Jason Willow: Face Your Demons Page 6

  He eased himself downstairs and into the kitchen.

  Dad glanced up at him from dishing out goulash into big bowls. ‘Cheer up, Son - Silent Hill might not be all that bad.’

  ‘It’s one long turf-war, Dad – two gangs virtually run the school.’

  A smile flicked over Dad’s lips. ‘Those friends you met, Louisa and Mouse, told you this, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, Louisa can’t even bear talk about it.’ Jason helped himself to French bread and dunked it into his bowl.

  Dad raised one eyebrow in his infuriating, teacher-like, ‘aren’t you missing something obvious?’ type way. ‘Don’t you think they might have been exaggerating slightly, winding the new boy up a little?’

  ‘No. Dad, they really hate the place.’

  Dad raised his hands in surrender. ‘I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself tomorrow.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Miranda said, ‘with all the training you’ve been doing you’ll be able to handle yourself.’ She smiled sweetly.

  They finished eating quickly and Jason began to clear away the dishes. He put the kettle on for Dad’s coffee and grabbed himself another Coke.

  Dad gripped Jason’s shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s take pudding onto the comfy chairs.’

  Jason nodded, pouring the coffee as Dad went back to the table and sliced off three huge chunks from a home-made sponge cake he’d picked up from ‘Mrs Miggins General Store’ – the only shop in the village.

  The three of them creaked along the floorboards into the drawing room at the end of the long, panelled corridor and Jason flopped into his favourite worn leather armchair by the side of the fire.

  Dad turned on a standard lamp bringing a bookshelf to life with glints of gold leaf and warm leather bindings.

  ‘There’s one good thing about you going to school tomorrow,’ Miranda said, draping herself over a leather Chesterfield sofa in the centre of everything, ‘you’ll get to see the lovely Louisa again.’

  ‘Here we go,’ Jason grumbled, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you about her and Mouse.’

  ‘I’m sure Miranda could give you some really useful advice on how to charm this young lady…’ Dad began, grinning broadly. Then he stopped as bright lights washed over the curtains from outside followed by tyres crunching over their gravel drive.

  Glad of an excuse to avoid Miranda’s “agony aunt” session, Jason jumped up to peer through a crack in the heavy velvet drapes.

  The security porch light clicked on to show a massive black Bentley easing to a halt in front of the main doors. Its headlights faded out leaving the comparatively puny porch light bouncing back from the car’s smoked glass windows.

  Dad was suddenly beside him at the window. A blank expression slipped over his face. ‘That’s Alan Brash’s car – one of them anyway. If he comes in… well, just be careful what you say. Switch some more lights on in here please.’

  Dad pulled the curtains closed and walked calmly along the corridor to the entrance hall.

  Jason turned, wide-eyed to Miranda. The Alan Brash was here. Despite all the times the man had helped them move lives, neither Jason nor Miranda had ever met him.

  Jason left the lights off. This side of the room was virtually in darkness with just the standard lamp glowing in the far corner. Miranda joined him and eased the curtains back open a little more so she could spy outside as well.

  They were almost too late. A couple of dark silhouettes were already half way up the front steps. All Jason could make out was a tall man with a long, dark coat draped over broad shoulders and a woman with dark hair piled high on her head and a crimson cloak flowing out behind her.

  Just before they entered the porch they both stopped and, as one, turned to stare directly at the drawing room window.

  Jason and Miranda both jerked back from the curtains but Miranda stopped Jason from shutting them.

  ‘They’ll see the twitching,’ she whispered then scuttled over to close the lounge door with just a crack to squint through.

  A moment later, the old brass doorbell clanged about on its metal coil.

  Jason dashed around the room switching on table lights and picking up a few fallen cake crumbs. He dashed over to join Miranda spying along the long corridor to the entrance hall.

  Dad was brushing back his hair and straightening his shirt. Then he opened the door.

  ‘Ah Richard,’ a rich, almost theatrical voice said, ‘sorry to call on you so late in the evening, old man.’

  ‘Alan,’ was all the greeting Dad gave in return. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that. I just thought I should meet your boy before I bump into him at school… you’d prefer it that way wouldn’t you?’

