The Boy Who Could See Demons (22 page)

I saw it like it happened slowly.

The man who had frozen like ice dropped his can of Coke.

The pigeons flapped up into the air.

The sky bounced off the wet road.

The policeman’s head turned to me. His mouth was curled in a weird way and his face was a blur. Blood shot out of his forehead like a red horn.

My dad turned and I heard another shot. It was a crack, like a Christmas cracker only much louder, and with a kind of thud behind it that made me feel sick. The second policeman’s arms flung forward and his knees crumpled and he fell. And when I looked back at my dad he was already in the blue car and the old man behind the wheel made the tyres spin and they drove away.

When I looked up again I wasn’t at the police checkpoint or on stage. I was in my dressing room in front of a mirror and I wasn’t wearing my combat suit any more, just my boxer shorts and my black boots. My face was wet and my mouth was red and I was shaking all over. I lifted my arm up to see the marks on it and it was shaking but I could see I was bleeding. Someone was behind me. It was Bonnie Nicholls.

‘Alex,’ she whispered. ‘Alex, what happened?’

I glanced around the dressing room and for some reason it looked like it had been burgled. The dressing table was turned over with all four legs sticking up. One of the big photographs on the far wall was shattered and my locker was open with all the contents on the ground.

‘What happened, Bonnie?’ I said, but before she could answer my legs turned to jelly and I heard her scream and everything went black.

When I woke up I was in a hospital bed in different clothes and my body ached like I’d been trampled by dinosaurs. The nurses gave me some medicine which has pushed most of the pain into the distance. I had a huge black shiner and my nose was so swollen that every time I said, ‘I didn’t do it’ it came out like ‘I nin’t noo it.’ After the nurses a doctor came in and all he wanted to know is why I like drawing skeletons. I got so angry that I started to cry and I saw him write ‘anger issues’ on his notepad.

Anya and Michael and Auntie Bev came later on. I was so relieved to see them that I burst out laughing. This surprised Auntie Bev but made her laugh, too, even though her eyes looked upset.

‘You look like a queen,’ I said to Anya, though I just meant to say she looked nice. She was wearing a clean white dress with no marks on it and her hair was up which made her neck look long and she had make-up on. She smiled though she looked like she wanted to cry.

‘What happened, Alex?’ she said. ‘Did Ruin do this?’

Michael shut the door and Anya looked at some papers the doctors had written about me and then she started asking me more questions, but I felt sleepy and I just wanted some onions and toast with a cup of tea.

‘Do
you
know what happened?’ I asked Anya.

‘We were hoping
you
would tell
us
what happened, Alex,’ Anya said.

I pressed the balls of my palms into my eyes and took deep breaths. I felt so muddled. I thought,
Maybe I really am going crazy
.

When I moved my hands from my eyes I noticed that I’d said this out loud. Both Michael and Anya were looking at me really strangely. After a long time Anya said:

‘Were you upset about your mum tonight, Alex? Did something happen earlier in rehearsals?’

I opened my mouth to tell her about the policeman and the shooting and that I had seen my dad, but when I went to speak no words came out, just long sobs and I started crying so badly that my whole body shook and my back started to ache.

Auntie Bev came and sat on the bed beside me and took my hand. Then she put her arms around me and held me for a long time.

‘Was this an accident?’ she said when she let go, and her voice was very small. ‘Or did you do it to yourself? You can tell me, you know. I won’t be upset. We all just want to help you.’

Just then, Ruen appeared as Ghost Boy. I must have jumped with fright because immediately Anya asked me what was wrong. Ruen stood at the end of the bed, staring at me. He was giving me the Alex Is Stupid look.

‘I’m not stupid!’ I yelled at him.

‘It’s OK, Alex,’ Anya said, but I shook my head because I didn’t mean her. I hated Ruen’s eyes right then, it was like they were bigger than normal, like
bulging
, and even though they were black as two lumps of coal they could see right through me. I put my hands over my eyes.

‘Tell them you did it,’ he said, nodding his head and smiling.

The way he said it made it sound like he was offering more of a helpful suggestion than a command, like he knew something I didn’t and that it would be a good idea to do as he said. He said it again. ‘It’s OK, Alex. Just tell them.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I did it,’ I said.

