Night Runner (14 page)

Like everything else, the closet was much smaller than I remembered, but it was deep enough for me to lie down flat. There were two rows of clothes hanging inside, and everything smelled like mothballs.

I lay on my back and rested my broken arm on my stomach. The bone might already have mended, I couldn't be sure. The black coloration was gone. It was yellow now. And the odd crook in it had fixed itself somehow so it didn't have that funny bend to it.

I was feeling beat, but I wasn't really sleepy, for some reason. My body was certainly happy to be resting, but my brain was still going sixty miles an hour. I wondered what Charlie would have made of all this. And Nurse Ophelia. Chases and escapes and more chases. And
vampires and giant bats. I wondered if they were all right. If they knew I was in trouble. If they were worried.

I let out a deep sigh and turned my head to the side. There wasn't much to look at, just a baseboard running along the wall, so I ran a finger over the cool wood, tracing the pattern in the grain. Then I noticed there was a seam in it that was nearly invisible. Just a thin, vertical crack so slender you'd have needed eyes like a hawk, or a vampire, to see it.

I lay there for a time, rubbing my fingers over the seam in the baseboard. It was strange that my father never wanted me to see the inside of this closet. There was no way it was just about Christmas presents. This place was off limits all year round, even in mid-July. Who does their Christmas shopping in the summer? As I was thinking this over, my finger kept rubbing the seam, until I got a sliver. I don't know if it was because I was still hungry or what, but I got angry again, so I banged my fist against the wall.

A piece of the baseboard slipped forward. I thought at first I must have broken it. Then I noticed that it had separated where the seam was. A little farther down was another. The board was obviously meant to come loose. I rolled carefully onto my side and pulled it free. In behind was an empty space. I stood and turned on the closet light so I could see better. Then I got down on my knees and reached in. The space wasn't even two feet wide, but it was deep enough to hold a box about the size of a chessboard. I pulled it out carefully and set it on the closet floor. It was covered in dust and looked to be made of tin. I blew the top layer of dust off, then pried up the top and looked inside.

M
oney. The tin was full of it. Some old. Some new. And it was from all over the place: England, Germany, France, Spain, Italy, Hungary, Nigeria, Libya, Turkey, even Malaysia. Sadly, none of it was Canadian. And there were passports. Four of them. All of them had my father's face, but the names were all wrong: Charles Montagne, Jean Levasseur, Frederick Steinke, Thomas Richardson. There was an empty holster, too. It had been folded and the leather had dried so that it was too stiff to be useful. I guess this didn't matter because there was no gun, but there were several boxes of bullets inside. Many of the bullets had spilled out and were rattling around with all kinds of coins and tokens. No wonder my father never wanted me to go in the closet. If I'd found this stuff as a kid it might have been a disaster, especially if the gun had been there, too. I don't remember my father ever having one, but he must have had a weapon of some kind when he went hunting for vampires.

On the bottom of the tin was a notebook. The cover was a collage of coloured squares. Some of them had neat designs that reminded me of far-off places, like India and Egypt. I recognized it right away. It was my father's journal, the one he wrote in when I was a kid. He always encouraged me to keep one too, but I never got in the habit.

I carefully removed it. The cover was soft and a bit pliable. I lifted it to my nose. It had a musty smell. I flipped it open to the first page. It was dated September 14. I started reading.

 

Out for Chinese with Jake. Michelle was furious when we got back. Charlie had fooled her into answering the door. By the time she realized nobody was there, he'd locked her out on the porch. We found him and Zack asleep on the sofa watching
Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
If we can't get these kids to behave, we're going to run out of babysitters . . .

 

I tried to remember what this was about, but I couldn't. Charlie and his father were over a lot when I was a kid. And Michelle? That must have been the babysitter's name, but my mind couldn't dig up a face to go with it. Still, it was kind of funny. Charlie was always getting into trouble as a kid. Not much had changed.