  There was a moment’s pause then Dad stepped back slightly. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Come inside.’

  Dad moved further back and Alan Brash entered.

  The man seemed to fill the entrance hall. He must have been two metres tall and with the long overcoat rippling down from his broad shoulders he’d the commanding presence of a highwayman halting a mail coach… just without the horse.

  One hand slipped out from the coat to shake Dad’s before Brash turned back to the doorway with a rather flamboyant sweep of his coat-draped arm.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve ever met my personal assistant - Miss Alicia Sirensong.’

  Brash moved aside to let the woman in and blocked Jason’s view. All he could see was Brash’s light blond hair, shimmering down in soft waves to just reach his broad shoulders.

  Jason caught a flash of crimson dress through Brash’s legs and the top of Alicia Sirensong’s dark hair. Her shining tresses were bound up high with delicate, silver tracery.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Dad said, his voice a little husky.

  ‘Hello, Richard. Alan has told me so much about you.’ Alicia’s voice was like honey - soft, warm and rich. Jason wanted her to speak some more.

  Dad’s voice took on a more guarded tone. ‘Ahh – well try not to think too badly of me.’

  Brash guffawed like an inflated, theatre impresario. ‘Nothing of the kind, old man,’ he said, slapping Dad on the shoulder, ‘I have nothing but admiration for the work you did – you know that. Your early departure was a great loss to us.’

  Brash whirled his coat from his shoulders and passed it to Dad in one smooth action. As he moved, Jason caught a glimpse of Alicia’s pearl white face - green eyes flashed above high cheekbones and slightly parted red lips.

  Then Brash began to turn down the corridor. ‘You’re in the drawing room, I believe,’ he said, his voice resonating down the passage.

  Jason and Miranda scuttled back their chairs.

  ‘Yes,’ Jason heard Dad say, ‘go on through.’

  Surprisingly light footsteps for such a big man came closer, followed by the unhurried click of high heels on the wooden floor. Jason tried to flop back in his chair, felt awkward and finally stood up just as Brash entered the room.

  ‘Jason – we meet at last,’ he said, a smile pulling back from strong white teeth with all the pleasure of a wolf sighting a trapped deer. His hard green eyes held Jason’s.

  ‘Mr Brash - pleased to meet you, at last’ Jason replied.

  Brash’s smile changed a little – amusement perhaps – then he turned to Miranda. ‘And you must be Miranda. What a vision of loveliness you are.’

  Miranda smiled back. ‘How nice of you to notice.’

  Brash hesitated for a split second then laughed. He swaggered into the room to shake both their hands in a strong grip.

  For a moment, Jason’s mind was filled with the man. Not a clear image but more a sense of his presence. It was like the feeling you get when you know someone is behind you.

  Brash let him go and stepped back. Jason’s mind was still clearing when a cool, slim hand slipped into his and his every sense snapped into focus. Alicia Sirensong stood in front of him.

  Jason felt every square centimetre of her skin against his hand, from
the tips of her elegant fingers just touching his wrist to her soft, yielding palm pressing against his. He caught a trace of sweetly seductive perfume before it tantalizingly slipped away.

  ‘Hello, Jason,’ she said, ‘I’m Alicia,’ her voice wove around him, soft and warm.

  ‘Hi,’ he replied. He could not bring himself to look at her face. She’d set his cheeks on fire already. Alicia held him for a moment longer then, with a final, gentle squeeze, slipped her hand from his.

  ‘Sit down, please.’ Dad had edged past their guests to stand beside Jason. ‘Would you like some tea, coffee... or something a little stronger?’

  Brash took his gaze off Jason’s flushed face to look at Dad. ‘Alicia enjoys a decent whisky,’ he said with an exaggerated wink.

  Dad loved whisky as well. An expensive, single malt made in a small distillery near Mawn was always kept close at hand.

  ‘I have a bottle in the kitchen,’ Dad said, ‘but it’s only from the supermarket, I’m afraid.’

  Jason glanced at Dad. Was he making sure Brash didn’t have any clues to grandfather’s home?