Auntie Bev let go of me slightly and Anya and Michael looked at each other and I regretted saying it. I wanted Auntie Bev to hold me again. I wanted to ask Ruen why he said I should say that so I just said, ‘Can we talk about this more in the morning? I’m really tired now.’

Anya stepped forward and then crouched down so she could look me in the eye. ‘You did this, Alex? Or Ruin did it?’

Ruen looked angry then. I thought back to the police checkpoint.

‘My dad did something very, very wrong,’ I said slowly, and Anya’s face changed as if she’d seen something she hadn’t seen before.

‘Did your dad hurt you, Alex?’ she said.

I shook my head.

‘Did he hurt your mum?’

I shook my head.

‘Can you tell me what he did?’

For a moment I was going to. But then I felt a new feeling. I felt really ashamed, which didn’t make sense because it wasn’t my fault. But I still felt like she would be disappointed in me.

‘Maybe after a sleep you can tell me,’ Anya said, and I felt so glad of that because I was so tired and sore and my brain felt like mud. I nodded and lay back and closed my eyes.

When I was sure they’d left, I said to Ruen, ‘Why did you tell me to say that?’

He was just staring out the window as if he was looking for someone. He didn’t answer so I asked him again. I was starting to get cross with him.

‘Why would you tell me to lie?’ I asked him.

He turned to me and pressed his face really close to mine. His breath smelled like a butcher’s shop on a sunny day. I turned my face.

‘But you
did
do this to yourself, Alex,’ he whispered. And then he didn’t look cross any more, but like he pitied me. ‘Poor Alex,’ he said, picking up the ball and batting it off the wall opposite. ‘You don’t realise, do you?’

‘Realise what?’

‘That you
did
do this.’

‘And
how
did I do this?’ I said loudly, though it hurt my chest. ‘How would I lift myself up and fling myself into the chest of drawers?’

‘Weren’t you asleep at the time?’

‘Hardly. I was getting ready for the third scene …’

He stopped batting and tilted his head as if he’d just thought of something that I hadn’t. ‘Or were you
dreaming
that you were getting ready for the third scene?’

My head felt like mincemeat now. I just wanted to sleep.

‘I have to sleep now, Ruen,’ I told him.

He nodded. ‘I promise not to tell your mum about this.’

I thought to myself,
But Mum doesn’t even know you exist
, but I said nothing because if I really did do this to myself I certainly didn’t want Mum finding out. It would make her worse. And I felt glad then that Ruen was going to keep it a secret.

‘Do you think Mum is OK?’ I said.

‘Oh, I’m sure she’s fine. Would you like me to make sure she’s OK, Alex?’

I nodded and felt so relieved. ‘Yes, please. I would love that.’

Ruen smiled and leaned over me. ‘Can I ask you to do something for me?’

I nodded.

‘Tomorrow morning I’d like you to ask Anya the list of questions I gave you. Can you do that for me, Alex? I would be very grateful.’

‘OK.’

And then I don’t remember anything else because I fell asleep and dreamed of Granny all night.

18

RUEN’S QUESTIONS

Anya

Alex’s latest predicament is a shock, to say the least.

I had returned to my seat in the Opera House auditorium just as Alex was on stage consoling Hamlet about the hasty marriage between his widowed mother and uncle. I looked over the other members of the audience – many were sat forward in their seats, eager to hear the counsel of this young man to Hamlet. I felt a swell of pride for him. And I wondered if he had crossed a bridge of sorts. I glanced at Michael and thought about Alex’s treatment.
Should he receive treatment at home? Should I sidestep the furore that will be caused by having Cindy deemed unfit to act as Alex’s mother and having him admitted to MacNeice House, a place she believes to be for lunatics? Is Alex demonstrating psychotic symptoms, or symptoms of post-traumatic stress
?

But something happened during the interval. When the curtain went down and the audience were rising in their seats, I spotted Jojo at the bottom of the auditorium, racing across to the other side. I saw her signal at a staff member, then turn to scan the pews as if she was looking for someone. I waved at her, but she didn’t see me. I leaned forward to catch Michael’s attention.

