

Projector

The Making of Leon Black

Smashwords Version

Copyright Philip Gilliver 2018
Copyright © 2011 Philip Gilliver

All rights reserved.

Cover photo by Melanie Gilliver

This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Eileen and Michael Gilliver. With very special thanks to Ali M Cooper for her time and authourly guidance. Also thanks to my wonderful wife Melanie and to my sister Lori Dexter, Adam Jones, Sharon Williams, Helen Williams, Lorraine McLoed and Karen Lloyd-Jones for being beta readers.

ONE

My name is Leon Black. I am fifteen years old and I have killed seven people. It's all because of a boy called Carl Harper and something in my head that I called the Projector.

In the beginning, when I was very young and knew little about the evil ways of Man, I used what I had \- my special powers for good. I had no idea back then that I was special. As far as I was concerned, I was a normal boy absorbing what was going on around me. The very fact that I could use what was inside my head for the benefit of others meant that it was a good thing. Everything was natural and right.

I think I had just turned five when the Projector turned itself on. It introduced itself to me on a cold December evening on the streets of Edinburgh. My memory is cloudy but I do recall my hands being white from the deep winter chill. I was wearing my green duffle coat and a red knitted hat. I had lost my mittens and stuffed my left hand into my pocket to try to warm it. My right hand was stinging with pain as my mum held onto it tightly so that I wouldn't be sucked into the traffic.

My legs were tired and aching. My small body had been yanked here and there as my mother explored every department store and side street emporium in search of the elusive something to buy my dad and my three aunts for Christmas.

To my relief she had given up and announced that we should be heading off to catch the bus. We'd just turned the corner to go to the bus stop when we hit a crowd of people at a police barricade. The road was blocked and we couldn't move for bodies. People were shouting all around us. Some were pointing to the top of the multi-storey car park. I looked up. There was a man sitting on the wall. His legs were dangling over the side. I saw him silhouetted against the deep blue sky.

'What's that man doing?' I asked mum.

I could only make out some of her reply. She had her hand against her mouth.

'Err... What? Nothing sweetheart, don't look. I'd better get you away from here, I think. It's not something a five year old should see.'

She poked and prodded at the slender gaps in between the people to make one big enough for us to get through. It didn't work. The bodies formed a solid mass.

She turned me around and we started back the way we had come, only to find that we couldn't move in that direction either. More people had appeared, distracted from their last minute Christmas shopping by the impending tragedy. We were trapped.

The police were trying to hold everyone back, but with little success. They were getting prepared for the worst to happen. My mum kept putting her hands in front of my eyes, even though I was too short to see anything much, and I kept pushing them away. I heard mum talking to a woman standing next to us. When she found out who the man was mum became even more anxious and upset. She'd recognized the name. She'd been in school with him. His name was Jake. Mum remembered him being a nice boy. He'd always done what was asked of him, was polite to everybody, turned up on time and got on with his school work. He hadn't been very confident, but he'd done his best from a discreet distance. Jake had been shy with girls, even though he was good looking. Unfortunately, nobody told him this, so he didn't ask anybody out.

When he'd finally met someone she was the love of his life. Her name was Christine and he'd met her on a works night out while he was working at Rogerson's Bank. Eventually they married and had two children, a boy and a girl.

I looked up at him, somehow managing to shut out all of the madness that was going on around me. Jake was extremely sad. I could feel that as clearly as if the feelings were coming from my own being. I focused on him hard, and I saw his life. I saw him at the church on their wedding day, nervously anticipating Christine's arrival. I felt his happiness when his children were born and the fun they'd had on their holidays. I saw Christine. I saw her the most because Jake was thinking about her. It had been a whole year since she had been taken by an illness that I didn't understand, but I knew it had been bad. He was missing her. He wasn't complete without her. I could feel that, too. Part of me was there on the roof with him, looking through his eyes, seeing the crowds gathered below. The emergency services would do their best, but I knew who he needed to talk to.

Suddenly Christine was there on the car park roof behind him. Jake's heart thumped in his chest, then lightened slightly as he heard the lilt of her voice again.

'What are you doing, my love? This isn't you at all.'

This was the first time that I knew that I could go inside people's heads and make them see what I wanted them to see.

Jake turned around very slowly.

'Chris! How?' Tears started to roll down his face. He sobbed, his body shaking.

Christine reached out towards him. She wanted him to take her hands.

'Come away from there, Jake.'

'I can't do it; I can't go on. It's so hard, Chris. I can't do anything. It's Christmas and everyone's laughing and having a good time. I can't do that. You were everything.'

'I'm gone now,' said Christine. 'I'm with Jesus in Heaven.'

Through his tears Jake looked puzzled.

'What? Is there one?'

'Of course there is, you silly thing, where else would a ghost go?'

Jake's brows furrowed. 'I want to be with you again, Christine.'

'I want to be with you, too, Jake, but this isn't right. When you are dead you must be an old man.'

'Why are you talking like this? This doesn't sound like you.'

'What do you mean, Jake?'

Jake spoke hesitantly. 'I can see it's you and I can hear your voice, but the words don't seem like yours at all.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm with Jesus in Heaven? You must be an old man when you are dead? You're talking like a five year old.'

I was startled by this, but Jake was right. I tried to find Christine's words in his memory and to use them.

'You mean like Michael?' said Christine. 'He was five this year, wasn't he?'

'Yes,' said Jake.

'Is he happy?'

'Yes.'

'And May,' said Christine, 'how is she doing? Did that tooth ever come out?'

'It did,' Jake said, sniffling, 'but only when she fell over and she hit her chin on the coffee table.'

'Oops!' Christine laughed. 'We had some good times, didn't we? You, me and the two wee monsters.'

Jake smiled awkwardly. 'We did!'

I dipped further into Jakes memories and found Christine's words again.

'Well, then,' said Christine, 'are you really going to throw that all away? If you die the memories will die too.'

'I suppose they will.'

'Go home and keep them happy and healthy until the time when we are together again.'

'Together?' said Jake.

'I'll be waiting for you,' said Christine, 'in Heaven. I promise.'

Jake sat there for another few seconds and then stepped off the wall into the car park to safety. As he was being escorted away by the police Christine blew him a kiss and told him to remember.

The excitement died out and the crowd dispersed. Some of us waited to see Jake come down, to the waiting ambulance. The police spoke to the ambulance crew for a while. Jake said something to a policewoman and she nodded and came over to us.

'Do you know that gentleman?' she asked mum.

'Vaguely,' she replied. 'We were in school together. It was years ago.'

'He wanted to come over, but I'm sure you can appreciate he's in an emotional state, so I wouldn't advise it.'

'What does he want?' said mum.

'He says he wants to thank your son,' said the WPC, 'for saving him. Have you any idea why he'd say that?'

My mum shook her head and looked at me strangely. I gazed back at her with innocent eyes.

'Don't worry about it,' said the WPC. 'Like I said, he's in a bit of a state.' She walked off.

From that moment I knew I had something special inside me, something that could be good for the world. Ten years later it all went horribly wrong.

TWO

A month after my father died, my mum made an announcement. She'd found a new man and we were going to move in with him the following week. He had a son, also fifteen, and we were going to get on like a proverbial house on fire as he was a bit weird, too.

It was about 2 o'clock in the morning. Mum was kneeling by my bed. She'd just got back from her friend's hen night and was drunk. This wasn't a physical state she was used to. I was sure that, had she'd been sober, she would have been more tactful.

The news really shook me. To me, dad had only just gone. I was still sleeping with one of his old tee shirts under my pillow.

She said that it was fate. A lonely woman and her son were moving in with a lonely man and his son to make a complete family. The other boy was called Carl and, like me, he liked to go off and do his own thing.

As far as she knew he didn't have a Projector in his head, but she was sure that wouldn't come between us.

You're not serious,' I said. 'We're moving in with a man you've just met?'

'No, you daft thing,' she said. 'We haven't just met. We've been seeing each other for a week now.'

Before I could say that it was far too soon and she should still be missing dad she gave me a lecture. It was a slurring series of clumsy metaphors which were intended to show me how, when you have met the right person, you just know. She couldn't explain it properly in words – you just, you know? Know.

I should have known my mum wouldn't want to be without a man for very long. She was the type of person who didn't feel right without someone to cuddle up with in front of her favourite soaps on the TV. She couldn't function on her own. I suppose I couldn't blame her. I didn't spend much time with her anymore. I was always in my room with my head in a text book about natural history.

There was little point in trying to reason with her. When mum was sold on something there was no dragging her away from the idea. Mum was always the one who changed her gas supplier every time someone called. She bought what the people on TV told her to buy. She voted for whoever looked the nicest and their policies didn't matter. Gullible just wasn't the word.

We'd moved from Edinburgh when I was a child and I liked where we lived. Now she said we were moving from Norwich to Wersham and that was that. It didn't occur to her for a minute that I was about to start my second GCSE year and changing schools would be a pain. My mum had Tony Harper in her heart, a guy she hardly knew, and even extensive surgery couldn't get him out.

The next thing I knew we were sitting outside the Harpers' house in the taxi we'd taken from the station. I got out and had a good look at Tony. He was leaning on the black wrought iron gate in his oily overalls. My mother had made out that he was a giant of a man, a tall, handsome stallion. In reality he was a lot shorter than I had expected him to be. He had tight, dark curly hair, a round face and a less than athletic physique.

'He's a mechanic,' mum said. 'He owns his own garage. Isn't it great?' She paid the taxi and stood beaming at Tony, waiting for him to welcome us.

Tony glanced at his watch and shrugged as if we were late. He had a frown on his face. By the way he was looking at the dusty van that had just pulled up I could guess that he wasn't expecting us to turn up with so much.

Mum walked over to him and tried to calm him down with a hug. He wasn't interested. I heard him telling mum that any bulky stuff would have to go under the car port. The smaller stuff, the bin bags full of clothes and boxes of crockery, would go in the spare room for now. So far, I wasn't impressed with the man.

He called Carl to give us a hand.

Tony was still pacing up and down, with my mum following him, when Carl came out. Carl was smaller than me. He was pale, flabby, low-browed and managed to walk in a slouched manner. I felt mean thinking it, but he looked like some sort of ape.

The two removal men got out, unfastened the back of the truck and started unloading the trappings of our old life. Our treasures didn't fit into our new one and I felt that they weren't wanted there by the Harpers, who had no reason to respect our sentimental attachments. I stood by my mum, not sure what I should be doing.

'This is him,' said mum, 'my lad Leon!'

'Hello!' said Tony. 'Yer mum says you're a smart kid.'

'I beg to differ,' I mumbled.

I went to the back of the van where Carl was standing and watched him scratching his head and gawping at the van's contents. I didn't really want to talk to anybody. I wanted to suss Carl out. The conversation should have gone like this...

'I'm Leon!'

'Carl!' Handshake.

'So you live here, then.'

'Yep! Do you want me to show you around the place?'

'Sure, that'd be cool.'

'I have some books you might want to borrow, if you're interested.'

'I've got some wildlife hardbacks in one of the boxes. Are you into natural history at all?'

'Am I? Thanks, mate!'

It didn't. I held out my hand to shake and he looked at it as if it was a mouldy old stick with dog faeces on the end of it.

He stood there glaring at me, and then the reality was like this...

'You're the smart kid, then.' Snort.

'I don't know about that.'

'Clever, eh?'

'Some might say.'

'I met your mum. I don't like her very much.'

'She seems to like you for some reason.'

'A geek, are you? That's what she told my dad.'

'Some might say that, too. Where would we be without geeks? Do you have a gaming system, an IPod...?'

'I get the point, Eisenstein.' Actually, I think he meant Einstein the scientific genius, not Sergei Eisenstein the film director.

'I take it you don't like the idea of us being here,' I said.

'Got that right!'

I wanted to explain further. I wanted to tell him that I didn't like it, either. Mum, Tony and the removal men were all inside now. It would have been the ideal opportunity to get things straight between us. Instead, I felt his hand on my throat, pushing me back against the side of the van, and smelled his hot sour breath.

'Understand this,' he growled in my face. 'So long as you're here you stay out of my way, got it?'

I got it. I got the picture. So this was what I had to look forward to. At least I had made the effort to try to be friendly. After all, we were supposed to have been in the same boat.

Once everything was in the house and the van had gone, we all had fish and chips from the shop. I sat in the furthest corner of the room on an old corduroy pouffe. Tony thought it was because I was grumpy. I wasn't. I wanted to keep a satisfactory distance between you-know-who and myself. It didn't work for long, though.

