Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy) (16 page)

I’d noticed his ears back at the library, but I hadn’t made the connection. When I’d questioned him at the Winchester about his medallion ring, he’d told me he
hated
wearing jewelry.

Why would someone who hated jewelry have his ears pierced?

Yet another contradiction.

The boy was a total mystery.

Muse

L
ast period on Friday was double History with Mr. Treagus. We were working on an essay about the final days of Stalin—and as fascinating as it was, it just couldn’t hold my interest. My mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of my impending meeting with Lee. Every couple of minutes, I’d glance up at the clock. I was counting down the seconds till five, wondering whether or not I was doing the right thing.

The past two days had been a nightmare of epic proportions, trying to evade both Becky and Frasier. I couldn’t deal with any more of Frasier’s hare-brained theories, and Becky was hell-bent on getting me to go to a party tonight. Using the cunning of an M16 agent, I’d managed to dodge them both by hiding out at the gym during lunchtime and leaving class early each day. They probably knew I was avoiding them, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on right now was this date with Lee. Everything else would have to go on the back-burner.

When the bell finally rang, I packed up and raced to the bathroom to get changed. I’d brought a duffel bag containing make-up, hair gel, jeans and a black fitted sweater. I didn’t want to overdo it, but I
was
getting my portrait done, so thought I should at least make an effort. After applying a little mascara and lip-gloss, I worked some gel through my hair to create the same style I’d had at Taffin’s party.
The one Lee had liked so much.

When I was satisfied that I looked the part, I headed out to the main hall, which led to the front of the building. A twinge of nerves hit me as I approached the reception desk. I was praying that Becky wouldn’t still be lurking about somewhere. The last thing I needed was another interrogation.

As I turned into the hall, I was relieved to see the place mostly deserted, except for one or two teachers who were still in their classrooms working overtime. It seemed that on Fridays, most students wanted to leave the building as soon as possible to embrace the weekend and freedom.

Five minutes later, I was standing outside the steel entrance gates, scanning the street for Lee’s Lotus. It was quarter past. Glancing left and right, I couldn’t see any sign of a bright yellow vehicle. Then I heard a low, hollow beep and saw what I thought was Lee’s car parked quite some distance away. Cautiously, I followed the direction of the sound until I was clearly able to see that it was, in fact, him.

“Why did you park so far up?” I demanded, climbing in the passenger side. “I could barely see you.”

Without answering, he turned the wheel and set the car in motion. Within seconds, we were on the main road heading east.

“Well?”

“I didn’t think you’d want everyone watching me pick you up,” he replied evenly. “Plus, I’m sort of dodging Becky at the moment.”

I snickered. “Right, so now we’re on the run, are we? Sort of like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Bonnie and Clyde,” he murmured, trying it out for size. “I like it. Yes, I suppose we are.” He glanced at me. “I presume Becky doesn’t know about us meeting?”

“No. Why should she? It’s none of her business.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He turned sharply at a corner and I cursed myself for not fastening my seatbelt. “So nobody knows you’re with me tonight?” He emphasized the word “nobody.”

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t told anyone.” The instant I said it, all of my old paranoia came flooding back. Why was he so interested in whether I’d told anyone? Had I just climbed in a car with Jack the Ripper or something?

A slight smile crept across his flawless lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

We both laughed, but it didn’t seem funny. I noted that we were now heading to a part of town I wasn’t familiar with, and I wondered how easy it would be to find my way home, should a situation arise.

“Let’s have some music, shall we?” He turned up the volume on the stereo. Thankfully, it was just some ordinary pop track from the radio and not that spooky Irish folk music he loved so much.
Inagoul
combined with my deep misgivings would have been too much to take.

For twenty minutes, we journeyed in virtual silence, driving through the dark backstreets of Elmfield at a leisurely pace. Lee chose a convoluted route.
Is he purposely trying to confuse me about where we’re going?

Eventually, we pulled into the underground parking garage of a fancy apartment building located on the edge of Elmfield Park; it was ten stories of glass-plated perfection that wouldn’t have looked
out of place in somewhere
like Canary Wharf.
Lee’s parents must be loaded to afford a place like this.

We circled the half-empty garage for a couple of minutes before finding a free space next to a shiny red Volvo. He locked the car and led me across to the elevator, which took us up to the top floor. When the doors parted, I followed him down a long corridor with thick, pile carpets as green and shiny as a freshly mowed lawn.

We stopped in front of a door marked twenty-six, and he took out a bunch of keys to open it. He led me into a huge living space with an open plan kitchen cordoned off by a black chrome partition.

I drew in a sharp breath. The apartment was absolutely stunning, superbly furnished with angular, futuristic furniture complimented by a high glass ceiling that opened up into the night sky and windows that provided a panoramic view of the park.

On one side was a large seating area with a TV the size of a small cinema screen, and on the other a makeshift art studio, complete with white sheets and an expensive-looking easel. Off to the far right, a pair of glass doors led out onto a veranda where a telescope had been set up for star-gazing.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Lee declared, dropping his keys on the sideboard. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” I blurted. I just couldn’t help myself. It really was.