  Brash smiled indulgently. ‘At the risk of sounding rude, I have a rather nice single malt in the car… to help my longer journeys pass a little more quickly. Might I tempt you?’

  ‘Fine,’ Dad said.

  Brash gave a faint nod and looked back at Jason. ‘Jason, old chap, would you mind awfully just popping out to the car to dig out the whisky. Just let yourself into the back and you’ll find the drinks cabinet easily enough.’

  Jason nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Hurry back,’ Alicia breathed.

  Jason glanced at her - surely she was taking the mickey. ‘Missing you already,’ he fired back.

  She smiled warmly. Jason grinned inanely and made for the door, Alicia Sirensong’s fine porcelain face and vivid green eyes still burning into his brain.

  He walked slowly along the corridor and into the hall, trying to make his footsteps sound measured and cool. He heard Alicia laugh at something, soft and rich, as he tugged open the front door and stepped out into the porch. He was grateful for the cool air on his face.

  The motion-sensing porch light blinked into life, illuminating the steps but turning the rest of the world black. Dark against dark the Bentley waited. As his eyes adjusted, Jason could make out the two huge headlamps glinting at him from either side of a snarling silver grill. The car’s powerful bulk crouched back into the darkness like a puma ready to pounce.

  Whistling in admiration, Jason walked down the steps. He ran his fingertips along one wing, over the driver’s door with its blacked out windows, and onto the double passenger doors behind.

  He slipped his fingers around the cool silver handle and with a solid click, one door swung easily outwards. A soft, interior light glowed into life and the comforting smell of fine leather drifted out. The floor was carpeted in a deep maroon and a rich mahogany gleamed from all the doors and facings.

  Jason placed one foot carefully inside and bowed his head a little to duck in under the roof. A hand shot out from nowhere and pulled him in.

  Before he could even start to struggle he was yanked halfway into the driver’s section with both arms pinned against his body by the two front seats. The back door clicked closed and the lights went out.

  ‘You tryin’ to steal from Mr Brash’s car boy? I’ll cut your ruddy hands off.’

  Jason was helpless. One pincer-like hand gripped him around the back of the neck, pushing his face hard into the leather of the front passenger seat, whilst another held his body jammed between the seats.

  ‘Whisky,’ Jason gasped, struggling to breath. ‘Mr Brash sent me to get his… whisky.’

  The pressure eased on his neck a little and a moment later the lights faded up. Jason took in a deep breath, his lungs filling with polish. ‘I live here…didn’t you see me come…?’ Jason twisted his head to see who held him and stopped breathing.

  ‘…out,’ he coughed.

  A living corpse had him.

  At least, it looked like a corpse. He was held down by a man with deathly pale skin stretched thinly over prominent skull bones. His black eyes were buried deep in their shadowed sockets and thin pale lips drew back over large, tombstone teeth. All this was dressed up in a grey chauffeur’s cap and uniform.

  ‘You tellin’ the truth, boy?’ Those thin, bloodless lips hardly moved as the man’s East London accent rattled out like it was passing over dry bones.

  ‘Yes… go in and ask Mr Brash yourself if you don’t believe me,’ Jason was starting to get annoyed. Accused of stealing, being bent over a car seat by some freak of a driver…

  The man stared at him for a long moment then suddenly he was pulled effortlessly up by the shoulder and pushed back into the rear seats. With hardly a hum, a smoked glass screen slid up between the two compartments and the front light faded out. Jason was left staring at his own reflection.

  ‘Psycho creep,’ Jason muttered. He quickly found the drinks cabinet, grabbed an unopened whisky bottle from its mirrored interior and scrambled out of the car.

  At the porch Jason looked back at the Bentley, brooding at the very edge of the circle of porch light. That skeletal chauffer must have seen him come out of the house – he’d just been having some twisted control kick.

  He went in and shut the door, straightening his clothes and hair before hurrying along the corridor to the warm glow of the drawing room and the low murmur of voices.

  ‘Hurrah,’ Brash exclaimed as Jason stepped into the light clutching the whisky, ‘the hero returns with the magical elixir.’

  ‘Is everything all right, Son?’ Dad asked, catching Jason’s look.