‘Something’s wrong,’ I said to him.

‘What do you mean?’ He followed my gaze to the front of the auditorium, where two boys in REALLY TALENTED KIDS T-shirts were running to the door that Jojo had just exited. I started to make my way over. Michael followed.

When we arrived at the dressing room, Michael pushed past an obstructive crew member and saw the state of the place – it appeared to have been ransacked. Bonnie, the girl who played Ophelia, said she had heard a lot of noise coming from the dressing room. When she entered, she saw Alex crashing against the wall, then falling backwards on to the floor. He was unconscious for a few moments – Bonnie had thought he was dead.

I found Alex’s aunt Beverly and told her that Alex had had an accident, though I still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. The Red Cross team had already taken Alex to A&E, a crew member told us, though he was more anxious about finding an understudy to carry on the performance than answering my questions. Beverly, Michael and I took a taxi and arrived at the A&E department of the City Hospital a short while later, where a nurse led us to a sideroom in the paediatric unit.

Alex looked terrible. Both eyes were bloodshot and his nose was bruised and swollen. A nurse informed me that he had bruising around his lower back that suggested he had deliberately thrown himself against the wall. The force by which the bruising had been caused was unusual in the case of self-harm: it looked like a much larger person would have had to have lifted Alex up and thrown him a distance of approximately ten feet.

I can only imagine that the strain of performing the play was too much for him. When I read through Shakespeare’s original and Jojo’s adaptation, I noticed that the relationship between Hamlet and his father was underlined by an eerie sense of debt, of carrying out revenge on his father’s behalf. I have a suspicion that Alex’s relationship with his father is something I need to investigate more, and I’ve made a note to push Alex a little to talk about it. But clearly I need to wait until he recovers physically.

I did not sleep when I returned home. Michael and I shared a taxi, making the journey together in silence. My mind was racing with hows and whys, circling the issue of the play’s subject like a vulture. The truth was, I had already located my answer, but I wanted to pick the bones of it out of guilt. I should never have allowed Alex to perform in the play. I should have seen the kinds of pressures a major performance would have placed on him at such a vulnerable period in his life. And I should have insisted,
insisted
, that Alex be transferred to MacNeice House.

When the taxi pulled up outside my flat I turned to Michael.

‘As soon as Alex leaves hospital, I am moving him to MacNeice House,’ I said.

He chewed his cheek, keeping his eyes on the space between us. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. For a moment his eyes met mine – filled with a startling amount of want. Then he turned and looked out the window and the taxi pulled away.

When I went to see Alex the day after, he was already dressed. His aunt Beverly had been today, a nurse informed me. She had brought Alex’s belongings. He was still wincing from pain as he sat upright, but had taken the time to get dressed, red bow tie furnishing his brown-and-white striped shirt. His hair had grown so long it was starting to cover his eyes. He had something in his shirt pocket which he revealed to be one of the photos of the new council house. He was keeping it close to his heart, he said. I was delighted that something I’d done had made him so happy.

‘Where’s Michael?’ he said when I closed the door behind me.

‘In his office, I expect,’ I told him. ‘Did you want to see him?’

Alex shook his head. I noticed his dressings had been changed but the silvery morning light revealed the bruising around his face to be travelling through the blue hues of deep impact. I recognised this was a very serious self-harm episode, completely undermining how happy he appeared on the surface.

‘How are you feeling now?’ I asked.

He seemed suddenly hesitant to meet my eye. He rubbed his bicep and said, ‘Sore.’

‘I bet.’

I pulled up a chair at the table, mulling over the best way to broach the subject of Alex’s father. It was important that I eased him into the subject gently, establishing that whatever it was his father had done was not going to land Alex in trouble. On the table was a tray of food leftover from breakfast – a dilapidated fruit salad, a tub of warm Greek yoghurt and porridge sprinkled with pine nuts. I lifted it out the way and set it on the floor close to the door, handing Alex a cup of water.

‘You can have some if you want,’ he said, glancing at the tray of food. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Thank you, Alex,’ I said with a smile. ‘That’s very kind. But I’m allergic to nuts, remember?’