Tony said that because the spare room was full of our things I had to sleep in Carl's room on the camp bed. Carl wasn't happy about that. He threw his penknife at the wall. It bounced off and landed on the table where it broke my mum's plate.

'Easy!' warned Tony. 'It's just for tonight.'

I must have had two hours sleep that night. He kicked me in the back several times and I lay awake wondering if he was going to do it again. This was the beginning of Carl's campaign of bullying and the birth of evil.

THREE

The next morning after breakfast, I went out for a walk. Carl had been glaring at me across the breakfast table, so I thought I would follow the advice he had given me and keep out of his way. I didn't know the area and had no idea where I was going, but thought if I explored my surroundings, I'd discover a place to which I could escape. I wanted to make sure that, if I needed to, I'd be able to hide away from this new life.

I treated it like an expedition and took my digital dictaphone and my small binoculars with me. I liked to record animal and insect activity to see if it matched up with what I'd learnt from my books.

I walked to the end of the road where I noticed a grey gravel footpath leading away from the estate.

A police car shot past me and screeched to a halt outside one of the houses. A woman ran out to meet it. A policeman and a policewoman got out of the car to meet her. I stopped to listen. She sounded incredibly anxious.

'Mrs Crawly?' the man asked.

'Yes, I was the one who called you. '

'I take it she hasn't turned up?'

'No, my husband is looking for her. He has his brother with him.'

'How old is your daughter?' The policewoman activated her radio. It crackled.

'Five. I'm so scared. I only turned my back for a minute and she was gone. It's that latch on the gate. We've been meaning to fix it for ages.'

'We need a name and a description. Can you tell me what she's wearing?'

'She's called Amy. She's got brown hair. She's wearing a red top, pink trousers and,' she tried to think, 'and white trainers.'

The policewoman repeated all of this into her radio, then placed a comforting arm over the distraught Mrs Crawly's shoulder and led her back into the house. The policeman got back into the car and drove off slowly. I assumed he was going to have a look around.

I hoped they would find her soon. The world is such a big place when you're small.

I continued down the path, keeping a watchful eye out for little Amy.

I took out my binoculars. They were small, but quite powerful. I aimed them first at the sky and ran them across the clouds. I stopped at a large patch of blue. There was something hanging on the currents of air. A kestrel. It made me smile.

I logged my findings into my recorder and added this for good measure...

Kestrels (or rather Falco tinnunculus) have a special gift. They have super sensitivity to ultraviolet light. It is something which is reflected in the urine of various small mammals like voles and mice. They can spot it from great heights and by this they know exactly where to look for prey. If there is a lot of ultraviolet in one particular area they know that's where they have the best chance of getting a meal.

I thought there must be some rural area close by. I carried on walking. I followed the path to where it divided in front of a high metal chain link fence. I poked my binoculars through the gaps. Ahead of me there was a railway track and on the other side of the embankment was an industrial complex. I saw hard-looking pale bricked buildings and beyond these were office blocks. I went both ways along the path and couldn't see anything much. Then I noticed a gap in the fence. The grass was longer on the other side. There were some wild flowers, poppies, daisies, bluebells and dandelions. I saw a small flash of white – a Large Cabbage White butterfly, a Pieris brassicae. Its legs were stuck in a spider's web.

I crawled through the hole and freed it. I got into a crouched position and made another entry in my log.

An interesting fact about the Large Cabbage White is that it doesn't always eat cabbage. As a caterpillar it happily eats leaves, but as a butterfly it gains a sweet proboscis and, fancying a change from all those bitter leaves, it switches to nectar.

After a brief stop to consider which way to go next I stumbled down the embankment onto the grey gravel by the railway track. I followed it away from the direction of Tony's house and saw Amy.

She was a considerable distance away from me. I knew it must be her from the woman's description.

I cried out, 'Amy! Amy! Go back onto the grass!'

She couldn't hear me. She was too far away from me.

I began to run and shouted again. As I got closer I got a better look at her. She was in the middle of the track picking up stones.

The next time I called out she stood up and looked in my direction.

'Amy! Get off the track!'

It was all very frightening. I stopped and aimed my binoculars at her. A little further along the track behind her there was a crossing and a guard box. I panicked. I could see red lights flashing and the barriers going down to stop the traffic.

There was only one thing I could do. I doubted I'd be able to get to her in time, so I clambered up the bank to where I could get a really good view of Amy and concentrated hard to get the Projector online. Once I had the scene in my head, I closed my eyes and waited for the warm fuzzy feeling.

The wind carried with it the sound of a horn. I felt the ground vibrating. The train was coming. I opened my eyes, grabbed my binoculars and swung them round towards the sound. I could see the train speeding towards Amy.

I closed my eyes and accessed the Projector. My head began to buzz as it sprung into life. I thought of her mother and how she had appeared when I saw her with the police. I pictured her on the bank calling out to her. She had something in her hand, a doll. Amy didn't seem all that interested.

I concentrated harder, trying not to think about the train too much.

This time I made her feel thirsty and exchanged the doll for a plastic tumbler full of her favourite squash and some jelly beans. I sensed she liked those. This time when her mother called her Amy responded. She waddled over the tracks and the train missed her body by a short inch.

When it was all over I took her back to her house. I knocked on the door and left before they answered. Just in case they got the wrong idea.

When I got back to the house I decided not to say anything about what I had done. I wouldn't have got a chance, anyway. I met Carl as I went in through the door. He was loitering in the hallway, tearing at a beef sandwich.

'I am trying to stay out of your way,' I said. 'I think it might be difficult.'

He pointed up the stairs. 'Your mum and my dad want to see you. Your room's ready.' He took the trouble to remind me there wasn't a lock on the bedroom door.

Just like he said, Mum and Tony were waiting for me when I went upstairs. I didn't think they'd long finished clearing the boxes out and finding homes for the bits and pieces we'd brought with us from Norwich. The room looked dated. It had a slightly worn burgundy carpet and dark green and white striped wallpaper. It wasn't a particularly large room and it was quite dark, but I decided to like it. It wasn't Carl's.

As if I was a complete idiot Tony showed me where everything was. He said that there was a wardrobe to put my clothes in. Duh! There were shelves to put my things on, a bed for sleeping in and, in case I didn't like being in the dark, there was a light switch on the wall.

Once she knew I was happy Mum went downstairs to start the tea. Tony slapped her backside as she was going through the door. I didn't like that.

I lay on the bed when they'd gone and closed my eyes again. The Projector sometimes gave me a headache when I'd used it. I might have eventually dozed off if it hadn't been for Carl. His voice made me start.

'It doesn't matter where you are, Leon Black,' he told me, 'I can get to you if I want to.'

That night I slept with a chair pushed underneath the door handle.

FOUR

I mentioned the kestrel at breakfast. My mum was popping white bread into the toaster and Tony was dipping in and out of each room looking for things. He was getting ready to open the garage. Carl was slumped over the breakfast table like a listless orangutan.

'Are there any fields around here?' I asked mum.

'Not that I know of, luv,' she said. 'Why?'

'I'd like to go on an expedition.'

Carl started laughing. 'What? Are you listening to this, dad? He says he's going on an expedition.'

'Swallow a silver spoon did you, Leon?' said Tony. 'Shall we get the butler to prepare your trunk and your pith helmet?'

'He talks like he's eighty years old,' said Carl.

'Shut up, Carl, please!' I said.

'It's like he's swallowed a survival guide or somethink.'

I asked him again.

'Geek!' he ranted.

'I'm going to have a good job one day,' I told him. 'I'm going to study zoology and natural history and get paid a lot of money for it.'

'And you want me to tell you where that Kestrel was hunting. Why?'

'It's called field study. I want to see as many creatures as I can up close and make notes about them, either by writing them down in my notepad or speaking into my recorder.'

'Do you mean the waste ground, Howard's Field?' Tony intervened from the hallway. 'There's nothing there mate. It's just a patch of land the council's given up on. They were going to stick some flats up there, but they ran out of funding.'

There is a requirement for people to use objects for indication purposes while talking and Carl was using the toast that my mother had given him, waving it in my direction. My mother never left it in the toaster long enough to go properly brown in case it set the smoke alarm off. The toast was anaemic and flopped over his knuckles as he was talking.

'There are things there.' Carl ripped a massive chunk of toast. It hung over his chin and left a greasy mess. 'Me and the lads go there all the time -rabbits!'

'Possibly,' I said. 'Certainly the terrain could well be right for burrows.'

'Yeah, that's right. It is,' he said. 'There are burrows.'

Tony came back into the kitchen. He had found his keys. They were dangling from his hand. His complexion was quite dark considering he spent so much time under cars. It wasn't until he stood next to my mother, I noticed how unnaturally pale she was. She hadn't said much since we'd moved. I hoped she'd make some friends, because she liked a good gossip. I'd also noticed that the conversations she had with Tony were limited to things like this...

'What's for tea, luv?'

'What do you want?'

'Have I got clean overalls for morning?'

'In the drier!'

'The washing up isn't gonna do itself, is it, Fran?'

'I'm going to do it after the ironing.'

'Tone, can I have a word? It's kind of important.'

'Shush, babe. I'm watching this program.'

After breakfast, Carl said he had something to show me. He made me stay in my seat and went into the hall. A minute later he returned with a dirty carrier bag. He plonked it on the table. 'Guess what's in there?' he said.

'I'd rather not,' I replied.

Mum shrugged at me.

'Go on – guess!'

'No, Carl,' I said. I didn't like this at all. He was up to something.

'Alright, then!' said Carl. He turned the bag upside down and rabbits' heads dropped onto the kitchen table. My mum screamed and ran into the garden. Carl thought this was extremely funny and laughed maniacally.

'That's sick,' I said, jumping to my feet.

'No, it isn't,' he sniggered. 'It's funny.'

I heard my mum outside, retching. I felt angry. I hated the idea of other people upsetting her.

That was it. I closed my eyes again and the fuzziness returned. I thought of a busy place, an angry place. I thought of crowds and screaming cars. For a brief moment Carl Harper found himself standing on the Tarmac at Silverstone with Formula One racing cars coming at him at two-hundred miles per hour.

I left him there for just two seconds and no longer. Suddenly back in the kitchen Carl shot to his feet. He hit his head on the wall. 'What the shitting hell was that?'

'What was what?' I replied coldly. 'I didn't see a thing.'

'That was you,' he yelled. 'I know it was you. You did something to my head. I heard your thoughts.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Yes, you do. I said you were a freak, didn't I, and I was right.'

He was right, of course. I was a freak of nature, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

Without giving him another thought or uttering another word I went out to check on my mother.

That was the first time I'd ever used The Projector for anything bad.

FIVE

That night I had a strange dream. It was a dark winter's night and I was walking along a pavement, lined on both sides by tall, thin trees. Yellow street lamps cast shadows of the trees' bare, spindly branches on the ground.

I wasn't scared, my dad was with me. He was holding my hand. He seemed to loom above me, because I was very young, probably five or six. I was wearing my duffle coat. It was cold.

We approached an old building, a sombre, sturdy-looking structure, probably of Victorian origin. The heavy oak doors looked as though authority would be needed to enter through them. Carved into the stone over the doorway were the words 'White Butterfly' washed in moonlight.

My dad rang the bell and after a few seconds the door opened slightly and a small man in a white coat peered round it. He stared for a moment, pulled the door open further and extended his hand. Dad and the man shook hands.

'I am Doctor Carrion. How do you do?'

'I believe you've been expecting me.'

'This is the boy?' the doctor said, excitedly.

'Yes!' said my dad. 'This is my lad.'

'And he really does those things you told me about?'

'He can mess with your head like you could never imagine,' said my dad.

'Good!' We went in and it all went black.

I asked my mother what it meant, but she was quite vague about it. We were in the living room. Carl was out and Tony was at the garage. Mum was curled up on the sofa, in the middle of a daytime soap. Out of respect, I asked her during the commercial.

'It's a bit of an odd one, isn't it,' she said. After she thought about it, she added, 'Is there anything bothering you, darling?'

'No,' I said, thinking there were lots of things bothering me, but she didn't need to know. 'Why do you ask?'

'It's just that I saw this documentary once. Interesting it was. It said that dreams come from our sub... erm...'

I helped her out. 'Subconscious!'

'That's it! And that sometimes the things that scare us can come out while we're asleep.'

'And you were wondering if I was scared of sothing?' I didn't say anything about Carl. 'Like what?'

'You know what I mean,' said Mum. 'Your head thing, you haven't mentioned it for ages. Has it gone now?'

'I don't know,' I lied. 'It's been quiet for a while.'

