Название: Jimmy Coates: Killer
Автор: Joe Craig
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780007374939
isbn:
Jimmy tried to think quickly of all the things he might possibly need, but his heart wouldn’t slow down enough to let him. He didn’t even know where he was going or who he was running away from. He went upstairs for his school bag and threw the books on the floor, replacing them with a change of clothes and an extra jumper. Then he picked out some food from the fridge–as much as would fit in the bag. There were some chocolate bars as well, and he grabbed an apple, in case he really got desperate. He opened the freezer and reached around at the back until he found the wad of cash that his mother kept there for emergencies and pizza. Finally, he jammed his feet into some shoes, still wearing his wet socks with glass trapped in the fibres.
As a last-minute thought, he went looking for a torch. He knew there was one in the house somewhere. He ended up on all fours searching in the bottom of a kitchen cupboard. It was then that he caught sight of his wrist. There was a huge piece of glass sticking out from the base of his left hand. But it didn’t hurt. He hadn’t even noticed it until now: a lethal shard of glass.
He carefully pulled it out. It had gone deep into his flesh–more than a centimetre–but there was no blood. Jimmy wiggled his fingers. He clenched his fist. It seemed fine. There was a cut in his skin where the glass had been, but instead of being red, there was just a deeper layer of skin which looked sort of greyish. That had never been there before. He should have been bleeding to death by now. He considered putting a plaster over the cut, and even prodded it a few times, but decided that as it didn’t hurt, it would be a waste of time to administer first aid in the dark. He spotted the torch and calmly popped it in the top of his bag, then went to sit at the kitchen table.
The house was completely quiet. Jimmy had never realised how lonely silence could be. He stared at the door and couldn’t help imagining his parents walking in, all smiles and jokes. Two mugs waited by the kettle for someone to pour tea. But nobody was coming back. He had never felt so alone.
It’s all so strange, he thought, but the strangest thing of all was him. He went up to his bedroom and looked down at the fall he had made.
The glass shimmered like broken stars and a black tear dripped down Jimmy’s cheek. He wiped his face, smudging grease on to the back of his sleeve, then looked again at his wrist. What was this inside him? What had made him jump out of the window? He thought about why he hadn’t been hurt in the fall, and why he wasn’t bleeding now. A second later he heard his mother’s terror in his head. Why had his father let those men into the house? Why had his parents walked away with them so calmly? And why had Jimmy’s father not wanted Georgie to shout for help?
Jimmy picked up his bag, ran downstairs and out of the front door. If he was going to help his family he would have to get away from the house. And he needed the police. When the men in suits came looking for him, there would be more of them. Maybe he should learn to fight like he had in his bedroom, whenever he wanted. Otherwise he was just an eleven-year-old boy with a dirty face.
Jimmy started walking in the direction the van had gone. The suburbs of London swallowed him up; one semi-detached family house after another in a groaning mess. Thousands of people were asleep in their beds and Jimmy walked past their front doors trying to remember where the police station was. After a time he walked almost without direction. The streetlights just seemed to make the shadows darker, so that’s where he walked, wary of anything that looked like a black car with a green stripe.
He let out a yawn the size of the city and didn’t notice the thin, dark figure of the only other person in the shadows that night.
It had started following him.
MITCHELL HAD HAD quite a day. Twice he’d nearly been caught lifting a purse from someone’s bag, and both times he had been forced to drop whatever he had his hands on and run. So yesterday he had come out into a part of the suburbs he knew, to work the commuters as they left the tube station. But they were always in such thick bunches that it was hard to get among them without arousing suspicion.
Now the streets were really quiet and he was beginning to abandon hope of stealing anything for the day. He thought about the smell in his brother’s flat and didn’t feel the urge to rush back there. Besides, he knew how hilarious his brother would find it if he went home empty-handed again. Mitchell didn’t like being a thief, and he didn’t much like his brother either. He especially didn’t like living with him, but it was the only place he could go until he was old enough to get his own place. And his brother only let him stay on condition that Mitchell would steal for him.
At first he’d been good at it–beginner’s luck maybe. He was certainly fast when he needed to get away, and being a kid had its advantages; it meant he stood with his head at about the height of most people’s shoulder bags. The last few days, though, had been really tough. He was tired and miserable. He didn’t want to go home, but there wasn’t much point roaming the empty streets and getting cold.
Then Mitchell heard the soft squeak of someone’s trainers behind him and turned to look. In the dim light he made out a single hunched up shadow with a bag over its shoulder. Looks like a kid, he thought. He started to move closer, but realised that this person was shuffling straight towards him. Mitchell jumped over the low wall of a front garden and ducked down. Just a few seconds later, he watched a young boy with black grease all over his face walk past, not even a metre away. Mitchell could easily have reached out and tripped him up, grabbed the boy’s bag and run off. That’s what his brother would have done, but there was too much risk that he’d wake up the people in the houses. Mitchell was smart–a lot smarter than his brother. He decided to be patient. He so badly wanted to end the day with a big catch. He couldn’t mess this up. He would wait until this easy target was somewhere a little more open. Maybe this kid will be stupid enough to cut through the park, he thought.
Softly skipping back over the wall, Mitchell crept along the streets, keeping step with his prey.
Jimmy knew he had to get to the police station quickly. If those men were still looking for him, being out on the street was too dangerous. But every time he thought he had remembered the way, he turned a corner and everything became unfamiliar. It was eerily quiet, which made his steps seem horribly loud.
He wondered whether to knock on someone’s door, waking someone up to ask for directions, but all the houses looked so sinister. Outside one, he even thought he saw a green stripe on the gatepost. He looked again, but it was just a brass number one that had rusted. It can’t be far, he thought. I’ll recognise one of these streets soon. But all the streets were mixed up in Jimmy’s head and he was really tired now. Each time he tried to pick them up, his feet felt like they had been stapled to the pavement.
“Pull yourself together,” he whispered, and stopped outside the next house. He looked it up and down, then took a step through the front gate.
Just as he did, a flash of movement at the end of the street caught the corner of his eye. Jimmy turned his head ever so slightly. Was it a glint of light bouncing off a car window–or did it come from inside the car? He told himself it didn’t matter–that tiredness and shock were making him paranoid.
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