Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) (25 page)

2010

“HAVE YOU
HAD ENOUGH TO EAT?”
Mum said.

“Yeah—thanks,” I said. I pushed my plate away. I didn’t usually manage to get away with leaving so much food, but for once Mum didn’t complain.

“Do you want another drink? Or a biscuit?”

“No thanks—I’m all right.”

“I could always pop out and get you something if you like—if there’s anything you really wanted.”

I looked at her blankly, thought,
Yeah, a new identity—that would be nice
. “Mum,” I said. “You don’t have to keep –”

The phone rang. She looked at it but hesitated. “I’d better answer it,” she said.

She picked the phone up and listened with a serious expression on her face. “Hang on,” she said to the caller. Then to me, “It’s your dad—do you mind if I take it through to the other room?”

“Don’t worry,” I said, getting up from the table. “I’m going upstairs anyway.”

Up in my room I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. How the hell did I get in such a mess?
My life
, I thought,
is a complete disaster area
. I shut my eyes and sighed. One thing was for sure—the nightmare wasn’t over.

The police wanted me to make a statement. That wasn’t going to be easy. What would I tell them, and what would I leave out? And what if I had to go to court? Would I have to stand up and face Robbo and the rest of them? Robbo already thought I’d been trying to steal from him.
Next time
, I thought,
they won’t just beat me up, they’ll try and shut me up forever
. And they’d probably go after Matt as well. The police couldn’t stop them. They couldn’t guard us twenty-four hours a day. And anyway, the police already thought I was a troublemaker. They wouldn’t want to waste much time on me.

And the worst thing was I didn’t have a single convincing reason or excuse to explain what I’d done. Why did I ever think it would be OK to take Matt into that damned quarry when I knew the Brewers went in there? It was all my fault. And everyone else would know it was my fault, and they’d blame me for what happened.
They’ll all hate me
, I thought.
The kids at school will hate me for getting Matt into trouble, and the teachers will think I’m a real no-hoper. And then, when they find out the Brewers are out to get me, who’ll want to be seen with me?

But what about Matt—would he stick by me? I reached out to the bedside table and checked my phone. I’d put it on to charge earlier, out of habit, and there were a couple of bars of charge. I could always keep it plugged in while I used it.

Matt took longer than usual to answer. Of course, he’d have known who was calling. I thought I might have to leave a message, but then he took the call. He sounded cautious, just said, “Hi.”

“Hi, Matt. I thought you weren’t there for a minute. You all right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Look, I…I’m really sorry about all this.”

Matt didn’t reply.

I went on, struggling to find the words. “And I wanted to say thanks as well. You know, for getting help.”

Again, there was no reply.

“Matt? Are you still there? Is the signal breaking up?”

“I’m here.” After the silence, his voice seemed loud, though it was dull, flat, unfriendly. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I just wondered…”

But suddenly Matt was speaking again, sounding nervous. “Did you hear about Mitchell Brewer?”

“No.”

“My dad talked to the police. They found Mitchell in the hospital. His leg’s really cut up. They think he’ll need a skin graft.” He paused. “And there’s something else…”

“What?” I said. I held my breath.

Matt couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. “The police wanted to know if we had anything to do with his accident. They were asking about you with those tools.”

“Oh no. They can’t think I…can they?” I said. “What did you tell them?”

“What do
you
think?” Matt said.

I opened my mouth to speak, but for a second I couldn’t think what to say. Matt had never spoken to me like that. “Look, Matt,” I managed, “I know it’s all pretty messed up, and it’s my fault, I know it is, but are you…I mean, are we OK?”

There was no awkward pause while Matt thought this through. I wish there had been. But he’d already done his thinking. He had his answer ready: “I’m not allowed to hang out with you anymore. My dad says I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe in a while, when things have calmed down a bit,” he said, but he didn’t sound hopeful.

“Oh. Right.”

“Was there something else?” he asked.

“No, I –”

He didn’t let me finish. “OK, bye,” he said. And he ended the call.

Now there were two more problems to add to the list. The police thought I was the kind of vicious thug who takes a hammer to a gang fight. And on top of that, I’d just lost my best friend—the only real friend I’d ever had.

3,500 BC

TELLAN CLOSED
THE DOOR
of his hut and crouched by the fire. He laid the deerskin on the ground and unrolled it slowly. This was what he’d been waiting for. He’d told no one about the mysterious treasures he’d found at Waeccan’s side. Now he marvelled at them, the strangest objects he’d ever seen. Gently, he reached out and took them up, one in each hand. He breathed a sigh of satisfaction. They felt good in his hands. But what were they for? And who had made them? They were too heavy, too strong to be natural. They were as cold as stone to the touch, yet when he turned them they glittered in the firelight.

Tellan turned them in his hands, feeling their balance, watching the firelight flash from their smooth surfaces. And what was this? He saw they were both carved with mystical markings—the same symbols on each. Two of the symbols were crescent moons, the other was a sharp pointed shape, perhaps to show a mountain or hill. Tellan nodded. Yes, these objects had power—he was sure of that. And he would learn about that power, learn how to use it. But first, he must hide them away, keep them safe. He looked around his hut. He’d hide them there, bury them by the wall, away from the fire and the light from the door. He’d only take them out when he was alone. And he would tell no one.

2010

I SLEPT
IN LATE
. Mum said I should have the day off school, and I wasn’t about to argue. I wouldn’t have to see anyone, face anyone, explain anything. I planned to spend most of the day in bed. The night before, I hadn’t been able to sleep properly. Whichever way I’d lain, I’d always ended up putting weight on a bruise. And when I’d got up to go to the loo, my arms and legs were stiff and sore. I’d shuffled along like an old man. Then I’d stumbled and knocked my elbow on the doorframe. The pain had shocked me, made me whimper.