'Good!' she said, and really meant it. 'Remember what your dad told you. Never do anything to draw attention to yourself. Try not to use it unless you really have to.' She turned her head and looked out into the garden. 'I thought I saw someone yesterday when I was pegging out the washing. It turned out to be a bloke from the gas board.'

'Who did you think it was?' I asked her.

She asked me if I could remember much about the time before we moved to our last house. I said no, but that was a lie, too. One thing the Projector did was shut out bits of my memory. I did get the odd flashback, but I couldn't make sense of the anxious feelings and brief pictures in my head.

I left her and went off to find the waste land that Carl had spoken about.

I went to the end of the road again and took the path to the railway line. This time I went left instead of right and walked further. This took me past the industrial complex and past the back of our estate. There I was able to leave the track and get onto a road.

I followed this road in a clockwise direction so that it took me to the other side of the industrial buildings and to where I had seen the kestrel.

I came across it suddenly. It wasn't the great wide open, just a tiny pocket of forgotteness about the size of a school football field.

The day was a good one for exploring, one of the warmest and brightest of that summer. I perched my bottom on a grassy mound and got my binoculars, my notepad and my Dictaphone poised for action.

I wondered if I was the only person who would care to stop and look around. Who could tell? I supposed it took a special type of person to want to freeze time like this and observe insect and mammalian microcosms. Other people did come, but only to empty out their dogs.

I watched a ladybird land on a blade of grass. It extended its dark transparent wings before tucking them daintily away under its spotted shell case. I managed to get just close enough to count the spots and made a note of the number, six. I didn't know what I was going to do with that information. It didn't matter. I would probably check what was common and what wasn't. In the hour that followed I noted crickets, grasshoppers, marsh flies and a dragonfly, although it was too far away to be certain. It could have been a damselfly. By the time I'd picked up my binoculars it had flitted away. I also noted midges and bluebottles dotting the air around a smelly waste pipe. In a pool underneath I observed a water boatman

.

They are called this because when they move across the water they resemble a rowing boat and propel themselves across the water with their oar-like legs.

I saw a small black frog, or it might have been a dart frog or a black toad. It was too quick for me to know for sure. I recorded a personal reminder in my notepad to Google Bufo exsul on my laptop when I got home. I understood that these were native to places like California. I wondered if it might have escaped from somebody's tank.

About 4.30 I made my way back. It was tea time and as usual, I had to endure scathing remarks from Carl in the kitchen.

He started calling me freako, freakazoid, freak boy, freakie-deakie and freakenstein. I let these words wash over me. I told myself I was a bigger person than he was and it helped.

Mum reminded me, while we were eating our egg and chips, that summer was very nearly over and I'd soon be back in school, preparing for the exams I'd be sitting. Carl began beaming and I realised why.

'You'll be going to Carlton Wells with Carl for your final year,' said Mum. 'Isn't that great? It means there'll be somebody there you'll know.'

'I'll introduce him to my mates,' said Carl. 'Kyle Higgot would like to meet Leon, I'm sure.'

'Did you hear that, Leon?' said Mum. 'You haven't even started yet and there're kids dying to meet you.'

'Great!' I sighed. That was all I needed to hear.

SIX

The next day something really strange happened to Tony. I blamed the weather. He announced that he wasn't going to open up the garage. It was Friday, it was sunny, the season was nearly over and so we should all make the most of it. In the short space of time I had known him meeting this part of him was a first.

'What about business?' Mum asked. 'Won't you lose out?'

'There's just a Fiat UNO with a hole in the exhaust that the owner can't pick up until Tuesday,' he said, 'and a Saab that needs re-treads. The guy's a mate. He'll understand. I can phone him up on Monday and put him off a day.'

Nothing more was said on the matter. An hour later we were all loaded up and off to the coast. I was squashed in the back with you-know-who, and you don't know how cramped the back seat of a Ford Mondeo is until you are sitting next to someone who hates you as much Carl hated me.

We were bound for a place called Goldensands, which was somewhere on the North Wales coast. Tony had a static caravan on the site. We were going to stop there a couple of nights.

On the way Mum asked Tony what it was like.

'The beach is OK, if you like long quiet beaches that don't go anywhere,' he said. 'Me and Carl like to hit the arcades and do some fruit machines, don't we, mate?'

'Yeah,' replied Carl, and he kicked me in the ankle, 'and the clubs.'

The boring stuff sounded quite good to me and Mum. Dad took us to Cornwall once while he was on a business trip. Mum sat on the beach for hours reading and I went out looking for small life-forms with a jam jar and a net.

Carl whispered something in my ear. 'What did you do to me?'

'Nothing,' I whispered back.

'Was it one of your geeky gadgets?'

'Yes, if you like,' I said, 'but don't worry. I won't use it again.'

'Good! Cos I won't forget what you did. You've got it coming, Leon, so watch your back.'

'Why? What are you going to do?'

'Nothing,' he said. 'Let's just say, you and mumsy are gonna get what's coming.'

As a precautionary measure I spent the rest of the journey with my face against the window. I made doubly sure that in no way did any part of my body touch his. It had been a big mistake using the Projector on him like that. He was never going to let me live it down. My dad said to me once not to do my special thing too much. In fact, I shouldn't use it at all. If I used it at the wrong time and in the wrong place bad people would come, so I had to make a conscious effort not to use it.

I saw mum smiling at me in the passenger mirror. Somehow that dissolved some of what I was feeling. 'Can you smell the sea air, Leon?' she said. 'We're getting near the coast.'

When I saw the sea I breathed easier. I wound the window down, and let sounds and smells into the car. I could hear fairground noises, people laughing and screaming and screeching seagulls. The smell of fish and chips and sickly sweet doughnuts wafted into my nostrils.

Scream if you want to go faster!

Mum! I want a dinghy!

Stu, do you want sauce on your burger?

Mind the road, sweetie!

Let's go to the beach and you can bury your dad like last year!

No, don't have any more. You'll be sick!

We followed the coast from right to left. When we finally passed the sign that said Goldensands my heart filled with helium. I wasn't going to be spending much longer in that damned vehicle.

We pulled up at the caravan and I was the first to burst out.

'Gawd!' said Tony putting the gear stick into the neutral position. 'Someone's keen.'

I watched the others board the caravan and went over to the wall that separated us from the beach. On the other side there was a severe drop, but you could climb down the rocks if you were careful. I sat with my legs dangling for a while. The door opened behind me, I heard gentle footsteps and a hand landed on my shoulder. I jumped.

'It's only me,' said Mum. 'Do you want to see your room? It's lovely in there. Not like the ones you normally see. This is like a bungalow, only with wheels.'

'I'm OK for now,' I said. 'I need some air. I'm feeling a bit car sick.'

She put her hand against my forehead. 'You do feel hot, but that could be the sun. Do you want a drink of water?'

'No, I'll be fine,' I said. Typically, she went and got me some anyway. I gulped it down and said I was going to go for a walk.

'I'd come with you,' she said, 'only I've got to change the beds. You're in with Carl by the way. I hope that's OK. You can have a chat about what you're going to do while you're here.'

I asked her if Carl knew we were sharing. She said yes and he was very much looking forward to the laughs we were going to have together.

'Come in when you're ready,' she said and ruffled my hair.

As soon as I heard the door close again, I made my way over the wall and carefully down the rocks to the sand. By now the heat was blistering, as if the sun was trying to give us the last of the summer in one go.

I took my trainers off. The sand was dry and hot against my feet. Slowly I negotiated the pebbles, seaweed and broken shells, in order to get to a clearer, cooler stretch of beach. There were dismembered crabs everywhere you looked. The gulls had feasted.

A group of holidaymakers passed me and I was swallowed up by them for a moment. When things cleared I perused the landscape for a good place to explore. I felt something tickle my feet. I looked down to see sand hoppers. I spoke quietly into my recorder.

Sand Hoppers, genus Talitridae – or in this case Talitrus Saltator - are mainly nocturnal creatures. They burrow during the day and come alive at night. They navigate quite cleverly using the sun and the moon and feed upon the rotting vegetation washed ashore.

I sat down in a nice smooth, cool spot on the sand. I scraped the top of the sand to make some more sand hoppers appear and they did as if summoned into existence by the wave of my palm.

The sun moved across the sky. I got up, and wandered along the shore until I reached a rock pool where I noticed darting Brine shrimp. I knelt down to study them. They were only a centimetre long and the same colour as the sand. I had to look really carefully to see them properly. I put my finger in a patch of reflected sunlight to feel how warm the water was. I watched the light on the ripples I made as I moved my hand.

It was killed by a shadow. I knew who was there without even looking.

'What yer doing, freako?' said Carl.

'I'm not a freako,' I replied calmly. 'I'm just interested in my environment.'

'What?'

'You know, the life that goes on around you. Things you don't see until you stop and look.'

'Right!' he said. 'You mean you're gay!'

'No,' I said. 'How does liking things other than cars and football make you gay?'

Carl snorted and spat a lump of sputum onto my foot. I covered it with sand. 'You are,' he said. 'You're a gay boy!'

'I'm not!'

'Prove it!'

'Omitting the obvious how am I supposed to do that?'

'Me and the lads are going out when we get back,' he said. 'Come with us.'

'Where?' I asked. 'Not killing rabbits?'

'No, not rabbits. A mission.'

'A mission?'

'Come with us and I'll believe you're not queer. I'll also leave you alone.'

Before I had a chance to reply he dropped a stone into the rock pool and slopped off towards the arcade.

SEVEN

I didn't sleep very well that night. Carl had bought some superglue from the site shop. I was worried about what he planned to do with it, so I lay in the dark for hours listening out for sounds of movement. As soon as I heard him snoring, I moved into the lounge area. My coat made a poor blanket. It was only waist-length and could only warm part of my body. The sea was lashing against the rocks. For a while it was annoying and it kept me awake, but finally I found it therapeutic and drifted off.

As soon as morning came I opened the curtains by my head and gazed out onto the blackish sea. I rubbed my eyes and focussed on the rolling waves. After about ten minutes I saw something that cheered me up – dolphins. I watched them until they'd swum out of sight. I got dressed so that I could pretend I'd just got up.

My mum got up just afterwards to put the kettle on. 'Sleep alright?' she said as she filled it from the tap.

'Not bad thanks,' I said. 'I just got up to do some thinking.'

'What about, luv?'

'Mum,' I said, 'am I a normal person?'

'Of course you are, darlin'. What a thing to ask.' She pushed the button on the kettle and sat down beside me. She put a hand on my knee. 'What's bothering you, luv?'

'This thing in my head. The Projector. What is it really for?'

'I don't think it's for anything,' mum said. 'It's just there.'

'How is it just there?' I said. 'Nobody else has what I've got.'

She smiled at me. I noticed tears in her eyes. 'You were very sick when you were little,' she said. 'We nearly lost you because of it. You were supposed to die, but you didn't. Instead, you were able to do what you can do.' She didn't want to say any more than that and busied herself sorting the tea out. She made three mugs, one with two sugars for me, three for Tony and one for herself.

At about eleven o'clock the sea had receded as much as it was going to. It was another bright day and I went back out onto the beach. I wanted my mind to clear so that some more memory could come back. Sometimes it happened like that and the freedom of being outside helped.

I strolled along the beach gently kicking the water that rolled onto my bare feet. When everybody else was miles away, I stopped for a rest.

I made myself a smooth spot on the sand and sat down. I stretched out my legs so that the sea licked against my feet. I was just getting comfortable when I heard someone screaming for help. It was a woman's voice. At first I passed it off as frivolous behaviour that had got out of hand. I started digging a hole and made a small channel for the water to flow into it.

Then I heard it again. This time it was louder.

'Somebody help me! Please!'

It was coming from my left. I got up and squinted up the beach. I could just make out some activity. There were three people, small dots in the distance, probably half a mile away from me, maybe further. I ran, as fast as my legs were able to carry me.

When I was close enough, I saw exactly what the woman was screaming about. She'd been walking her dog and two men had jumped her. The dog, a Westie, was barking loudly. One of the men, a small, stocky man in a red bandana, had her pinned down. The other man was bald and a little taller than his friend. His face was heavily tattooed with tribal designs. He was standing over the woman undoing his fly zip and ranting at his friend about doing a better job of keeping her still.

I cried out pathetically, 'Please stop!'

The tattooed man turned to me. He pulled a fishing knife from a sheath at the back of his belt and put it back again. He just wanted to let me see that he had it. 'Get lost son,' he growled, 'or I'll cut you.'

'I don't want any trouble,' I said. 'Please let her go and I won't say anything to anybody about this.'

It was then I saw the woman's face. She was wearing mascara. Her tears had spread it down her cheeks and it made her look a little like a panda. 'Get help!' she screamed. 'Run!'

