her eyes on the pool of light.

“Careful,” Robert whispered. “Don't startle her.”

Slowly, Tom moved the flashlight beam across the floor and up the front of the television. The girl's face was transformed. She stared at the moving light with an expression of wonder, as if it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Well done,” Robert muttered. “What happens if you try moving? Can we get her out of here?”

Step by step, Tom backed toward the door, circling the light in slow, regular loops. The girl followed him, still crawling, until he reached the door. Then he stopped, and she levered herself up onto her feet and began to move one hand around, imitating what he had been doing. She stood awkwardly, but she was quite steady.

After a moment or two, he started circling the flashlight again, and she copied him exactly, watching the patterns that the light made on the floor and mirroring his movements.

Without turning around, Tom reached behind him and opened the door. He stepped out backward, into the garden, and the girl whimpered again, holding her hands out to the flashlight.

“Shhh!” Tom said.

His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, because he was nervous. Immediately, her fist went up to her face, punching harder than before, so that she flinched sideways from her own blow.

“What are we going to do?” Robert whispered. “Maybe she's never been out. Maybe it's too frightening.”

Tom took a few more steps backward, looping the flashlight around and around so that the beam made curlicues on the grass. The girl hovered in the doorway, with one hand held out toward him. He could see her whole body trembling. She wanted to come after him. There was no doubt about that. But she was obviously terrified.

He held out the flashlight, offering it to her, and she stretched out her hand to take it, but she was too far away. She gave a little moan and then jammed the other hand over her mouth again.

“Dohfuss,” she muttered into it. To herself. “Dohfuss.”

“I can't bear this,” Robert said suddenly. “Let's just do it. Get out of the way, Tosh. I'm going to take her and go.”

Without giving her any warning, he came up behind her and scooped her into his arms, going straight out through the conservatory door. She squirmed and pushed at his chest, but he was much stronger than she was.

“Shhh!” Tom said desperately. “Shhh!”

She was making louder noises now, but they were still stifled by her hand. Robert began moving toward the side gate, and Tom went to open it for him.

They were almost there when there was a small click, very loud in the silence. The kitchen door opened suddenly, and Warren was there, staring out at them.

“What are you doing,” he said.

24

FOR A SECOND THEY WERE ALL STILL, EXCEPT FOR THE GIRL, squirming in Robert's arms. The kitchen behind Warren was dark and empty, and he was hovering on the door-step, gazing out at them in horror.

Then Robert said, “We're taking her away.”

Warren shook his head frantically. “You can‘t,” he whispered. “You mustn't.”

“Don't worry,” said Tom. “We'll make sure she's safe.”

“You can‘t,” Warren said again. “You've got to put her back.” He came down the kitchen step, into the garden.

Robert backed toward the gate. “Don't try and stop us. Or we'll call the police.”

Warren looked accusingly at Tom. “I thought you only wanted the computer and stuff. I never guessed you knew about Hope. You can't take her—my dad will kill me!”

He was still whispering, but his voice had risen. The girl put her head over Robert's shoulder and looked curiously at him.

“Wonn,” she said. “Wonn. Dohfuss.” And then she laughed. It was a weird, creaking noise. A laugh that went in instead of out, so that it was almost soundless.

“She's
ours.”
Warren took another nervous step forward. “She'll die if you take her away. People won't understand what she's like.”

“She'll die if she stays here,” Robert said angrily. “No one can live in a hole in the ground.”

“She's always lived there. It's her
room.”
Warren was distraught. “If you take her away, the doctors will get her. They'll put her in a hospital and stick tubes into her body.”

“What?”
Robert stared at him.

Tom reached out and gave Robert a push, to keep him moving toward the gate. Then he turned back to Warren. “Did that happen before?” he said.

Warren hung his head. “Hope's
ours,”
he repeated stubbornly. “And she's only safe when she's in her room. You have to put her back.”

“It's not going to happen,” Tom said gently. “No one's going to let you keep her down there. Not now that we know.”

Warren scowled. “I'll call my dad—”

“I don't think you will.”

