Children - Part 1 (An Asylum Tale)

With Auld Lang Syne still ringing round her head, Katie stepped up the kerb, misjudged the height and tripped. She reached out for the nearby lamppost to steady herself, missed, and crunched hard onto the pavement.

‘All acquaintances have forgotten me now,’ she slurred as she crawled to the streetlight and pulled herself to her feet. She was successful on the third attempt. She bent over to look at the damage. Blood dribbled from a cut on her knee but thankfully the multiple Proseccos and vodka chasers kept any pain at bay.

She straightened up and looked around. Where was she? That’s right, heading home. The wait for an Uber had been stupid long and Beni had gotten off with that dude who looked like one of the Ryans, so Katie had decided to walk. It shouldn’t take long as she didn’t live far from town.

The street looked unfamiliar. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to seeing it in the predawn light. She lifted her mobile and tried to access Google Maps but her thumb struggled to coordinate with the icon.

‘Nice phone.’

Katie yelped, startled by the voice. She spun around to face the speaker. He was just a kid, wearing jeans and a turquoise hoodie with a star embroidered on the left breast. He was about nine years old – what the hell was he doing out at this time of night? She peered closer, noticing his odd eyes.

‘Can I have it?’ the boy asked.

‘I’ll give you a bloody good hiding,’ Katie said, stepping towards him. She stumbled, and reached for the boy to stop herself falling.

The kid was quick, dancing away from her and laughing as she fell to the floor again.

‘Maybe next time,’ he called out as he turned and ran away.

*

Tatenda inwardly grimaced as he took the proffered ten pence piece. Three days into the new year and the Christmas spirit was well and truly gone. He hoped the guy choked on his foo yung.

The customer closed the door without another word. Tatenda returned to his bike at the bottom of the drive, climbed on and began pedalling back to the shop. It was approaching midnight which meant he only had another hour to put in, then he could go home and reconsider his work opportunities.

He reached the end of the street and paused. Although there were no headlights on the main road, a near miss six months ago had taught him that not all drivers drove with their lights on at night. Sure that his path was clear, he pulled out and set off down the hill. At least he could coast for the next half mile.

Movement ahead caught his attention. Three people were skipping around a parked car, joyfully calling to one another as though playing a game. As he drew closer, he realised how young they were, maybe seven or eight. The tallest wore a blue-green top with a star on the chest.

Tatenda considered stopping. But what could he do? If they’d snuck out from home, they were not going to tell him where they lived so he could safely return them to their parents. Besides, in this day and age, all kids knew the word paedophile but not the ramifications of false accusations. Better to get back to the shop from where he could call the police to check on the children.

The boys heard him coming and stopped their prancing. The two smaller kids hid behind the car but the older one stood still and watched Tatenda. When only seven feet separated them, the boy jumped forward and, with his tongue between his lips, blew a raspberry.

Tatenda jerked the handlebars to avoid hitting the kid. The turn was too sharp. The front wheel skidded and slipped, and Tatenda knew what was going to happen next. The front of the bike went down. Tatenda’s momentum took him over the handlebars. He landed face first on the tarmac.

Smarting and furious, Tatenda leapt to his feet and turned to the children but they were already running away, laughing and hollering as they went.

*

The prickle at the back of his mind told him he was being watched. Six years’ service in the army, and more as a private investigator, had taught Jordan Deakes to trust his instincts. He pulled out his phone, feigning making a call, and surreptitiously scanned the airport.

He counted eleven people. A family of five, the parents looking stressed, the eldest child, a teen, bored and the younger kids wide-eyed with excitement. A security guard walking nonchalantly through the area. A light-haired woman sitting on a bench, absorbed with her mobile. Two men in business attire despite the late hour. A young couple holding one another tightly.

None seemed to be overtly watching him, but after everything he had seen at ARC over the past eight months, Deakes wouldn’t be surprised to find out one of them had more than one set of eyes.

With each of them committed to memory, Deakes divided his attention between them and the arrival gate. Over the next ten minutes, the guard moved away and a second family joined the first bringing with them more restless youngsters.

He ended his fake call when Andrea arrived. Her fellow passengers flooded the lobby, preventing him from identifying who had been watching him.

‘Thank you for meeting me,’ Andrea said, and rubbed her bloodshot eyes.

‘Welcome home. Though it looks like you need another holiday.’

‘Let’s just say Christmas in California is not at all like the movies.’

‘No terrorists taking over the Nakatomi building?’

She looked at him blankly.

‘Not a Die Hard fan, I take it,’ he said then reached for her luggage. ‘Come on, let me drive you home. You can tell me all about Bigfoot on the way.’

As they moved to the exit, he cast his eyes around. The feeling of being observed had gone, as had the young lovers and the lone woman.

*

In the car, Andrea cranked up the heating and said, ‘You know I didn’t go to the States to look for sasquatch?’

‘I know. I just thought, considering our line of work, it would have been the perfect opportunity.’

‘There’s no point. He’s already been found.’

Deakes stared at her for longer than was safe before turning back to the road.

‘And he’s moved out of the woods,’ she continued. ‘He’s now living in the White House.’

A rough laugh burst from Deakes’s throat. ‘If only. I think Bigfoot would have a better personality.’

‘I’m sure he’d rank higher in opinion polls as well,’ Andrea said through a yawn.

Deakes fell quiet as he manoeuvred the car along the slip road. The single headlight of a motorcycle followed them onto the M62. The cyclist pulled out and sped past them, white hair billowing from under the helmet.