  ‘Ah - I bet you ran into Cadaveril didn’t you, my boy?’ Brash asked before Jason could answer. ‘He’s enough to give anybody a scare, the ugly old sod.’

  Alicia looked up, her sparkling emerald eyes instantly drawing Jason’s gaze. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her he’d been helplessly pinned down between the Bentley’s seats a minute ago. ‘Uh… yes, sort of.’

  ‘I see,’ Dad said, taking the bottle from him and moving over to some crystal whisky glasses already laid out.

  ‘Come sit with me, Jason,’ Alicia said. She patted a cushion next to her on the central couch. The men had taken the high backed armchairs to either side of the fire and Miranda had pulled up a spare seat next to Dad.

  Jason attempted a smile and joined Alicia. Dad had poured him some Coke into one of the heavy whisky glasses but he ignored it. What was Dad thinking - putting Coke in a whisky glass for him like he was a “big boy”.

  ‘How are you feeling about starting at Silent Hill?’ Alicia asked, her lips taking a sip from the heavy crystal.

  ‘All right... I’ve heard it can be a bit rough there though.’

  ‘Nothing you can’t handle, Jason, my boy,’ Brash cut in, gently swirling the golden whiskey around his glass. ‘You’ll be able to get some Jakra practice in against some of our ne’r-do-wells. Just see it as a little extra training to help prepare you for what lies ahead.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jason asked.

  ‘I think that’s enough,’ Dad cut in. He hadn’t touched his drink.

  Brash ignored him. ‘You coming into your powers, of course.’

  Dad stood up. ‘You’ve no right to talk about this.’

  Brash stared at Dad but held up one hand in mock-surrender.

  ‘What powers are you talking about?’ Jason forced his question into the icy silence.

  Brash shrugged his shoulders and made a zipping motion across his lips. Jason glanced at Alicia for an answer. She’d straightened slightly in her seat but she kept quiet.

  ‘This wasn’t a good idea. You need to go now,’ Dad said, finally. His voice was calm but Jason immediately recognized the relaxed stance he used just before sparring.

  Brash held Dad’s gaze. ‘Jason needs to know what he is.’

  ‘And he will be told in good time – by me. You need to go
now,’ Dad repeated.

  Brash considered Dad for a moment then gave the slightest of nods. He leant forward as if to get up then suddenly launched his heavy-set frame into a twisting somersault straight over Jason’s head and landed perfectly a couple of metres beyond the couch. Air rushed over Jason’s face as he twisted around, open mouthed.

  As Brash straightened up, Alicia hurled her empty whisky glass at him. Brash’s hand shot out and the glass stopped dead - in mid air. He twitched his hand forward and the glass flew back into Alicia’s grasp.

  Jason was frozen to his seat, his mouth still wide open. A second, lesser breeze brushed passed him.

  Brash winked at Jason. ‘I really am getting too old for all this, you know.’

  Alicia rose gracefully, picked up Brash’s own glass from the table and passed it to him.

  Brash smiled gratefully and drained the last half inch. ‘I’m sorry, Richard, I really am, but I know you too well. I needed some way to make you start the conversation with your son.’

  Jason remembered to close his mouth then turned to Dad. ‘How did he do that? Can you do it… can I?’

  Again, it was Brash who answered, flashing his perfect white teeth. ‘That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Jason, my boy. A bit of training and you’ll be running up walls and levelling houses with the rest of us.’

  Dad moved over the door and opened it wide. ‘You never did consider the rules important did you Alan – any of them?’

  Brash shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘Sometimes the rules need changing. Jason now knows there is more to this world than his physics lessons would have him believe. Either you tell him about the rest of it or I guarantee he will come to me to find out for himself.’

  Dad continued to stare at Brash, his eyes cold. He didn’t show a single sign of anger or annoyance, he never did when he was facing a threat. Jason swallowed. Dad’s Jakra was devastating but pitted against the sort of things Brash had just done…

  The air in the room almost shimmered with the chill between the two men but then Alicia Sirensong’s warm voice flowed over the ice. ‘You know your son’s potential, Richard, the Gifts that are coming upon him now that he is… growing up. It is not safe to hide it from him any longer.’