I couldn't. There had to be a reason I had the Projector and I began to believe that it was to dispel badness in other people.

'I'll save you!' I said and the two men laughed. I concentrated hard and tried to think kind thoughts to send them to take them away. It wasn't easy. I was so upset with what I was seeing that the idea of thinking anything good in the world was practically impossible. I was also angry, which didn't help. When Carl had made me angry the Projector made me do something horrible. I couldn't let that happen again.

Bad men will get you, I heard my father say. The next thing I knew it was too late. 'Stop it!' I yelled at the top of my voice. 'Stop it now or something bad is going to happen and I won't be able to stop myself!'

The one with the knife stormed up to me and grabbed me by the throat. 'You are going to do what, runt?'

I coldn't breathe and I couldn't speak. I felt the blood drain from my face and my eyeballs bulged with the pressure of his hand. I thought they were going to pop. He took the knife out of its sheath again and held the serrated edge against my cheek. I looked into his eyes and saw Carl there.

I don't know why, but the Projector acted without me. I had a sharp pain in my right temple, as if somebody had stabbed it with a shard of ice. The ground began to vibrate. The sand, bubbling now, threw itself into the air and formed the shape of hundreds of hands. Some of them grabbed the knife man by the ankles and I was able to push him over onto his back. He was completely pinned down.

I ran over to the woman and pulled her away from the other man, who was suffering a similar fate.

'What's happening?' said the woman. 'Look at them! One minute they're attacking me and now they're rolling around in the sand.'

From her point of view, this was true, but what I'd put into the heads of the two men was sandy hands punching them on the ground, whilst others pinned them down by their legs, arms and face.

We stood by the rocks watching her attackers trying to fight off an apparently invincible foe. Or at least I was. I saw justice and it felt good.

A few minutes later, the beach patrol officer arrived in his jeep. When he asked me what had happened, I gave him the edited highlights.

'They must be on drugs,' I added. 'Look at them.'

He told me not to go anywhere. The police would want a statement. While he was attending to the attackers, who were lying battered on the sand, I left.

I told my mother what had happened and she wasn't at all pleased. Tony and Carl were at the arcade and were bringing chips back for tea. Mum was getting the camping table ready under the awning.

'You know what I think,' she said. 'I'm upset. I thought we'd seen the back of the Projector thing.'

'I had to do something, mum,' I said. 'You know what they would have done to her.'

'That's not the point, Leon. You could have killed them or sent them insane.'

'And that's such a bad thing?'

'Yes, Leon, it is,' said mum as she banged the cutlery on the table, 'because whatever else you might be you are not a killer. No son of mine is going to be a murderer. You are going to pass your exams and study nature. Live your dream while you still can.'

I was going to ask her to fill in some of the gaps for me about my past, but I could see Tony and Carl approaching the caravan. Vinegar and deep fried battered cod filled the air.

'Promise me,' she whispered. 'Promise me you won't use it again, or it will control you one day. Be strong.'

'There's something else,' I said. 'I used it on Carl.'

'You what?'

'He frightened you in the kitchen,' I said.

'That's no excuse. You should learn to control yourself.'

'He doesn't know about the Projector. He thinks I used some gadget on him.'

Mum went quiet. 'Mum,' I said, 'there's something else.'

'What?'

'It's different now, angry sort of. I'm scared!'

'Promise me you won't use it again!'

I promised and she ruffled my hair again. I straightened it by running my fingers through it. I wished she wouldn't keep doing that. I was fifteen, not five.

EIGHT

I noticed the others making cheerful sounds that evening. Even Carl laughed at some points. They were laughing at the comedy shows on the badly tuned TV in the caravan. I couldn't concentrate on anything that was going on outside my head. There was a battle going on inside my skull. On one side there was the mental pain I'd put the two men through on the beach. On the other side there was justice. I tried to weigh up all of the odds and I asked myself questions to try to convince myself that what I did was right. What would have happened if I'd decided to run for help? Is it right to use the Projector like that? Is that what it is really for, vigilantism? In the end this did nothing to help me feel better. I tried to convince myself that it was natural. That didn't work either.

That night I slept in Tony's car. I took the keys from his pocket, and mine and mum's coats from the hanger by the door, and I got in the back seat. I had to sleep in the foetal position with my knees against my stomach and so getting comfortable wasn't easy. It took me ages to drop off and when I did I began dreaming of dark, shadowy places.

I was standing on a long road with tall, white lamps on either side. Each one spilled a small circle onto the footpath. It all seemed to go on for miles. Just as I was wondering which way to go, up the road or down, I heard echoing footsteps.

The most natural thing for an animal to do when it hears a noise is to look for whatever it was that made it. Only then does it know whether it is a friend or a predator and it knows if it needs to stay or to run. If it can't see anything obvious, it looks for the nearest thing. This is how ventriloquists work. When the audience sees the lips move on the dummy they are instantly satisfied that it is where the sound is coming from.

Satisfied that the noise was coming from in front of me that was where I looked. It wasn't like the waking world at all. There was only one sound, a pair of shoes tapping and scraping on the concrete with a gentle echo.

Then suddenly it stopped and I felt a hand on my shoulder. This was unexpected. I turned around and it was my dad. He was wearing the suit that he'd died in, his dark blue suit, and his white shirt and red tie. In the lamp light it was all as clear as day.

'You're looking well,' he said and lit a cigarette. I always hated him doing that. I remembered he was dead and this was a dream and so it didn't matter.

'You're looking good, too,' I said, 'for someone who died in a car crash.'

'You're better off not knowing what I really look like now,' he said. 'How's your mum? Are you looking after her?'

'She seems O.K.'

'Is she happy?'

I didn't know whether I could answer that with words. I shrugged my shoulders instead. I asked him why he was driving so fast on the day of the crash.

'It was raining,' he said. 'The roads were wet and I was late for a meeting. The car skidded and I lost control. I went under a milk tanker.'

'Mum said you went off to see your fancy piece,' I said. 'Your boss's P.A., Rihanna.'

'She had no right saying anything,' said dad. 'That was adult business and I told her that was over ages ago.'

I asked him if he knew about Tony Harper. He did.

Then I mentioned Carl and told him why I was asleep in the car. His attitude was different to mum's. 'You should do something,' he said.

'What?'

'You've got that thing in your head, haven't you?'

I said, 'Yes!'

'Well, then.'

I told him what mum said about not using the Projector. How I shouldn't draw attention to myself. I also reminded him that I still wanted to go to university when I finished school and study zoology and natural history and that I couldn't do that if my brain was in a jar in a lab.

'You've got to do what you were put on this earth to do, lad,' he said. 'Rub out bad people. There'd be no evidence, so they couldn't touch you for it.'

'You mean kill him?' I said.

He nodded slow and ghost-like.

'If you don't, there's no telling what he will do,' said dad, 'to you or to other people. He sounds like a bad seed to me. I'm going to keep an eye on him.'

'How?' I said. 'You're not real. This is a dream.'

He put a hand on my head and ruffled my hair like mum always did. I put it right again. 'No, it isn't lad,' he said and walked away.

In the morning I sneaked into the living room. Not long afterwards my mum got up to put the kettle on again. She told me she wanted a quiet word. She asked me if there was anything on my mind. She was certainly right there.

'It's just that I went into your room and you weren't there,' she said, 'and Carl showed me your bed. He was laughing.'

'I got up early,' I said. 'You know us naturalists, the early bird and all that.'

Then she gave me that knowing look. The one that said she'd found something I'd tried to hide from her. 'Is there something you want to tell me, Leon?'

'Like what?'

'I know a lot of kids do it, especially when they're anxious about something. Is it the Projector, did that make you do it? Is it another one of the side effects?'

I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, I really didn't.

Finally, I asked her. 'Is what one of the side effects?'

'You know...!' She gave me a gentle nudge.

'No, I don't.'

She grabbed my hand. 'We'll look together shall we?' We went through to the bedroom. The door made a hissing noise as it scraped against the carpet. Carl got out of bed, and passed us en route to the bathroom. 'You big kid,' he said loudly in my ear. As we approached the bed I was supposed to have been sleeping in I saw what the fuss was about. There was a large wet patch on the mattress. Carl had relieved himself on it sometime during the night just to get me into trouble. My heart sank. I didn't know what Tony would make of it. I'd been listening to him in the car on the way down. He seemed to be very proud of his caravan. It was state of the art. It had en suite and an auto-flush mechanism on the toilet, whatever that was.

I wanted to tell my mum I'd not slept in it, that I'd spent the night in the car, but thought it might have repercussions. I thought if I did then she might have a word with Tony about his son's alleged behaviour to me. It probably would have made him even worse, so I said nothing.

My mother washed the sheets, and tried hard to scrub the stain out of the mattress with a scouring pad, some washing powder and hot water, but it didn't get it all out. When it dried out the stubborn mark was still there and she had to say something about it. Tony wasn't happy about it at all. I got a barrage of verbal abuse from him. He sounded just like his son. From then on I knew where Carl had gotten his abrasive attitude from.

It was late when we got back home and we were all tired with the travelling. I had no qualms about going straight up to my room. I thought it would be nice to lie on something soft again. I'd only just closed my eyes when I felt a slap on my face. It was Carl. I'd been so tired I'd forgotten to put the chair against the door.

NINE

'Leon!' I awoke to Carl's gruff whisper. Even hearing his voice through a haze of sleep was painful. I wondered how he'd managed to get into my room and then I remembered.

I squinted at the LED display on the radio alarm clock beside the bed. It read 1:17. I hadn't managed to close my eyes for even an hour. I needed to shut myself in a dark, quiet room and forget anything else in the world existed for a while.

'No, Carl,' I groaned. 'It's still the middle of the night.'

'That's when we do our missions,' he said. Globules of spittle hit my ear as he spoke. 'No point in doing them when everybody's awake is there. Where's the fun in that?' He punched me in the ear, which he would have been pleased to know had then smarted for the best part of the morning. 'Out of bed, homo!'

I rubbed my ear to dull the pain. 'Why do you want me anyway?'

'I told you,' he said. His face was very close to my head, too close for comfort. 'You've got to prove yourself, prove you're not a queer.'

'I'm not a queer,' I said, 'and that's a derogatory term. Anyway, why should I have to prove anything to you?'

I sank my head into the pillow again and hoped that he would go away. He didn't. He pulled my duvet off me and threw it across the room so that if I wanted it back, I would have to get out of bed to get it. Then when I still didn't move he kicked me in the back.

'Move!'

'Why?'

'So that I can leave you alone and we can all have a peaceful life,' said Carl. I felt him move away. I rolled over on the pillow and followed his movement. He was by the window. The curtain had been opened, spilling in a little moonlight and he was waving at somebody outside. Somebody I assumed was waiting for him - for us - in the garden. I tried to get him to go without me.

'No chance,' said Carl. 'Anyway, the lads want to meet you. They want to see what you can do.'

I couldn't believe he'd told other people about what I did to him. 'What can I do?' I asked gingerly, feigning ignorance of what it was he was talking about.

The mattress went down at the bottom of the bed as he applied his weight to it. 'Don't treat me like an idiot, Leon,' he said. He gave my head a gentle slap. 'You did something to me in the kitchen when I upset your mum. Now, what was it?'

'I don't know what you're banging on about,' I said, although I longed to give him another demonstration.

'Yes, you do,' he said. 'So what is it then, freako? Where's your geeky device? Or do you do mind tricks?'

'Carl,' I said, my words as tired as my head, 'I really need to get some sleep. Why don't you do whatever it is you've got planned without me? I can join you on another night when I'm feeling up to it.'

Carl didn't like that at all. Grabbing the collar of my pyjamas jacket he hoisted me into an upright position so that I my face was pressed against his. 'Look, geek boy,' he said, 'I've told my mates about this mind trick you can do. Now I don't know what it is. You said you used something, but I think it's te...' He tried hard to say telepathy, and missed by a yard. I nearly finished the word for him. I couldn't be bothered. 'It doesn't matter anyway,' he continued regardless. 'I already told them you can do it and they want you to show them.'

It was becoming blatantly obvious I didn't have any choice in the matter. I got out of bed and in a daze slipped some jeans and a jumper over my pyjamas. I put some socks on and put my feet clumsily into my trainers and followed him downstairs. In the garden there were three sniffling hoodies silhouetted against the moonlight. Their heads were down and they were shuffling their feet in unison. Carl pointed them out in turn. 'Aaron, Berkeley, Lee,' he grunted. 'Lee isn't talking right now. He's saving his energy.' Lee did a gangster wave the way they do in rap videos.