As they drove from Manchester, they spoke of trivial matters; how each of them had spent Christmas, what New Year’s resolutions they’d made and when the first one had been broken. Andrea had had a gin and tonic (or two) on the plane, making her January not so dry, and Deakes had missed his morning run on two occasions, the first being on New Year’s Day.

Andrea’s tiredness increased with each passing mile and, by the time they reached Stott Hall Farm, the property that sat between the motorway’s two lanes, she was asleep. Deakes remained silent for the rest of the journey, concentrating on keeping the car at a steady seventy.

It was approaching 10:00 p.m. when he turned off the motorway and headed into the outskirts of Garthridge. The streets were quiet now that the festive period was over and the dark winter gripped the city. The only other people he saw were two solitary pedestrians, hurrying through the night, and a single motorcycle.

He made his way from the Ring Road and toward the suburb of Dalbion. On the pavement ahead were a throng of six or seven figures. Deakes slowed the car and blinked a few times, worried there was something wrong with his vision. The perspective of the huddle made them all seem as small as children. As he approached, one of them – definitely a child, Deakes saw – sprang into the road and dashed in front of the car.

Adrenalin shot through Deakes, sending pins and needles through his hands. He slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel to avoid hitting the kid. The car stopped before crunching into a parked Volvo. Deakes and Andrea jerked sharply against their seatbelts.

‘What the hell?’ Andrea slurred.

Deakes stabbed at the seatbelt catch, leapt from the car and ran to where he had last seen the child. A boy of about seven was hopping from foot to foot, blowing raspberries at Deakes while his friends egged him on from the footpath. With his pulse pounding at his temple, Deakes lunged for the kid and grabbed him by his shirt.

‘You could have been killed, you little…’ he began, stopping when he looked into the boy’s face.

The child was no different than any other his age but for the eyes. Not only were the sockets larger than average, the irises were so wide there was little sclera showing. And the glare the boy gave him was beyond his years.

‘Leave him alone,’ cried one of the other children.

Deakes turned to see an older boy in a green hoodie running at him. He also had oversized eyes; a brother, perhaps?

The boy raised his fists in a fighting stance.  The absurdity of the situation gave Deakes pause. Was he really going to get into a brawl with a bunch of children? Their combined age was not much more than his own.

He raised a hand, palm open, caught the boy’s punch and held tight. The kid reacted fast, bringing his foot around to swipe at Deakes from behind. With a child in each hand, Deakes was off balance. His legs were swept away and he tumbled to the ground, dragging the first child with him.

The attacking boy leaned over and freed the other child from Deakes’s grasp. After pushing him in the direction of their friends, he remained where he was, his large eyes trained on Deakes.

‘Stay down,’ the boy said and took a tentative step backwards. ‘Just let us go.’

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Andrea said as she wrapped her arms around the boy.

Deakes got to his feet, thankful that Andrea had overcome her jetlag to join the fray.

The boy wriggled manically, kicking and thrashing against Andrea. She held tight, despite the beating she was receiving.

Anguished gasps came from the gaggle of children. Deakes cast a glance in their direction but none were approaching to help their friend.

‘Let me go,’ the boy in Andrea’s arms said. ‘We didn’t do anything.’

‘You nearly got killed,’ Andrea hissed. She was about to say more but was cut off by one of the other children.

‘Hey, mister.’ A blonde girl, looking no older than four, stood slightly apart from the others. She held her arm over her head and, in her waving palm, clutched something shiny. ‘I have your keys.’

Deakes cursed himself for having acted too quickly. When he had shot out of the car, he left the keys in the ignition. Now, with both him and Andrea out of the vehicle, the young girl and easily taken them.

‘Give them back,’ Deakes said.

‘Let Theo go,’ she replied. She put her arm out, her hand face up, in a gesture which said the keys were for the taking.

‘I’m too tired for this,’ Andrea said and released her captive.

Without missing a beat, Theo shouted, ‘Run!’ and they all scarpered, including the girl with the keys.

Deakes rolled his eyes before giving chase. To Andrea, he shouted, ‘Stay with the car.’ The last thing he needed was to leave the car unoccupied, granting the children licence for more mischief.

He followed the hollering youngsters to the end of the street. Some of them carried straight on, some turned right. Deakes turned the corner too, keeping his eyes on the blonde-haired girl. The kids were fast but his legs were longer and he was gaining on them.

Above the pulse pounding in his ears, he heard a motorcycle approaching from behind. The rider slowed as she passed, white hair floating as she turned her head to look at the fleeing children.

Ahead of Deakes, the young blonde girl threw the keys to Theo then fell to the ground. She flapped her arms and legs as though she were making a snow angel. Deakes had to slow down to pass her without trampling her, which afforded Theo time to disappear into a dilapidated house.

Deakes got there several seconds later, thundered inside then came to a sudden halt. The air was stale, thick with smell of mildew. He walked to a doorway in an inner wall – the door was nowhere to be seen – and stepped into the room. Bare mattresses lay in the corners and a camping stove stood before the fireplace.

Theo stood panting as he watched Deakes approach.

‘Is this where you live?’ Deakes asked. ‘Where are your parents?’

Theo said nothing, but raised his chin.

Deakes took a step closer.

Focussed as he was on Theo and his hovel, Deakes had not noticed the other children until they were upon him. Many tiny bodies collided with him and forced him to the floor, laying over him and pinning him down.

The boy in the green hoodie lifted a scrap of wood from the floor. He slapped it into his palm twice, indicating the nature of its use.

‘Welcome to our home,’ he said as he stalked towards Deakes.