I couldn’t manage the simplest thing. I just wanted to pull the warm duvet over my head and hide away from the world.

But that cosy feeling couldn’t last long. A knock on the door.

“I’m just off to work then,” Mum said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

I groaned and stuck my head out from beneath the duvet. “Yeah,” I said. “Fine.”

Mum hesitated. “Because I can always phone in—tell them I’m staying at home with you.”

“No,” I said. “You go. I’m only going to stay in bed.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I don’t like to leave you…”

I tried to smile. “It’s all right, Mum. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.”

“All right then. You’ve got my number—give me a call if you need anything.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’d better go, or you’ll be late.”

Mum looked at her watch, and the panic fluttered across her face. “Oh, erm, right, well, take care, and I’ll see you later.” She turned, and I heard her blundering down the stairs. “Have something to eat,” she called. “And drink. And keep warm. Bye.”

I heard the front door slam, and I was on my own. I shut my eyes. Peace.

* * *

At the first creak of the floorboards, I opened my eyes. At the second, I sat up, staring at the door, listening. It was Robbo coming to get me, it was the old man from the quarry creeping up the stairs, a burglar, a…what? I sighed. It was nothing. The floorboards always did that. I should’ve known, shouldn’t have been so jumpy. I sat back. I just wanted to sleep, wanted to block it all out, but I was too wired, too wound up. Maybe I could read for a while. I looked on my bedside table and pulled a face. I was halfway through
Of Mice and Men
. We had to read it for school. I picked it up, opened it at my bookmark and scanned the page. Had I read this bit before? I flicked back a few pages. No, I didn’t recognise that bit either. I tried to concentrate and remember the plot, but I kept reading the same paragraph over and over. It was no good. I threw it back onto the table. Damn, I’d forgotten to put the bookmark back in. Oh well, maybe there was a film or a CD or something.

I switched my clock radio on and shut my eyes, let the music wash over me. But then, the questions came, one after another, drowning out the radio. I tried to ignore them, but they wouldn’t let me be.

What had happened to me up on that ledge? Was it a dream, a hallucination? Maybe there was something wrong with me, maybe I needed to see a doctor.
No
, I thought,
that doesn’t explain the tools—they were real enough, and Mr Drew recognised them, knew about the ledge, knew about the black stone
. I opened my eyes and looked across to where I’d put the tools on top of my bookshelf. I thought about the letters on the handles. “V for Vincent,” I muttered to myself. “But are you real, or did Mr Drew dream you up?” I chewed my lip. He was old, maybe he lived in a world of his own. But he’d recognised those tools, he wasn’t faking that. And he’d seen something up on that ledge, I could see the certainty in his eyes. And something had happened to this Vincent character a long time ago, something to do with those tools. If three of us had seen something strange, it couldn’t be a coincidence, couldn’t just be my mind playing tricks.

And then there were the phones. Why had they all rung at once? Perhaps a problem with the network. Maybe a power surge or something happened to the mast. But my phone had also rung the first time, when I sat on the stone. That could’ve just been someone calling me. Of course, it should’ve registered the missed call, and I knew it hadn’t. Also, old Mr Drew claimed that his phone had rung as well—
both
times.

So it all came back to one question: did I trust Mr Drew? He might be a complete nutter for all I knew. He might’ve seen the Loch Ness Monster and be certain he’s abducted by aliens every second Tuesday. After all, he did go a bit crazy the first time he saw me, and the police certainly seemed to know him for some reason.

I sighed. That wasn’t fair. He’d been kind to me.
Forget about him
, I thought.
Forget about the tools and the phones
. But there was one thing I couldn’t dismiss—the black stone itself. What was it doing there? Who made it and why? And how long had it been there?

And then it came to me. “Cally,” I whispered. She would know, and her student friends would know even more. Wasn’t there even a professor somebody or other? Yes. If only I’d got her number. Of course, there was another way.
It’s a weekday
, I thought,
and the middle of the morning. They might be there right now. They can’t have finished yet—it didn’t look as if they’d done anything
.

I ran a hand over my face. Could I do it? Could I drag myself out of bed? Mum would go mad—if she ever found out. And then there was Cally. It would be great to see her again. She was so different from other girls, she was so…I smiled to myself. She was gorgeous. And this might be my only chance to try and see her again. I might be back at school tomorrow, and I had no idea how long they were going to be there.

I pushed back the duvet and swung myself around, gently lowering my feet to the floor. I stood, too quickly, and swayed as the rush of dizziness faded away. “I can do this,” I whispered. “I’ve got to do this.” What choice did I have? I knew I’d seen something, and I needed to explain it, needed to know what it meant. I needed to talk to someone who might understand, who might be able to help me to make sense of it all. I had to go back to the black stone. Maybe they’d laugh at me, maybe they’d tell me I’d imagined the whole thing, but at least I would know. At least I’d be doing something about it for myself.

I grabbed some clothes and pulled them on as quickly as I could over my bruised body. If I hesitated, I wouldn’t go. And if I didn’t go, then I’d never know what had happened to me. My phone wasn’t fully charged yet, but it would have to do. I unplugged it and pushed it into my pocket. Was there anything else? Yes—I’d take the tools. They didn’t prove anything really, but the academic types might be interested. I picked up my school bag, tipped the books onto my bed and put the tools inside. I was ready.

At the bottom of the stairs, I thought about Mum. What if she rang up to see how I was? I went into the kitchen and checked the answering machine was on. I could say I was sleeping and I’d let the machine take the call. It would be OK; I wasn’t going to be long anyway. There was no reason she should ever know I’d gone out. I made sure I had my key and then slipped out, locking the door behind me. I checked my watch. I’d be back in a couple of hours at the most.