'Hello,' I said. The word used in context of a greeting seemed odd to them somehow.

'Yeah.' Carl felt the need to bail me out. 'He's a geek,' he said with a shrug. 'He's a geek with a special talent, and he's gonna help us.'

Aaron moved forward. 'Yo!' he exclaimed. 'So wat dis tin yo do wi yo hed den bruv?'

I didn't have a clue what it was he was saying. I caught the word 'head' somewhere along the way. I used the subject matter of the previous conversations I'd had with Carl and answered him in a way which I thought was appropriate. 'Yo!' I yawned. 'It nothing to speak of much!'

We left the garden and went into the street. There in the glow of the amber street lamps I could see Carl's associates much more clearly. It felt almost rude thinking this, but I thought they all looked the same around the face. They had the same drooping eyes, the same podgy noses, the same down turned greyish lips and rounded jaws. I wondered if this was what bad looked like and also if I would end up looking like that if I carried on the way I did. I followed them to wherever it was that they were going, dreading what was at the end of our journey with every step. When I asked about it, I was told to shut it, and I would see when we got there. I was walking behind the others and I noticed that every now and again Carl would turn around just to see that I was still there. Except for Lee of course they were all murmuring. I sped up my footsteps, to listen in to what they were saying between them.

'I'm not lying,' Carl said, 'so can it, will you? He did this mind thing on me and he can do it on this guy.'

'I say you bin sniffin' somink, bro,' said Aaron. 'Yo is so crazy man wot you bin takin? Somefink stronger than weed I bet.'

'We are trustin' you, Carl,' said Berkley. His voice was squeaky, as if it was starting to break. 'We've got a lot ridin' on this. Like customers with very long shopping lists.'

'They'll get the stuff, honest,' said Carl. 'Leon will do it, I promise. He knows what I'll do if he doesn't.'

We turned off the footpath and back into the dark, down a narrow dirt trail. How the others managed to move so quickly when they obviously couldn't see where they were going I'll never know. I supposed this was a very familiar route for them. Perhaps they had all adapted to the dark or perhaps they were really bats. We carried on down a hill to where there was a metal chain-linked fence. It was about eight feet high, but they knew exactly where to look for a way through. Aaron looked at the building on the other side. He lined himself up with a blue door and felt his way along the fence measuring with his hands. When he was sure he knelt down.

'Here!' he said. The others joined him and I stood behind them again. I didn't want to be part of their group in any way at all.

'So,' said Berkeley, 'this trick you can do, what does it involve?'

'It doesn't involve anything, 'I said in the Projector's defence. 'It's not a trick.'

'Then what is it?'

'It's a power, like electrical energy,' I muttered, 'or thunder, only it's more dangerous than that. I don't think it's a good idea to use it at the moment.'

'Shut up, freak!' said Carl. 'Now, here is what you are going to do. You see that building over there?'

'Yes!' I said.

'That's the place we're going to rob, and you're going to help us with your mind trick.'

I didn't know what the others thought it was, but it definitely wasn't funny. There was a car parked outside the building, close to the entrance, which obviously belonged to one of the night time staff. The run-down old white Ford Fiesta sat exposed in a pool of hazy yellow light spilt by an overhanging lamp. The building, which so attracted the attention of the hoodlums that evening was called Greenham's Home and Garden Supplies. Carl made it quite clear about what it was he wanted me to do.

'Right, freak boy,' he growled like a commando sergeant in my ear, 'there's only one guard on tonight, some old guy called Bob. My dad did his brakes last week, and he let it slip he's gonna be on his own tonight, cos the other guy who's supposed to be in, is in hospital. You are going to get in there and frighten him.'

'No,' I said, 'no way!'

'I'm not asking you to kill him, queer boy,' said Carl, 'just give him a fright. I know what you did to me. I don't know how you did it, but you're going to get in there, and put those things in his head like you put them in mine. Bob goes on a fag break every hour and it's nearly two now. There's no smoking inside so he stands by the door. I reckon he'll be there for at least ten minutes before he's through. Do it then. As soon as you've done it wave to us and we'll sneak in and get some gear.'

'No way, Carl,' I said, 'it would be a very bad idea. He's an old man. What if he has heart failure?'

At Carl's instruction the other three gathered around me and began making fists.

'You - are - so - goin' - in - there,' said Aaron jabbing his index finger into my shoulder with each deranged syllable. I thought about the last time I used the Projector. I hadn't found the cut off switch yet. I couldn't be held responsible for a death and this wouldn't be fair. This wasn't a would-be rapist, this was just an old man guarding some fertilizer. I wasn't sure it was a chance I was prepared to take again, no matter what they were going to do to me otherwise. Carl sensed my doubt and pushed me through the gap in the fence, while the others cheered him on with whispers and low key whooping noises. A piece of loose wire caught the pocket of my denims ripping a hole near my upper thigh. It scored my flesh. I felt it, a burning sensation and gave it a rub to ease it off.

Once I was on the other side of the fence, I was alone. At the first sign of trouble they would be the first to run for it. In this pack there was a strong sense of self preservation and if I got caught now I knew that there would be no-one on my side to back me up. I stared across the barren grey landscape of the car park towards the door. Bob was going to be standing there quite soon and I was expected to do something horrible with his head. I didn't know if Carl really knew the possible outcomes of this situation. He knew nothing about what the Projector could do. I had only sent him to a fearful place for a few seconds and promised I wouldn't use it on him again. He wouldn't have cared about death or outcomes. He had told his peers about me and now he was going to lose face if I didn't deliver. He didn't know about what the Projector had done on the beach the previous afternoon and neither did anybody else. Like mum had said, I might have driven them insane. I was trying to convince myself that whatever had happened to the thugs was well deserved or that in doing what I had done to them had saved the lives of anybody they would have been destined to destroy.

I had little choice but to at least go through the motions while I thought about a get out plan. I ran quietly through the dark, staying as close as I could to the fence and out of range of the CCTV cameras which I could hear whirring as I drew closer to the store.

I sat on the ground, embraced my knees and waited for Bob to make an appearance. I shrugged in the direction of the others, wondering if they would ever see it. There was a clear sky and the air had turned chilly in the very early hours. Ten shivering minutes must have elapsed before I heard movement.

Eventually, there was a clank of chains and clunk of a door lock, followed by a strange humming sound, coarse coughing, the soft crinkling of a packet, and then a chink of a metal lighter hinge. With a gentle sigh white smoke burst into the lamp-lit air.

I carefully snuck across the courtyard to the side wall by the trolley bays and glanced around the side hoping that Bob couldn't see me. Bob was sitting on a low wall. What was I to do? Was I to actually, go through with it?

As if I had been inspired, my questions were answered in a moment of enlightenment. Bob swung himself around to view the stars. Carl was wrong. Bob wasn't seventy. He did look old, but he also looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I didn't know why I knew, I just did. The cigarette in his hand was shaking as if it had a force nine gale against it. With one quick glance I had a picture of everything that was Bob's life. His home, his wife, his grandson who died in Afghanistan, his hard working comrades who had been dropping like flies the past few years, the money he was scraping together so that he could pay for his own funeral. This was a weird side effect of the gift. That was why I also knew that Bob had cancer and hadn't got around to telling anybody yet. He was a proud and honest man.

There was no way on earth this was happening.

I waited for him to finish his cigarette and go back inside and I ran home.

TEN

The summer soon ended and the day for me to go to school with Carl arrived cold and unwanted through my bedroom window with the morning sun.

I knew something really bad was going to happen to me, it was on the cards. Carl was evil. I had betrayed him and he was going to kill me. He had told me through a gap in my bedroom door at about three o'clock in the morning after I had left him and his cronies at the fence. I had been lying in bed safely entombed beneath the sheets, listening to him tell me that I had humiliated him in front of his friends and he wasn't going to let me get away with it. He had meant it to. The acid quality of his voice told me that. He didn't utter one single solitary word to me the following day and I ought to have been grateful for it, except that I found the sudden lack of verbal contact unnerving. He didn't need to use words at all to penetrate my soul. He managed to do that with his intimidating stare each time he passed me.

This morning felt more intense. At breakfast, I'd sat a little further away from him. I stared down into my cereal bowl as if it contained the whole of the safe and sane parts of the universe. I could still hear the cogs going around in his head - whirring, scraping, grinding. He was plotting. I was scared. Not so much scared that I would start getting extra hard kickings or a pillow over my face as I slept. I was more scared that he might push me too far and I might do something I would end up being sorry for.

I thought about Carlton Wells and what my first day might be like. I tried to convince myself that if it was bad it didn't really matter. It was only going to be for one academic year. I just had to get along with the teachers, get on with some revision and sit a few exams. I also needed to talk to a careers advisor about 'A' levels, college and applying for university. My old school was fairly confident that I was going to pass everything if I kept up with my studies and maintained the same standards that I did back at St Martin's.

My form teacher was like a giraffe. I didn't mean that in a cruel way. Giraffes are beautiful animals and Carol Malloy was a tall, slender creature. She looked as though she favoured leaves and I was sure that if you got in her way she could deliver you a painful kick should the situation call for one. I wasn't sure if anything preyed on giraffes. I certainly couldn't remember seeing a documentary where a lion carried one off.

I liked her. Her class had strict barriers and simple common sense told you not to cross them. Anyone who deserved to be there didn't want to cross them anyway. Some of the teachers let you call them by their Christian names, whereas the more vicious ones rejoiced in hearing you address them by their esteemed title of 'Sir' or 'Miss'. Miss Malloy let us call her Carol.

'First of all,' she said, extending his arms out wide, 'I'd like to introduce Liam.'

'Leon!' I said, accompanied by a pretend cough to underline my forename.

'Leon, sorry,' she said back and this time I noticed her blue, sparkly eyes. 'Like it! One of my favourite films, I have to add. Jean Reno. Cracking actor and French I should add. Welcome to Jurassic Park.' She went over to the whiteboard and wrote something on it with a blue marker pen. We couldn't see what it was until she turned to face us again, introducing it as if it was an act in her circus. 'English exam revision,' she said. 'The Time Machine. Who can tell me something about The Time Machine?'

A hand went up at the back. 'It's a film!' said its owner. 'Tom Cruise was in it and it was crap!'

'Yes, Marcus it is a film, well done,' said Carol. 'I'd be grateful if you left your wordy critiques at home, though, as there are one or two ladies present if you get my meaning. (Wink.) And by the way I think you might find that was The War of the Worlds.'

There was a ripple of giggles that swept the room and then dissipated.

'Apart from being a film it is a book,' she continued and then picking one up added, 'and in case you've never seen one it is one of these. Lots of lovely paper glued together on one side on which lots and lots of words are printed.' As she dropped a copy on every desk, she said things like, 'Don't be afraid, you can pick it up. It won't turn into a healthy dinner, or a bar of soap.' Before we were told to dive in she told us all about the writer and his life, his birth in Bromley near Kent, his rough upbringing, dystopias, utopias and his marvellous transition from apprentice draper to teacher to famous author. From caterpillar to larva to pupa to butterfly. That, I decided, was going to be me.

This seed had been planted in my head by my father who always told me that you have to find your star, and chase it and damn anybody who gets in your way. It didn't make any difference whichever route you took to get there. I asked him once what his dream was and he said that he didn't have one. Dreams are for dreamers like you, he said, and went back to work in his sharp blue suit. He told me what he did for a living all in one sardonic sentence.

'I try to convince people that cheap, low quality electrical goods, with exceptionally short lifespans are the future.' He didn't sound all that convinced, but I was hardly a customer.

After class I stayed behind and asked Carol a few questions about Charles Darwin. All were based around how it was he might have got started on the natural history trail. She was able to fill in some gaps for me. His grandfather was Erasmus Darwin, who was a famous Philosopher and scientist and his father was Robert Darwin, who was a Shrewsbury doctor. She pointed out that he had another famous grandfather, too. He was Josiah Wedgewood, the famous potter, though that wasn't relevant. It seemed science was something in Darwin's blood from day one. Not only that, he travelled in his early life and rubbed shoulders with other naturalists. He never stopped travelling to get the proof that he needed for his theories. She called him the monkey man. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. After all that he'd done for science surely it wouldn't be fair to reduce the man to the rank of a small primate.

I did appreciate the fact that she was nice enough to take a slight diversion from her own subject. She said that she, too, was fascinated with Darwin's studies as she yawned behind her hand. She was kind enough to lend me a copy of The Origin of Species. If you are to become a naturalist then this is probably the single most important book for you to possess, but as long as I could write fifteen hundred words on what the Eloi and the Morlocks represented in The Time Machine and Victorian society in the upcoming exam, Carol was happy.