I kept reading, hoping to find something about vampire hunting. It was slow going. My father's handwriting was terrible, as though he'd done most of his writing in the back seat of a car. I had to guess at every fourth or fifth word. And my arm was still throbbing. Still itchy. I had to stop frequently so I could find a position that would make it more comfortable, or just flex my other muscles and try to drive the dull ache somewhere deep where it wouldn't distract me. So that first night I didn't get very far. Although I did discover this one gem. He'd been writing about some work he was hoping to do in Kashmir, and then his writing style became choppier.

 

Got an emergency call from Mutada in Damascus. N spotted outside village near Kandahar. Will fly out tonight with Max.

 

The next entry was a few days later.

 

Cornered N at dawn in a cave. Max flushed him with a gas bomb. Mutada immobilized him perfectly with a Taser. N refused amnesty. Chose to watch the sunrise. Recommended scattering ashes but Mutada took them to villagers instead. They mixed remains with cattle urine and lime dust and painted village gates. Evil to ward off evil, Mutada said.

 

This was about a vampire. It had to be. I put the book down and tried to picture it. Chasing a vampire from a cave. And a gas bomb. That sounded cool. So did the Taser. I'd seen them on television. They give you a whopper of a shock. I guess they worked on vampires, too.

I read some more, but the next few entries were about a lecture my father was preparing to give on European megaliths. Still, it was better than lying in the dark with nothing to think about but my troubles.

I fell asleep well before the sunrise. I next remember being in my old room. My Spider-Man poster was back on the wall. Toys littered the floor. I was looking over the edge of the top bunk at Charlie, who was just waking up below. Everything looked just as it should have. Only the smell was off. Like mothballs.

“Rise and shine, lazybones,” I said.

In an instant the two of us were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking out the bedroom window, only we were in Mr. Entwistle's house, in the library. And Charlie had turned into my dad. He was wearing the suit he usually wore when he gave lectures. It was grey and had flecks of white and black in it.

“Look at all that fog,” he said. He reached down and put a hand on my shoulder. “It's like a werewolf movie.”

I could hear the flapping of large, leathery wings.

“We should get away from the window,” I said. I knew the bat was coming. And I knew what it would turn into.

My father shook his head. “Those aren't bats. Look!”

I pressed my face closer to the glass. A wind was blowing up. It cleared the fog away. Instead of Mr. Entwistle's yard, there was an open field below us. The ground looked charred, as though all the crops had been burned. And it was stained with the blood of dying men and women. As far as the eye could see there were bodies impaled on long stakes. Some of the people were still alive, screaming and quivering. Birds pecked at their eyes and lips.

My father started to laugh. It didn't sound right at all. I turned to look at him but he was gone. In his place was a shorter man. He was thick, like a bear. He stared at me with large, deep-green eyes that were wider apart than they should have been and set above hard cheekbones. Under his pointed nose was a dark moustache. He was wearing a fur cloak, and a red shirt with big gold buttons. Over his heart was a brooch in the shape of a dragon. The dragon had a cross in its mouth. The man's hair was long and flowed from under a hat that reminded me of the spires you see in pictures of far-off churches. But what I noticed most was his mouth. His lips were thick and blood-red. And when he smiled at me he had the teeth of an animal.

I was too scared to move. He reached out and took hold of my arm. Pain ran up my elbow and into my chest. When I tried to pull away, the pain intensified. Then I snapped awake.

There was nothing around me but darkness. And the smell of mothballs. I was back in my father's closet. All I could hear was my heavy breathing. In my sleep, I'd rolled onto my injured arm and it was throbbing painfully. I sat up, grimacing, and tried to cradle it as best I could. It was as if the man's thick fingers were still digging into my skin.

I wondered who he was. And about the bodies. I'd never seen anything like that. My head shook for just a second. A quiver of revulsion. Then I stood up too quickly. My head went dizzy for a few seconds and I had to lean against the door. I needed blood, badly. But the only food in the house was doggy kibble, and I wasn't about to go three rounds with Barky just to get his leftovers. He would have chewed me into Spam.