“Thanks. Glad you like it.” He slid off his jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door. Then he reached over and gently helped me off with mine. Smiling graciously, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the sofa, openly appraising my surroundings. Before me was a glass coffee table on which rested an expensive laptop nestled beside a stack of letters. Hanging on the wall was an enormous print of a monkey dressed in combat gear, throwing a hand grenade.

“Is that a Banksy?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“Yeah. Do you like his stuff?”

“I
love
his stuff. That’s one cool print.”

“Thank you.”

I continued my inspection of the room and noticed that one corner was almost entirely covered with boxes: a Kenwood stereo system, an Xbox, and coffee maker, among others. I got the feeling that he hadn’t been living here very long.

“Do you want coffee?” he asked, crossing toward the kitchen area.

“Yes, please.” I leaned against the plump sofa cushions, relishing the feel of soft leather against my skin. Then, for a moment, I felt completely at ease, listening to the steady grind of the coffee maker in the distance.

Presently, he returned carrying two steaming hot cappuccinos, which smelled heavenly. Taking a seat next to me, he handed me a cup, and I cleared space on the table for it to stand on. In my haste, I accidentally knocked some of the envelopes on the floor. As I stooped down to pick them up, I noticed a credit card sticking out from one. Hurriedly, I placed it back on the table, but not before getting an eyeful of the account holder’s name:
Stuart Weaver
.

Funny.

As soon as I saw it, I thought about the conversation I’d had with Becky about her snooping at Summerwell Art College. Did this finally prove that Lee was indeed a pseudonym? Was Stuart Weaver his real name?

I took a sip of cappuccino. It tasted delicious. “You make a great cup of coffee.”

“Thanks.” He took off his baseball cap and placed it on the table. Then, running his fingers through his hair, he picked up the remote and switched on the TV. After flicking through a couple channels, we settled for a cable show playing old hip-hop videos.

For a while, we just sat there, sipping our drinks and staring blankly at the TV screen. Occasionally, my gaze would drift to his hands, which were resting in his lap. They were so smooth and perfect-looking; so clean and strong. The thought of what they could do made me made go all tingly.

I also noted his star tattoo was displayed in all its glory.
No rings today.
I pursed my lips together. I so desperately wanted to sneak a peek at his face, but I had to restrain myself. That could wait.

“What sort of music are you into?” he asked.

“Oh, a bit of everything. Rock, Pop, whatever.”

“But not much of a dancer, eh?” he teased.

“Huh?”

“When I asked you to dance at the party, you said no. Is that because you don’t you like dancing, or because you’re shy?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if I’d had a couple more drinks …” I laughed like a moron. His eyes were on me now, watching, scrutinizing. I raised the mug to my lips and took a large gulp to calm my nerves, almost choking.

Discreetly, I stole another glance at him. He was dressed in a white, long-sleeved sweater with green combats. His short, dark hair was artfully disheveled, giving him the look of a brooding catwalk model. Slowly, my eyes traveled down the rest of his body, focusing on the way his clothes clung to every inch of his muscular frame. A wave of excitement shot through me. It wasn’t easy being so close to him like this. It made me want to do things …

“Becky swung by your college the other day,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “She says she asked around, but nobody had heard of you.” I hadn’t meant it to sound accusatory, but when I was fired up, all tact went out the window.

Lee didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the TV screen, focusing intently on the wild-haired rapper making stupid faces at the camera.

I studied my chewed-down cuticles, barely daring to breathe.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He turned the full warmth of his smile on me, making my stomach do little cart-wheels.

Carefully, I rephrased what I’d said.

For a second, his dark eyes bore into me, making me feel totally naked. Then, turning away, his voice adopted an air of nonchalance. “So Becky came looking for me, did she? Wow, that girl’s like the Terminator. She doesn’t give up.”

I laughed. “The thing is, she thinks you’re giving her the brush-off. She says that’s why you lied to her about where you go to school. To be honest, she’s really quite upset about it.”

“Is that so?” He shot me a shrewd sideways glance. I could tell he was reading between the lines, trying to figure me out. “Is Becky aware that Summerwell Art College has two campuses—one in Elmfield and one in Holborn, West End?”

“No,” I stammered. This was news to me also.

“Well, as I’m mostly based at the Holborn campus, it’s unlikely anyone from Elmfield would know me. That explains why she couldn’t find me.”

“Oh, I see.”

So after all that, there was no big intrigue—no pseudonyms, no secrets. It was just Becky over-thinking the situation, as usual. The mystery was solved: she’d simply gone to the wrong campus! I suddenly felt bad for interrogating him like this. Awkwardly, I drained the last of my coffee and stood. “So, when do you want to start this painting?”

“There’s no hurry. Chill out, relax. We’ve got plenty of time for that. Besides, I need to be in the right frame of mind to paint. My creativity is at its height late at night. Why don’t we at least eat something first?”

“Whatever you want is fine by me,” I shrugged. Slowly, I sat back down again, aware he’d won that round of the battle.

“I’ve got a little confession to make,” he said slowly. “I
was
going to get take-out, but now I’ve decided to inflict my fledgling culinary skills on you. Hope you don’t mind?”

“You’re going to cook?” I raised an eyebrow.