I left school that day with a beaming smile. At last there was somebody on my wavelength, somebody who I could trust and talk to, who saw the dream in me like my dad did.

When I got to the gates, two of the boys from my class approached me.

'Watcha, Leon,' one said. This was Kyle Higgot, a colleague of Carl's. I froze. Trouble could follow. 'Are you walking home?'

'Yeah,' I said reluctantly. 'It's a bit of a hike. I don't mind. It's a case of having to.'

'Which way you going?' the other asked. It was the boy I'd seen sitting with him in every lesson, Sam James.

'That way.' I pointed left towards the traffic lights.

'We'll come with you!' said Kyle. With one of them either side of me like a pair of unwanted escorts we walked to the end of the road. I noticed their two pairs of eyes staring at me intently.

I turned to Kyle, as we got to the newsagent's. 'I need to go in here,' I said. I didn't really need anything. I just hoped that they would get bored with waiting and move off while I was messing around with the magazines. I wanted to find out what wildlife magazines they had anyway, so I went in, leaving them waiting outside. Through the window in the door, I saw Sam hand a cigarette to Kyle and then light it for him. I perused the middle shelf for magazines with animals on the front cover. Eventually I found the BBC's Wildlife magazine, with a picture of a Brazilian tree frog on the front. I immersed myself in that, casting an occasional eye towards the door.

Logically, if Kyle was such a good friend of Carl's and Carl was a bully then it would surely follow that Kyle would be a bully as well. Types like this stick together. It was common knowledge that people like Carl hung around with people who were exactly like him. Bullies are, no matter how you address the matter, cowards and can never do things alone.

I stood inside the shop reading the same old article for about fifteen minutes and still they didn't move. I felt the newsagent's eye on me.

'Are you going to buy that?' he said in a half-Asian half-Scottish accent. 'You know this is not a library. If it was, it would say library over the door, wouldn't it.'

'Sorry,' I said and put it back.

'No, don't mind me,' he said sarcastically. 'Read your way through my entire stock if you really want to. It doesn't bother me if I go out of business. I could always go and live on the streets if the bank manager seizes my house.'

'Sorry!' I said again. 'I saw something on one of the pages and got engrossed, an article on lungworms.'

'Do you want to buy anything at all or are you going to leave and create me some space in my shop for a real customer?'

I checked the change in my pocket. Fifty pence. I looked at the magazine. I was two-pounds short. Suddenly overcome with guilt I scanned the shop for something that might come within my own price bracket. Humans do that to one another. They make you feel guilty even though you've not really done anything wrong, like when somebody bumps into you and you find yourself apologising.

'Er!' I said sweeping the counter. 'Do you have a newspaper?'

'Are you taking the piss?' he said. 'This is a newsagents, boy. What do you think?'

'No, I'm not doing that!' I picked up a paper at random.

'That's forty-five pence!' he said. I looked towards the door. The wall where Kyle and Sam had parked themselves while they waited for me was free of them. To my delight my escorts had seemingly vanished. Kids like that have no patience at all and that appeared to be to my advantage.

I gave the shopkeeper my fifty pence and thanked him.

He took my five pence change from the till and slapped it into my hand. 'You know you ought to stay out of trouble,' he said shaking his head.

I said, 'I'll try!'

'You need to try harder,' he said, 'or you might end up like those two unfortunate fellows on the front of the paper you are holding.'

I hadn't really noticed the cover. The headline and the photographs had been tucked in between some other newspapers. 'What fellows?' I asked him.

'Those two gangster types on the front page,' said the Newsagent. 'They got into trouble and ended up traumatised. They should have bought a magazine from me and stayed at home reading it. Then they wouldn't have wound up dead in the hospital.'

'Dead?' I looked down at the contents of my hands. There were two faces in two adjacent boxes under the headline. It was the two men I'd saved the woman from on the beach.

DEATH ON THE SANDS: TWO DIE MYSTERIOUSLY AFTER FOILED RAPE ATTEMPT – POLICE BAFFLED.

It couldn't be, I thought. I'd left them alive.

'Voodoo,' said the Newsagent.

'Voodoo?'

'Strange magic,' said the Newsagent. 'Sometimes I go over and stop with my Aunt Sanjeeta in Mumbai, and let me tell you I have seen some shit that would drive you insane.'

'I can't imagine,' I whimpered.

'I've seen guys go stone cold for no reason at all. One minute happily walking along smiling, the next minute dead. I tell you if you upset the wrong people you'll die horribly, so in future don't read my merchandise unless you have the necessary readies with which to pay for them.'

I left the shop mesmerised and frozen. How could I have done this? I left them shaking on the sand, that's all. They weren't dead. As soon as I'd seen that the woman was safe the Projector had released my grip on them.

I couldn't believe it. I was a murderer. I carried on down the street on autopilot, relying on my subconscious to deliver me safely to my new address. As I passed by an entry to the back of some shops someone grabbed my arm and I was swiftly dragged along the ground and slammed against a wall. A hand grabbed my chin and I found myself gazing fearfully into Kyle's furious red face.

'Glad you could join us!' he said. 'We've got a message for you from Carl!'

'Carl?' I said woozily, dazed. 'What message?'

'Oh, yeah!' said Sam. He wanted us to let you know his feelings about the other night and he wanted to give you something to say thank you. A gift!'

'Gift?' I asked stupidly. 'What gift?'

'This!' said Kyle and without another word, the two of them pounded my head and chest with punches. When I was too hurt to remain standing I fell to the ground. My face caught the wall on the way down and tore at my cheek like a rasping tool. I curled myself into a ball and they started kicking me in the back and the legs. The Projector wanted me to do something. I felt the warm buzz I'd had on the beach. I managed to hold it back this time. I had to take it. I couldn't retaliate. I couldn't risk killing again.

ELEVEN

I stumbled home along the pavements, embracing myself tightly in a feeble attempt at trying to ease the intense throbbing pain in my chest. My body felt heavy and I dragged it along with more willpower than strength. I felt like an ant trying to climb Mount Everest in metal armour whilst carrying a refrigerator.

I cursed myself for having the good sense not to do painful things to the two cretins who beat me up. I hated myself for being a good person and not like them. What a scene, it would have been if I had been bad.

When I got home, I got mixed reactions from mum and Tony. I sat on a kitchen chair with my mother's arms around my shoulders, feeling like the little soldier I was a decade ago.

Tony had popped back, for a clean pair of overalls. 'I hope you gave some back!' he said, fastening the top press stud. 'I mean, it's a jungle out there lad, and if you don't give it back you go down. That's the way it goes.'

'I... didn't get the chance,' I said, wincing at the heavy dabs of TCP, my mother was applying lovingly to my forehead. 'I couldn't retaliate. I was far too busy getting my head kicked in as I recall.'

'Well,' Tony said, laughing in a mocking fashion, 'at least you didn't cry, I suppose. When I first met you I thought you were a wimp. Now I can see there must be a man deep inside you somewhere.' He then kissed my mum on the cheek and left.

It was alright Tony saying that. He hadn't seen the two fountains that had been directed onto my face earlier. I wished that he could even begin to realise exactly what it took, to just lie there doing nothing while they did that to me.

I noticed that Carl, the instigator of all my pain, was conveniently absent. He hadn't been to school, but there was nothing particularly odd about that. I'd heard Tony tell my mum that he would often be gone for days at a time, sometimes weeks. We weren't to worry though, because he always came back eventually. I would never have been allowed to do that. My parents would have been climbing the walls if I had been gone for that long. They would have gone out of their way to find me and keep me in the house. I imagined they would try to keep me locked in my bedroom, imprisoned to keep me safe.

Carl, it seemed, was like a family cat that was permitted to do whatever he wanted to do and no questions asked. I thought there might have been something more to it. Carl was a devious creature and he liked playing people. I wondered if this was some sort of psychological game that Carl was playing and that I was meant to sit around stewing about what he was going to do next. I worried that it might actually have been starting to work.

I saw mum get more and more stressed over the next few hours. When Tony got back from the garage, she practically attacked him in the hall.

'We should do something,' she said, her voice emitting a worrying trill. 'We should phone the Police.'

'No way!' said Tony. 'If Leon's getting bullied it's his problem. Like I said earlier, it's a jungle. If he wants to make sure it's not going to happen again, my advice is for him to go back tomorrow and show them he's not going to take any more. He'll get their respect and they'll leave him alone.'

'Get them back?' I said. 'All three of them?' Tony returned a puzzled expression. I'd only told them about Kyle and Sam. Although Tony knew they were Carl's mates, it would never have occurred to him that Carl was behind the attack. He shook his head and left the room to find something on the TV to shout at.

TWELVE

I had no idea if I would be going to school in the morning, but I set the alarm and arose at the usual time. I studied the grazes on my forehead, the swelling on my cheek and the bruises on my body in the bathroom mirror. I thought maybe I wouldn't bother, but slowly and carefully I put on my uniform regardless.

As I was coming down the stairs my mother stopped me said I should stay at home. She was right, of course, but there was no way I was going to hang around the house, while Tony was in work, and my mother was tied up doing things in the kitchen. Carl could be back any minute, with another plan to instil suffering into my soul.

I took a bowl of cereal from the kitchen and went back up to my room. When I heard mum clattering the breakfast dishes in the sink and singing along to the radio I crept downstairs and went out of the front door, making sure I closed it quietly behind me. I took the footpath to the corner of the road and went down the path between the houses. I came out at the other end and crawled through a gap in the fence, then hobbled down the hill to my special place.

There I sat for a while on my favourite mound of earth. I used the day as medicine and let it wash though my head cleansing my thoughts of anything strenuous and painful. I thought the best plan would be to think about nothing at all. Not about animals, not about insects, and certainly not about people. As far as I was concerned, there was only me. Where I happened to be sitting was the last place left on earth.

Ever since I had seen the headline the day before I had kept thinking about those same two faces. I still saw the evil burnt into their expressions. I tried very hard to think that mine couldn't possibly have looked anything like that.

With my newly acquired caution I'd been sure to pack my binoculars into my lunch bag before I'd left. I could use them to keep a lookout for Carl. I didn't want him sneaking up on me.

I carefully retrieved the binoculars from the bag. I put them to my face to see what I could see. Directing the lenses to the far right-hand side, I noticed a man enter the scene with a small dog, a Yorkshire terrier. The man was wearing a green gilet, a flat cap with a sawtooth pattern, brown corduroy trousers and shabby green wellingtons. He was about fifty and was wearing narrow, metal-framed glasses.

The dog was wearing one of those irritating tartan waistcoats and I assumed he'd had no say in the matter. After waiting for them to disappear I nestled myself into the tufts of long, dry grass and pretended I couldn't be seen.

After a while I was suffering with a numb rear, so I got up. In order to get some blood back into it, I went for a gentle stroll. I wondered whether I should carry on moving and see where I ended up. I had to admit, running away was a very tempting option at the time.

I pointed my binoculars at the sky. For a moment the glare of the sun stung my eyes and I moved the bins swiftly away. My eyes recovered and I looked for something in the air. I was wondering if the kestrel was going to come back so that I could have some company. I saw only a 767, probably bound for Malaga.

While I was waiting for inspiration to govern my next move, I sat on the bank and looked at clouds. I sucked in the afternoon air like a cigarette, thinking about what to do about my present circumstances. Should I run away? No, that would leave my mum at the mercy of Carl. Should I give myself up to the police? What if I did? They would think I was pulling their leg. The worst case scenario would be that they might think I was insane and I would be taken to hospital, kept there and given medication until I agreed that it had all been a delusion.

I lay on my side in the grass to view a cluster of ants at my feet. Beneath them, and it took me a while to notice, there was an earwig. The ants were desperately trying to restrict its movements. I turned to see a spider's web, perfectly formed, bright white and as solid as wire. There was something moving in the centre of it, making the whole thing bounce like a trampoline. I got my magnifying glass out for a closer inspection of a small wasp.

That was exactly how I felt. Like the earwig I was pinned down and like the wasp I was destined to be something's meal and all because I let myself fall to the bottom of the food chain. In short, I was restricted by my own niceness.

It was my stomach that reminded me that I had stayed too long. It was almost five o'clock and already I had missed lunch. It wouldn't let me get away with missing another meal. I took my time going back all the same.

The front door was off the latch so I didn't need my key. I stepped into the hall and heard the clatter of pans coming from the kitchen. I assumed it was mum and I announced that I was home. Mum hardly ever left the house, unless it was to go to the shops. For a moment I had a disturbing image of Tony and his horrible son running around the kitchen trying to flatten a mouse with a frying pan.

