Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy) (28 page)

Just before six, I heard the front door slam and I knew Mum and Greg had gone out for the evening. I was glad, because it meant there wouldn’t been any more awkward questions or heart-to-heart chats.

Between seven and eight, I tried to get some homework done, but my head just wasn’t with it. I decided to clean the kitchen instead. I washed and wiped down the dishes twice over, mopped the floor, and even polished in between the wall tiles. Then I tried to make a sandwich, but almost threw up at the first bite; my stomach couldn’t hold any food. In the end, I survived on endless cups of black coffee.

The next morning I awoke early, showered, dressed and was out the door by eight. By rights, I should have been heading for school and first period English with Mr. Maine—but there had been a change of plans. I’d spent the whole night wrestling with my conscience, tossing and turning over the wretchedness of the situation. Now I knew there was nothing I could do but confront Elliot with my decision. I couldn’t keep his secret anymore. It wasn’t fair to Anne or Neil, or to anyone concerned. My intention was to reveal the truth, no matter what—even if that meant I would never see him again. For the sake of my sanity, it was what I had to do.

The day was cold and bright as I ambled along Roseberry Avenue toward the bus stop at the corner of Chestnut Grove, silently plotting out the route to Elliot’s place. When the bus finally arrived, it was so packed I had to stand for the whole trip. I was relieved to get off fifteen minutes later and change to the bus which, according to my estimation, would take me all the way to Elmfield Park. Once up there, I figured I would recognize enough of the surrounding area to be able to find Falcon Mews.

The bus dropped me off beside a small footpath that ran through Elmfield Park and, after a brisk five-minute walk, I was at the back of Elliot’s apartment block. I then had to do another five-minute stint, stomping through the tall grass and getting my shoes muddy before finally arriving at the front entrance.

Suddenly, a pang of nerves belatedly kicked in, and I started to doubt myself. Was I
really
doing the right thing? I had no idea if he was home or not, but since I’d come all this way, there was no turning back now.

Hesitantly, I pressed the bell on the intercom and waited for a response. Two minutes passed. Three. It didn’t seem that anybody was in, so I rang a couple of the neighbor’s doors in the hope that someone would at least give me access to the building.

“Hello?” a female voice answered.

“Er, hello, it’s the postman,” I lied, putting my mouth to the intercom. “I’ve got a parcel for number twenty-six. Could you let me in, please?”

Immediately, the buzzer sounded and I strode through the glass entry doors to a posh-looking lobby. From there, I took the elevator all the way to the top. In no time, I found myself in front of Elliot’s door. Cautiously, I tapped the brass knocker, the noise echoing in the ominously silent hall. Within a minute, it was clear there was no one home.

I realized I was in for a bit of a wait. Well, I didn’t care. I had the day off school and I could stay around until he showed up.

Pulling my hood over my head, I sat down by the wall opposite, staring blankly at the front door. I glanced at the clock on my phone. It was still early.
Where could he be? School? If he went to school today, I’ll be in for a long wait.

I shook my head dismissively. No, he was not in class. I was almost certain that whole story about Summerwell had been a lie to throw me off track—although he was such a brilliant artist that he wouldn’t have any problem passing the entrance exams to any number of reputable London colleges.

I wonder how Elliot managed to survive so long in the UK without the police detecting him?
Was he using a fake ID in his day-to-day life? If, for example, he’d been taken out the country at some point, his captors would have surely had to get him a fake passport and possibly other fraudulent documents to avoid arousing suspicion.
I mean, he couldn’t very well enrol in a school under his real name, could he?

I glanced absently at my scuffed Converses and shivered a little. The hall felt drafty, despite my many layers of clothing, and I rubbed my arms vigorously for warmth.

I heard a low humming noise. I flipped open my phone and saw a text from Frasier:
Where R U? Are U OK? Maine is asking after U. What should I tell him?

I’m fine thanks,
I texted back.
Just got some stuff to sort out. Will be back tomorrow. Don’t tell Maine anything. I’ll call U 2nite.

Chewing my bottom lip, I put the phone back in my pocket. Damn. I’d forgotten to call in sick and now ran the risk of the principle telling Mum I’d played truant. Ah well, I had bigger concerns right now. School would have to stay on the backburner.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew it was after eleven and the sound of rattling keys brought me back to life. Elliot came around the corner carrying a shopping bag and listening to music on his iPod. The second he saw me, he sort of froze. Then he took out his headphones and continued heading toward me, an exasperated expression on his face.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said coldly. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in school? I thought we agreed for you to act normal and not change your routine?”

I scrambled to my feet, dusting myself down in an attempt to look more presentable. “Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry. I would have called to let you know I was coming, but I don’t have your phone number.”

He walked straight up to his door and started turning the key in the lock. When he spoke again, his lips barely moved, like it was paining him to be civil. “Exactly why are you here? I thought we had an understanding. I need time to think this through before making a decision. You should have waited.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t. You have no idea what this is doing to me, Elliot. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I feel so bad for Anne and Neil, the guilt is killing me, and … I’ve decided I’ve got to tell them, with or without your consent.” I paused for a reaction, but he remained tight-lipped, so I continued: “If you only knew what this is doing to your mum, you’d understand why I’ve got to tell them. I can’t leave them in the dark any more. It isn’t fair.”

By now he had one foot in the door. “You shouldn’t have come. It was a mistake,” he growled. “Do whatever you want with regards to my parents. I couldn’t care less.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” I pleaded. “Look, I just want this over and done with. Come with me to Lansbury today and we can go see your parents together. I’ll support you. You won’t be alone, I promise. We can …”

Before I could finish, he’d slammed the door in my face.

