The Darkest Corners (17 page)

‘Now?' said Mr Mumbles as his fingers tightened on my arm. ‘We run.'

And run we did.

Together.

W
hat had I expected to see? I wasn't sure. It had been a long time, after all.

How many decades was it since I'd stood on this spot? Five? Six? Time had little meaning in the Darkest Corners, and I'd stopped counting the days a lifetime ago.

I breathed in through my nose, tasting the air. Fresh air. Real air.

Real world.

I ran my hand across the reception counter and caught my reflection in its polished sheen. Most of my hair had gone years back, but the moustache had been blossoming nicely for the past few months. I looked exactly as I remembered.

Coming back was risky. I almost didn't, but
he'd
done it –
I'd
done it – already. Once I'd realised that, I knew I had no choice. Everything had already happened, after all. Coming back was my destiny. I'd seen it with my own two eyes.

The rain hammered down against the big windows of the police station. I remembered that rain. Even after all these years, I could still feel its icy sting on my skin.

There came a sound like thunder, but not thunder. It was the sound of a man in a hat being punched through a garage door. I remembered that too.

I had plenty of time, but then I always had plenty of time these days. I had control over it. I could ride it like a tramline, changing speed and direction whenever I liked.

I could've gone anywhere, any
when
, but certain things needed to happen in the right place at the right time, otherwise things might not work out the way they were supposed to. Joseph had told me that before he died. Before I realised who he was.

A spark fluttered and time skipped forward. In the distance, a stone donkey exploded. Not long now.

Uniform
, I thought, and I was wearing it before the thought had fully formed. I looked down. Slightly ill-fitting, just as I remembered.

There was the hot chocolate, of course. Couldn't forget that. It appeared without a sound on the countertop, all marshmallows and sprinkles and thick whipped cream.

I could hear footsteps, two sets, racing along the windswept street. Just a few more seconds. I felt my pulse begin to quicken.

The Christmas cracker appeared in my hand just before the door flew open. I pictured the little rectangle of paper inside it, the single word printed in bold black print across it:

DUCK

 

The hat!
I'd almost forgotten the hat. A little pointed shiny one, held under my chin by a string of thin elastic. It popped into existence just as a rain-sodden boy with panic in his eyes staggered into the station.

‘Ho-ho-ho!' I said, and I saw the disappointment register on his face. ‘Merry Christ—'

‘Someone's trying to kill us!' he blurted.

‘Oh,' I said, letting my shoulders sag. ‘That's put a dampener on that then. Been waiting all day for someone to come in and pull that.'

The boy stared at me as if I were mad. He looked so young.
I
looked so young. I set the cracker down on the counter and fought the urge to tell him about his future. About
our
future.

He couldn't know. He couldn't know that I was him and he was me, just many years apart. He had to figure it out on his own. And he would. One day.

‘Sorry,' I said, and I managed a smile for the boy I had once been. ‘You were saying...?'

And that's it. Done. Finished. Over. Five years after I started writing it, Invisible Fiends is complete. The series would not have been possible without the help of lots of amazing people, and while I don't have the space (or the memory) to thank every one of them individually, I've singled out a few:

My agent, Kathryn Ross, who first saw promise in an early draft of
Mr Mumbles
.

Tommy Donbavand, the man who suggested I try writing children's books in the first place. Good call, Tom.

My editors at HarperCollins Children's Books – Nick Lake (books 1-3) and Harriet Wilson (books 4-6), who told me when to put motorbike helmets on children, and when to remove hooks from clowns' faces.

Everyone else who worked at HarperCollins over the course of the series, particularly Geraldine Stroud, Catherine Ward, Tiffany McCall, Rosi Crawley and Mary Byrne, who all did their best to ensure I didn't get lost and/or die while on tour. They mostly succeeded too.

I'd also like to thank the fantastic people at The Scottish Book Trust, the teachers and librarians who invited me into their schools, the bloggers who wrote about the series and the booksellers who sold it.

My family should get a mention too, for all their support and occasional withering criticism – particularly Fiona, who I proposed to on the dedication page of book one. In case you were wondering, she said ‘Yes'.

Finally, and most importantly, I'd like to thank you, dear reader, for sticking with Kyle and Ameena through all their adventures. You really are lovely. No matter what anyone else says.

Cover design ninataradesign.com © HarperCollins 2012
Illustrations by Jonny Duddle/Arena

First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollins
Children's Books
2012

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1

Text copyright © Barry Hutchison 2012

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ISBN 978-0-00-731520-8
Epub Edition © JUNE 2012 ISBN: 9780007493425

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