I asked mum where Tony was and she said he had gone off with a couple of mates somewhere. He didn't know when he'd be back. Mum was stirring a pot of stew and the kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of stock cubes and onions.

'You've been gone ages, luv,' she said. 'Are you alright?' Her voice was loaded with concern. She didn't ask me if I was out for revenge. She knew me better than that.

'Out and about,' I said, showing no thought about it at all. 'A walk here and there, thinking and walking.'

'Good! I'm glad you didn't go to school today. I would hate it if you got hurt again.' She placed a hand on my cheek. It was warm from cooking and smelt of gravy and onions. 'If you ever want to talk to me alone, I know it's not easy around here, but if you do you only have to say. If things are a bit awkward you could always whisper the words in my ear when the others aren't looking if that makes you feel better.'

It was heartening to hear that, although I wouldn't say anything to her about what was really going on inside me. She made me sit down on a wooden chair and checked my bruises. 'They really did give you a hammering didn't they, sweetheart?'

I was in no position to argue. She checked on my bruises and applied some more TCP where she thought it was needed. She went off to put the kettle on for some tea. This was the first time since the day we'd arrived at Tony's house that I hadn't felt tense. It was nice. It wasn't easy keeping all of this from her. We never kept things from each other. That was why she'd had to know about the Projector. I had told her before I had told dad.

She gave me a hug and I absorbed its warmth like a paper towel on a patch of spilt milk. She was such a soft thing and always said I was never too big to have one. I was sure that if the others had been around she would have spared my dignity. I imagined it was soothing all of the pain on the inside and on the outside.

Suddenly this pathetic scene was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell and I felt all the pain return to me. I went to answer the door and found Carol Malloy on the doorstep.

THIRTEEN

'Ooh, nice tattoos, matey!' Carol's probing eyes, obviously didn't miss the bruising on my cheek and my wrist. 'Although I must say that there is a slight overkill on the blue and the red if you don't mind me saying. You must give me the name of the studio.' Then she swiftly added, 'No, on second thoughts, don't!'

'It wasn't anybody you know,' I said in the least convincing manner possible. She knew as well as I did that both of the boys had been sitting in her classroom the previous morning.

'Let me guess. Kyle Higgot and his Sam James?'

I nodded. She was no fool. I asked her not to say a word about it.

I led her through into the living room where my mother had three mugs ready on the coffee table. I introduced Carol to my mum and they formally shook hands, mum looking shy and Carol smiling warmly, as though she was the hostess, and mum was the guest.

'Shall I sit here?' Carol perched herself on the sofa.

'What can we do for you?' asked Mum. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'

Carol nodded and thanked her. 'I was wondering why I hadn't seen Leon today, Mrs. Black,' she said, 'but when I turned up here I could see why.'

'There are some nasty boys out there, Mrs. Malloy,' said Mum, 'and my Leon is so nice. He wouldn't say boo to a goose. Why they would want to pick on him I'll never know.'

'I think you've answered your own question there, Mrs. Black,' said Carol. Mum placed a carton of milk on the table with the mugs. Remembering we had company she snatched it back again and went into the kitchen to find the glass milk jug she kept for visitors. She unwittingly ignored any suggestion that it really didn't matter. Mum filled the jug regardless and placed it back on the table in perfect alignment with the mugs. While the kettle was boiling she rooted around in the sideboard for the teapot. Like many other people, she only made tea in a teapot when we had company. Even then, she had to dust it off, and scour away the tannin stains, which she hadn't done properly last time it had been used. She found it after only a few moments and scuttled off to the kitchen to bring it up to standard and fill it with tea. Soon it was on the table, placed squarely on a heat-proof mat, lined up with the mugs and milk jug.

'What do you think of our Leon, Miss Malloy?' asked mum, pouring the tea.

'Leon is a bright boy,' replied Carol. 'I haven't had the opportunity to get to know him properly yet, but I can see that he is the kind of lad who gets his head down and gets on with his work, which is more than you could say about the class Neanderthals. Don't tell them I said that. I'll get a spear in my neck tomorrow if you do. They'll have me roasting on a spit for sure.'

'I want to get the police in for what they did to him,' said mum, pointing at my injuries.

'So why don't you?' asked Carol. 'It's the only way they're going to learn.'

'Tony,' said mum, 'my boyfriend won't let me. He reckons it's not the way around here. He reckons that you should sort your own problems out.'

'A lot of them say that, Mrs Black,' said Carol. 'I notice it's usually the men, though. The women around here have better sense.'

'I think he's right if you think about it,' I intervened. 'If we brought the police in it would only make things worse. Kyle won't be scared of the police. He would tell them where to go and brag to his mates about it. Then he'd get back to me, only it'd be worse next time.'

'And isn't Kyle a friend of your Carl's?' said Carol.

Mum jumped up in her seat almost spilling her tea. 'Yes!' she squeaked. 'We could get him to duff him up.'

Carol shook her head. She was half laughing.

I reminded mum about what he'd been doing to me lately.

'True,' she said. 'But even so he's not going to let anybody else do that to you. You are a sort of brother. Bashing you up is his job. Brothers do that. It's not so bad if it's brothers.'

'I wouldn't advise that,' said Carol, 'tempting though it might be.' She took a ladylike sip from her mug. 'However, I can see that these other students are going to be a disruptive influence. If you like, Leon can study at home while he's recovering. I'll mark him off as sick on the register. Meanwhile, I'll have a think about possible alternative arrangements we can make for his studies.'

'Oh, no!' Mother spun around in her chair quite energetically. 'He can't stop going to school now he's doing so well.'

'It's the last academic year,' said Carol. 'I know how important it is, but Leon is bright and I can't see any harm in him studying at home, at least for the time being. It might be less stressful for him. Unfortunately, I don't think Kyle and Sam are likely to stop bullying him. I'll have a word with the head and his other teachers about this, if you don't mind. The school might be able to get Leon some home support from the LEA. Do you have a laptop, Leon?'

'Yes,' I said. 'With internet access,' I added, cleverly anticipating her next question.

'Good,' said Carol. She spoke to Mum. 'I can drop round with some books and past exam papers for Leon to look at and I can guide him towards areas to concentrate on for the exams.'

I felt concern still in my mother's voice. 'Really? Is this a good idea, do you think? I mean, he's only been at your school for five minutes. What if he fails his exams?'

'Mum,' I said, 'would you mind if I talk to Miss Malloy on my own for a bit?' It would have been a shock to mum if I'd called my teacher Carol.

Her face fell slightly and came back up again with a smile. 'OK!' she said. 'I know when I'm not wanted.' She went into the kitchen to do some more washing up.

A few seconds after the door closed behind my mum Carol said, 'So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about that you couldn't talk about in front of your mother?'

'She means well,' I said. 'I do want to go back to school, only it's difficult.'

'You're going to revise at home?'

'Yes,' I said. 'This isn't about school though.'

There was an awkward pause and she broke it. 'You know, Leon,' she said coyly, 'I am flattered. It's just that I'm old enough to be your mother.'

'What?' I shot to my feet, the sudden movement, reminding me about the pain in my chest. 'Err... no, I didn't mean that, no, not that!'

She held her face straight for a moment and then broke the moment with a beaming grin and she laughed. 'Joke!' she said. 'Seriously, what's on your mind, Leon?'

'It's not easy,' I said. 'It's not about exam revision, it's more about life.'

'Shoot!'

I composed myself, cleared my throat and shuffled in my seat until I was comfortable, the theory being that it would make it easier for things to come out of my mouth. 'There's something I can't tell you about,' I said, 'and before you say anything I'm not gay either.'

'I know,' she said, 'you can usually tell.' I wasn't sure she was right about that, but I didn't question her about it.

'In your opinion, what would you say nature was?' I was fascinated by the question, but found it difficult to define. I expected Carol to give me a definitive reply that would make sense of everything, but she didn't have an immediate answer.

'Ooh,' she said in the end, sucking her teeth, 'that's a toughie. Have you got a dictionary?'

'Not that I can put my hands on,' I said. 'If you had to define it, in your own words, how would you?'

'Nature is, what is,' she said. 'I suppose it's what's out there, the world, whether we choose to accept it or not. Or do you mean what is natural in a person?'

How perceptive she was. 'Yes,' I said, 'in a person.'

'In that case I would say it was probably relative. What's natural to one person, might not necessarily be natural to someone else. At the end of the day we are all who we are and the most important thing is tolerance of one another. Why? Is there something you want to tell me?'

'Yes,' I said truthfully, 'there is something, only I can't tell anybody about it yet. I know you haven't had the chance to know me properly. If I asked you, would you say I have it in me to be a bad person?'

'I think we all have the potential, if you could call it that, to be a bad person,' said Carol. 'Why are you asking? Do you think you're a bad person?'

'To be truthful with you,' I said, dipping my head with the very thought, 'I'm not entirely sure.' I tested her. 'Did you hear about that business in North Wales with those two men who got killed?'

'It was all over the papers,' said Carol. 'Of course I saw it. You couldn't miss it.'

'And what do you think?'

Carol composed herself. She put her tea cup on the coffee table and straightened her back and drew breath. 'I'm not saying it's wrong to kill one another. I mean, I'm not a religious person, but I've always believed though, that 'thou shalt not kill' is an important commandment initially, and everybody should take notice of it.'

'But?' I said.

'But you've got to take into account that these two who died weren't just bad people. They're not just two blokes who would nick your mobile phone and flog it for the price of a spliff. We are talking about very bad people. They lived in a world where they did the most terrible things to other human beings. Did you read the rest?'

I hadn't. I was much too scared to pick up a newspaper again.

'Well, they victimised old people on a council estate. They threatened them with a knife saying that if they didn't hand over their savings then they would cut them. These are people who fought in wars, Leon, so that we could live in a better world. They raped two girls a couple of weeks ago and they were going to do the same to that woman on the beach. Did you know that those girls had scars on their faces? Not to mention the emotional scars they'll have to carry with them until they die. Their lives will never be the same again because of those men. I don't like murder, no, but I don't call that murder. I'm not ashamed to say I'm glad they're dead. There, I've said it. Phew!' When she finished, she apologised for telling me all of that, but I was very, very glad that she did.

'They were like that, though,' I said. 'It was in their nature.'

'Nature?' she said. 'I'll tell you about nature.' Then she told me this old fable about a scorpion that wanted to cross a river...

It saw a fox, that also wanted to cross. So the scorpion asked the fox to swim across with him on his back.

'No,' replied the fox. 'You will sting me and I will die.'

'I won't,' said the scorpion. 'I need to get to the other side just like you do. Anyway, if I sting you and you die I will drown.'

And so the fox agreed and gave him a lift. About half way across his fears are proven right and the scorpion did indeed sting him.

'You promised you wouldn't do that that,' he said.

'I'm sorry, I couldn't help it,' replied the scorpion. 'It was in my nature to do that.'

When she finished Carol stood up. 'It doesn't make it right though does it,' she said, pulling her skirt straight over her bottom. 'Is that it, then?'

'Just one more thing,' I said like Colombo. 'How can you tell if somebody is evil, naturally evil, I mean?'

She thought about it. I wondered if this was stretching her teaching abilities. 'I would say,' she said at last, 'that if a person has done a bad thing, and feels the pain of it, then it would mean that he, or she, wasn't beyond redemption. You would have to be absolutely certain, that when you performed the 'bad' action, then you would have done absolutely everything possible, to make sure that you didn't have any choice first. Why all of the in-depth questioning, Leon?'

'No reason!'

My mother returned. She was carrying a basket of laundry to put in the washing machine. The very idea of my things getting mixed up with Carl's made me feel sick for a moment. I shook the thought away.

After she'd said goodbye to my mother, I followed Carol to the front door.

'So I'll drop those things off for you after school,' she said. 'I'll clear it with the powers that be. You should be alright. I've seen your results from your old school you should get through fine, providing you get your head down and revise, and don't let things bother you.' She then asked me again if I wanted to do anything about Kyle Higgot. It was still assault no matter how I dressed it up she told me. I declined.

FOURTEEN

I knuckled down. Carol came round over the next couple of days with books, DVDs, papers, lists of internet sites and even samples of successful submissions.

I sat on my bed, with the chair under my door handle going through them all. I tried not to be too complacent about how easy it all looked. I was happy in my room, too. It was like the womb. I felt safe and secure, as if nobody could touch me as long as I had the chair wedged in place. My mother even brought my meals upstairs, being totally respectful and not wanting to break my train of thought.