For a moment, I stood in the hall, staring at the brass knocker, with heat creeping up my neck and coloring my cheeks.

“Open this door
now
.”

Two minutes passed and the place was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Incensed by his rebuff, I took a couple of steps back and ran at the door, slamming down my foot so hard I thought I’d splinter it. But the wood was sturdy and didn’t budge an inch. I took another shot at it, but once more failed to make even the slightest impact. Then an old lady down the hall poked her head out her door to see what the commotion was. She glared at me, but I ignored her and continued my attack with renewed vigor.

I ran at the door again and again, until my toes were so sore I could barely stand. But I didn’t care. I had to vent my frustration somehow, and he wasn’t going to get away with this. No way, no how.

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” I shouted. “If it takes all day and all night, I don’t care. I’m gonna stay right here till you open this door. I’m not a quitter, Elliot.”

Muttering a swear word, the old lady disappeared back inside her apartment. I carried on knocking and shouting until my throat was hoarse. Then, with a strangled gasp, I collapsed to my knees on the doorstep, my shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

Just as I was about to give up hope, Elliot’s door opened a fraction, and then opened all the way and he stood gazing down at me, a look of benevolence on his face.

Silently, he reached out and helped me back to my feet. As our fingers touched the warmth of skin sent a tremor through me. God, his face was just so perfect. My anger evaporated immediately.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

We caught the two forty-five from Euston to Lansbury and found a seat in one of the half-empty back carriages. We were traveling before the rush hour, so we avoided all the end-of-workday commuters. It was raining heavily, which didn’t help to lighten the mood much, and we spent most of the journey in silence. Elliot clasped and unclasped his hands. He kept his cap pulled down low so I couldn’t see the fear in his eyes.

I stared out the window at the hard, wet rain, my heart and stomach weighed down with apprehension. Before we’d left London, I’d phoned Neil to tell him I was coming over, but hadn’t mentioned the reason. He’d been very inquisitive, but I’d said it was something we needed to discuss in person. Now, as I squinted through the glass at the emerald foothills, I wondered if I should have at least prepared him for what was coming.

Around four, the train pulled into Lansbury. When we got to the house, I rang the bell and waited for what seemed like eternity. We stood there, not knowing where to look, the shadow of uncertainty hovering over us. Then a shape appeared through the frosted glass and Anne opened the door. She seemed to have lost even more weight since we’d last met. She was as pale and bloodless as a vampire, her arms wiry and emaciated under her polka dot dress. It was obvious that her condition had deteriorated.

“Sam,” she smiled, “so lovely to see you again.” Then instantly she did a double take. “Darling what on earth happened to your cheek? It’s all swollen.”

“I fell over,” I said.

“You poor dear! Please, come in out of the rain. You and your friend here must be absolutely soaked.” She glanced briefly at Elliot, but her eyes bore no signs of recognition.

Neil met us in the hall. “Hello, poppet,” he grinned, wrapping me in a familiar bear hug. “How was the journey up?”

“Wet,” I replied, shifting my gaze uneasily between Anne and Elliot. She was staring at him a lot, with a puzzled sort of frown. “Look, can we all go and sit down?” I said. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“What about your friend here?” Neil continued, glancing at Elliot. “Where are your manners, Sam? You haven’t even introduced us yet.”

“Please,” I interjected, “everything will be clear in a minute. I think we all need to sit down first.”

“Okay,” Anne said. “Neil, put the kettle on for some tea.”

He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Anne hung up our wet jackets on the coat rack, and then we followed her into the living room. A fire crackled in the grate and the air smelt pleasantly of freshly baked scones. Elliot took the armchair closest the bookshelf while Anne and I sat together on the sofa.

There was a prolonged silence.

“Sam, what’s going on?” Anne whispered.

“Tell you in a minute,” I said. Silently, I mouthed to Elliot, “Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be fine.”

He nodded woodenly. I could tell he was getting really worked up. His eyes were fixed on the floor, a sullen pout on those fabulous lips, and I wondered what was going through his head.

Neil returned carrying the silver tea set and placed it on the coffee table. Then he remained standing by the window with his arms folded across his chest like a Native American chief. “So, what’s this all about, then?”

“Yes, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Anne chimed in.

I’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times the night before, but now the words felt awkward and heavy on my tongue. Rubbing my hands over my knees, I took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s like this … Oh god, how do I say this? Basically, the reason we …” I faltered, looking across to Elliot for support. “Can you roll up your sleeve please?”

“What?” He looked startled.

“Show them your arm,” I repeated.

With slow reluctance, he rolled up his shirt sleeve and revealed his birthmark.

“Oh my god!” Anne shrieked, gripping my arm so hard I thought she’d break it. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

Neil remained rooted to the spot, a grave expression clouding his craggy features. He glanced from me to Elliot and then back again. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on? What is this, some kind of sick joke?”

“He’s your son,” I said tonelessly, slumping back against the sofa cushions. “He’s Elliot.”

“That is not my son,” Neil hissed. “Don’t you think I’ve got eyes? I know what my son looks like, and that person sitting there is
not
my son. Why are you doing this to us, Sam? Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough?”

“It’s the truth,” Elliot said, speaking for the first time. “I am your son. It’s me, Dad.”

Neil fell silent, visibly trembling.

Anne got up and crossed over to where Elliot was sitting. “Stand up and let me take a look at you,” she whispered.

Wordlessly, he obeyed, and for a moment she stood running her hands gently over his face, staring at him hard, trying to reach beneath the surface and see what Neil couldn’t. Then she let out a loud gasp and burst into tears.