I decided the best thing was to get moving. Put some distance between me and my nightmare. Those awful images, the bodies and the vampire, had left me feeling nauseous. My belly was empty too, and screaming for blood. Running would cure that, at least for a time. And I still had to find out what had happened to Mr. Entwistle and why Nurse Ophelia hadn't come in to work, and I needed to get in touch with my uncle. It wasn't going to happen if I stayed hidden in a closet.

I turned the light back on and started repacking my father's box. Once all the phony passports and money were in place, I hid it behind the baseboard again. I kept the journal for myself. Then I straightened things up as best I could and went downstairs. I had just decided to go out the front door and risk being seen, rather than go out the back and risk being bitten by Barky, when someone opened the front door.

I
was standing face to face with an elderly man. He was bent slightly at the waist and looked so frail that a gentle breeze might have swept him off the porch. He stared at me for a second. His glasses were so thick they were probably bulletproof. They made his eyes look humongous.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He didn't sound angry, but he was obviously surprised. Since he didn't seem like a mean person, I decided to tell him the truth.

“I was just feeding the dog,” I said.

“Oh!” The man looked surprised. Embarrassed, even. He peered back over his shoulder for an instant as though he wasn't sure if he should be there.

“Well, Bert asked me to feed Chaucer. I've been doing it for the past few nights.” He cleared his throat. “Who did you say you were again?”

I raised my hands to show him the hospital duds I was wearing. “Just a guy who escaped from the nuthouse,” I said.

He laughed.

“I have to be honest,” I added. “That dog makes me very uncomfortable. I've fed him, and I was thinking he should be let out, but I don't want to go near him. Do you mind doing it? There's no way he dislikes you as much as he dislikes me.”

The older man moved past me into the front hall. “Ah, he's not so bad. He just has to get used to you, that's all.” He held out his hand. “It's Al,” he said.

“Zachary,” I told him. “I'm Dr. Thomson's son.”

We shook hands.

“A doctor's son. That would explain the clothes,” he said.

I smiled, raised my hand in a quick wave, then slipped out the door. As soon as I hit the street, I felt my lungs expand with a huge breath of relief. Then I started off again.

A plan was taking shape in my mind. I would need food soon. And a safe place from the sun. For that I needed help. I needed my uncle.

I headed to the Brookdale Plaza. It was a strip mall on the edge of my old neighbourhood. There was a bowling alley in the back where Nurse Ophelia took Charlie and me once in a while, and a handful of stores and restaurants. There was also a phone booth near the corner gas station. If I could get a number for Iron Spike Enterprises, my uncle's business, I'd be set. Maximilian would know what to do.

I searched the phone book but found nothing. Then I dialled 411 and got an automated voice. It asked me for the person I was looking for, and the address. When I said I didn't know, it kept asking me to repeat myself. Eventually I got transferred to an operator.

“Iron Spike Enterprises?” she said. Then she asked me what city. I had no idea, so we tried Peterborough, then Toronto, then Ottawa, then Kingston. We found nothing.

“I think the best thing would be to try an Internet search,” she said.

I almost bit the end off the phone.

Then I thought of Charlie. He was at his cottage on Stoney Lake. He might have a computer there. I managed to find the number for his cottage in the phone book, but since I had no money, I had to call the operator again. Unfortunately I got a different person and had to go through this whole song and dance about how I was in trouble and needed to make a local person-to-person call. Charlie had once told me that his older brother Dan drank too much wine one Christmas Eve and tried to call the Pope that way. He probably had an easier time of it than I did.

Charlie picked up the phone and the operator asked him if he would accept the call. He didn't seem a bit surprised to be hearing from me.

“I'm glad it's you,” he said. “You won't believe what happened. My mom called. She said the cops came to her house. They were looking for you.”

“I know,” I said. Then I corrected myself. “I mean, I'm not surprised. They came looking for me at the ward, too. I had to run away.”