Tom was pretty sure of that. It would have been the obvious thing to do, right at the beginning. But Warren hadn't done it—and that had to be because he was frightened. He thought all this was his fault. And in one sense, it was.

Tom hammered the point home, just to make sure. “If you call your dad, we'll tell him you let us in.”

Robert took another step toward the gate, trying to sidle away without being noticed. But the girl whined and pushed at his chest to make him go back. For a moment, Tom thought she was complaining about leaving Warren.

Then he realized what she wanted. She was struggling to reach his flashlight. He put it into her hand, and, completely ignoring all of them, she began to wave it about, not wildly, but in regular, even loops. Her face was solemn and intent as she worked out the pattern.

Robert edged a little farther toward the gate.

Warren was terrified, shifting indecisively from one foot to the other. He obviously didn't know if he should follow Robert or call his father or stay where he was. Tom pressured him a bit more, to keep him where he was.

“You're out of your depth, Warren,” he said. “You didn't choose to keep your sister in a hole, but no one's going to listen to that. Unless you let her go, there's going to be big trouble. And it'll hit you, too.”

Warren made a small whimpering sound. “She's not used to being outside,” he said. “She'll be cold. Bring her back in.”

“We've thought of all that,” Tom said. “We've brought clothes and a drink and something to eat. Don't worry. We'll look after her. Better than your dad does.”

“Dad doesn't hurt her,” Warren said. Pleading. Apologizing. “Not like—people you read about. He only wants to keep her safe for a little while. Until it's all right for her to come out.”

Was that how it started? Just a little while. And then another little while. Week after week, year after year. Tom could imagine that.
Just a bit longer. We'll let her out soon—
until the secret was too dangerous to tell.

And the damage was too much to be cured.

“But how did it all begin?” he said, half to himself.

Warren shook his head, as if he'd never even thought of the question. From outside in the street, Tom could hear the soft sound of Robert's sneakers on the pavement. Not much
longer now. Just another few minutes.

But he didn't get them. Suddenly, the light went on in the kitchen, and a voice said, “What are you doing, Warren? Who are you talking to?”

It was the woman. She came quickly through the kitchen and out into the garden, with her dressing gown clutched around her body. The moment she saw Tom, she looked sharply toward the conservatory—and saw the open door.

“Hope?” she said.

Tom didn't wait. Even before she had reached the conservatory, he bolted, not worrying about being careful or keeping quiet, but just covering the ground as quickly as he could. As he came through the gate, he could see Robert at the end of the street, still struggling to run with the girl in his arms.

Tom was going to shout a warning, but he didn't need to, because the noise from the garden hit first. There was a loud, open-throated yell, more frightening than any sound he'd ever heard. There were no words. The woman was screaming out of all control.

Robert had disappeared around the corner. Tom glanced over his shoulder and saw an upstairs light come on in the house behind him. Desperately he flung himself forward, trying to get out of sight before he was spotted. Frantically hoping that the man would head for the back of the house first, where the screaming was.

By the time he reached the corner, Robert and Emma had disappeared. There was nothing there except his own bike, leaning against a lamppost. But he could hear the girl's voice from somewhere across the road. She was screaming, too, but it was like the noise of her laugh, breathless and turned in on itself.

“Tom!” Emma called. “We're over here. Quick!”

She and Robert were standing between two houses, on a little pedestrian path that ran through from that road to the next one. Robert was trying to hold the girl on his bike, and Emma was ferreting in the bag they'd brought, looking for some way of distracting her. The flashlight was abandoned, rolling on the ground, and the girl was beating at Robert's chest with her fists.

Tom crossed the road quickly and pulled his bike back into the shadows. “Apple juice,” he said quickly. “In the sports bottle.” He picked up the flashlight and switched it off before it could give them away.

Emma pulled out the sports bottle and waved it in front of the girl, but she didn't seem to see it. In desperation, Emma pushed the top straight into the girl's open mouth—and, magically, she took it and began to suck, holding the bottle in one hand and twisting her matted hair with the other.

“Quick!” Robert muttered. He pushed the bike across the road, turning left and then right into the maze of little roads and pedestrian pathways. Tom and Emma followed him, turning off their lights and heading for the darkest side of the road.