I didn't only keep school hours, either. At every opportunity I read, reread and then tested myself and I have to say it was with some interesting results. I was delighted to see that the questions, corresponded with what I had already learned at the old school. They were pretty standard. I was so tied up with my studies that I had almost forgotten about the outside world and its importance to me.

It was a whole week before Carl returned, and I was surprised that when he passed my room, he didn't leap on the opportunity to fire off a snide remark, or rattle the door to annoy me. He just sloped past, with his knuckles dragging against the landing carpet, snorting and grunting, and making that horrid sound that some people like to make sometimes before they spit.

One lunchtime mum bought me a cheese and tomato sandwich up to my room and I noticed that she was looking drawn and tired. I took the plate from her, but I couldn't let her leave until I'd questioned her about it.

'It's nothing,' she said. 'I think I'm coming down with something. I've been feeling queasy for a couple of days. Don't worry about it, luv!''

'What does Tony say about it?' I asked, sort of knowing the answer already.

'Oh,' she said, 'he's being his usual piggy self. He won't sleep in the same room as me now in case he catches it and he has to have the time off work and lose money. I've been informed about how much he lost when we went to the coast.'

'It was his idea!' I said.

'He was supposed to meet somebody while we were there, some deal, only he didn't turn up. I'm sleeping on the sofa now. I'm sorry I brought you into all this, Leon.'

I was appalled by this. 'Mum, why don't we go? We can stop at Auntie Karen's while we sort another place out. She wouldn't mind.'

'Maybe when I'm better,' she said and coughed something disgusting into her tissue.

I offered to sleep downstairs and told her she could have my bed.

'No,' she said. 'I don't mind the sofa. It's quite comfortable really and I can watch TV in bed with a mug of cocoa.'

I thought that was probably a good idea. It would have been the first time she would have had any time to relax since being with Tony. She leaned over, and I leapt on the opportunity to hug her. 'Are you sure you will be OK?' I asked.

'Yes,' she said, 'it's just a bug. You know there are a lot of these things going around. I want you to carry on with your studies and don't let that pig in the other room stop you. You are much better than him, Leon. You'll amount to more. I know you will. You make me so proud. You'll be presenting wildlife documentaries before you can turn around. Then, with all the money from that you can buy me a granny flat next to your mansion.'

She cast me a limp smile and left.

I dropped my studies for the next few days as I thought there were more important things to think about. Things had changed for the Harpers. Carl still barged passed me and Tony dashed back and forth as if we weren't there. I looked after my mother. She insisted that I wasn't to call the doctor, but it was hard to resist. She said it was stupid getting somebody out for something as trivial as a bug.

'Mum,' I said, 'bugs are usually twenty-four hour things and you have had this for days now.'

The next day she was even weaker and I called a number I found in the telephone book on the hall table. The receptionist said that Doctor Ross would be around as soon as his duties permitted. He finally arrived after four and after checking her over on the outside asked her questions about how she was feeling inside.

'Pains?'

'In my stomach,' said my mother.

'Anywhere else?'

'Up here,' she rubbed her chest with a thin, white hand, 'and here,' indicating her kidneys.

'Have you eaten anything that might not have been cooked all the way through? Chicken? Have you eaten shellfish?'

'Not that I know of,' I interjected. 'I've been eating the same meals and I feel fine.'

'Are you sure?' said Doctor Ross. 'It looks to me like a case of food poisoning. I think that it is probably a mild case.' He asked her if there had been any vomiting and diarrhoea. She said, she had been shooting from both ends, and then apologised for the rudeness.

'Dehydrated?'

She asked what it was and he explained. 'Yes,' she said, 'I've had a raging thirst lately.'

'I am going to have you admitted to hospital,' he added after further thought. 'I think you need to be looked at more thoroughly.'

Then, with the foolish notion that he might care about my mother for a single second, I phoned Tony at the garage.

'I'm tied up, Leon!' he yelled over the radio. 'I've got a backlog on. How bad is she? Does she really need me there?'

'Bad,' I said. 'She's pale and sick and has horrible pains in her stomach.'

'She's got a bug,' said Tony. 'I did tell her. She'll be alright in the morning, mate!'

'The doctor doesn't think so, Tony. I really think we need to get down there as soon as possible. I'm worried Tony. She looks awful.'

'You get your butt down there now,' he said. 'I'll meet you down there later when things have quietened down.' He put the phone down. Such was his love for the woman in his life.

I got into the ambulance with my mother just in time to catch the paramedics feeding a drip into her arm. I tried not to let myself get too alarmed. It was only saline and so it was going to do her some good. I observed the crew as they tried hard to get her comfortable. There were two of them. One was a small woman with reddish-brown hair. The other, the driver, was a tall, skinny man, slightly bald and bespectacled.

'Is your dad not coming?' the woman said. I glanced at her name badge. It said 'Cindy'.

'He's not my dad,' I replied, though my angry tears. 'He said he's going to meet us at the other end.'

She got out of the ambulance for a moment and had a chat with the doctor again. I heard the words 'food', 'poisoning' and 'undercooked' again. I thought about my mum's cooking skills. Quite often my dad would do the cooking. I asked him why once and he said mum wasn't Delia Smith. She'd gotten better, with practice since then. I couldn't help blaming myself, though. With what had been happening to me lately she might well have taken her eyes off the ball and slipped up.

Because mum had complained again about having a raging thirst the male paramedic gave her a glucose drink. He saw how worried I was and told me she was in the best hands. Of course she was, but I wondered if that was going to be enough. When the woman returned the man got into the driver's seat and turned on the siren. We sped along the roads past the yielding traffic and I couldn't help feeling that I might be right.

There had been times, and I don't know if it was a side effect of the Projector or not, that I would experience these odd feelings of total displacement. As I sat in the back of the ambulance under the noise of the sirens staring at my mum sweating and moaning, her head rolling from side to side on the pillow something inside me was telling me that none of this was real, even though it was. My head was numb and I was in a haze as if just dreaming it all.

I watched as mum's pale hand slipped out from under the blanket, flexed its slender fingers and dropped to the side of the bunk. We arrived at the hospital before I barely noticed we had been moving.

We stopped, the paramedics opened the doors and mum was whisked off along a brightly lit corridor. I looked quickly for Tony, but there was no sign of him. When I turned round again mum had been snatched from my gaze as if a stage magician had waved a red velvet cloth over her and said, 'Shazzam!'

I found the reception area and stood in the queue to speak to the receptionist. The queue seemed to move very slowly. When I finally reached the desk I asked her where they had taken mum. She checked mum's details on the computer screen and gave me the name of the ward. I thanked her and moved off, repeating the name to myself so that my addled mind wouldn't forget. I followed the signs, found a seat in the corridor by the ward and waited to be told it was alright to go in. Mum was in bed, looking white, with a nurse admitting her and taking some observations. I stayed there for two hours and there was still no sign of Tony.

Over the coming days I visited mum as much as possible, desperately hoping to see some improvement. I was terribly disappointed each time. Her hair began falling out and she was in more pain. There was poison inside her and it was spreading through her organs. As Tony was always busy at the garage I found my own way to the hospital on foot. It took me nearly an hour to get there, and longer to get back, as every step I took felt heavy. I stopped over a couple of times, but they didn't encourage this and told me I should go home and get some proper rest.

Only when things got really bad did Tony start visiting mum. We went in the car. Carl didn't want to come with us. He said that he'd made arrangements to see some friends. Mum was really ill, and he still didn't have any time for her, although I had to confess, that somewhere at the back of my mind, I was glad that he wasn't going to be anywhere near her.

One evening, as we approached the ward, a doctor stopped us and insisted on speaking to Tony, alone. I had to wait in the corridor again while they talked. About half an hour later they came out. The doctor's hand was on Tony's shoulder.

'How is my mum?' I almost yelled. 'Is she going to be OK or what?'

'She is very poorly,' the doctor said. 'Your father is going to have a chat with you.'

'He's not my bloody father,' I cried. 'What's the matter with my mum?'

The doctor ignored me and shuffled off down the corridor. Tony grabbed my arm and moved me towards the exit. 'He said she's very poorly, and in order for her to get better, you should stay away for a while.'

'Why?' I said.

'Because she's not a pretty sight. She's being sick every five minutes, and she looks like death. They are using some pretty powerful drugs on her, to counteract the effects of what's inside her and in order for them to work, she needs all the rest that she can get.'

I reluctantly agreed. 'I can come in when she's feeling better, right?'

There was a long and uncomfortable pause. 'Yes, of course you can,' he said and trotted off before I started crying.

FIFTEEN

All sorts of things went through my head over the next few days. Hardly any of them made sense. Why didn't Tony want to be with my mum at the time she probably most needed him? Why had the doctor looked so concerned? Why did I feel that there was something I should be told, but that no-one would tell me?

I went into the garden to try to escape my thoughts. I wondered, if I cleared my mind with fresh air, things would look better than they seemed. I thought if I looked at something nice I might feel different. I stepped onto the stone path. A Large Cabbage White butterfly, a Pieris brassicae flew past my face. I started following it.

I needed to be free of Carl, but he was there anyway, stalking me like a timber wolf. I didn't need to turn around to know that he was there. I could feel him through the hairs on the back of my neck.

'What are you doing, freakazoid?' he said.

'Nothing much,' I said lightly. 'Just looking around, that's all.'

It was a lie, of course. This was much more than just looking around, to me. I followed the stone path to the wooden fence at the bottom of the garden. The nasturtiums there held promises of insect life. I pulled one of the bright orange petals and there was a garden spider behind it, an Araneus diadematus. I very carefully shook it onto my palm and let it run free over my skin. I wasn't aware of any tickling sensation. That was strange.

I must point out that spiders aren't actually insects. They are arachnids, like scorpions. This is a common mistake made by most non-naturalists. Spiders have eight legs and not six and eat insects, although there are some larger varieties which eat birds and small mammals. These can grow to have a leg span of up to 200mm and a body as large as 75mm from side to side.

It came as no surprise to me when Carl once said that they were insects. He said that all bugs were, because they are small with lots of legs and turn into a sticky mess when you tread on them. I had to say I felt his reasoning was flawed.

As I was bending over by the fence, I felt something hit my shoulder and experienced a sharp pain. Carl had thrown a pebble at me. It hurt, but I wasn't going to let him know that, so I bore it and took a deep breath and swallowed.

'Oi!' he grunted. 'Are you looking for bugs again?'

'I am,' I said.

'I'll look with you if you like,' he said and gobbed on the grass. I knew he didn't mean it.

'I can manage fine on my own,' I told him and turned my attention to the ground where there was some ant activity.

Ants are amazing creatures. No matter how many or how few of them there are, they work together as a proper team. They are both organised and communicative.

Carl insisted. He began stomping through the flower bed karate chopping the heads off as he went. Watching him put a lump in my stomach. How dare he act so insensitively when my mum was lying in a hospital bed!

I asked him to stop, but as expected, he didn't take any notice.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him quickly dive onto the grass and scoop something up in his palms.

This made me anxious. 'What have you got there?' I asked him.

His face was all twisted as if he was cooking up a batch of evil in his inner cauldron. I tried to use the Projector again. I screwed my eyes tight and tried to think of somewhere horrible to send him again, just to shake him.

I couldn't. There was too much inside me clogging up my thoughts. He asked me what I was pulling the weird face for.

'Nothing,' I said defensively. 'Just something in my eye, that's all. Please, tell me what you've got in your hands.'

'Wouldn't you like to know?' he responded through a twisted grin. I noticed his eyes. They were dark again, no whiteness in them at all. That was how he looked when he was scheming.

'Please,' I said, 'whatever it is, don't hurt it.'

There was no telling what he was going to do next. It was probably the last thing I wanted to do then, but I moved closer to him, so that I could see more clearly.

It turned out to be a very bad idea. With my undivided attention he became more theatrical and it was all for my benefit. He began picking at his palm, carefully. The fingers of his left hand, were so tight together, that whatever it was he was imprisoning, couldn't escape.

Then he flicked something into the air. He carried on doing this for a few seconds and finally stopped. I had the most horrible of feeling in my stomach.

'Now, nature boy,' he said mockingly, 'let's see how much you can remember. How many legs does a butterfly have again?'

'Please don't tell me you've done something bad,' I said. 'Tell me you're having one of your jokes.'

'Answer me and I'll tell you,' he said.

'Six,' I said. 'It should have six. It's an insect.'

He glanced into his hand and then at me. 'Wrong! Guess again!'

I asked him if he was pretending and he stared at me blankly for a few seconds and then shook his head slowly. He laughed stupidly and did a clumsy pirouette on the path. Rather childish, I thought.

'Tell me how many legs I've pulled off it and I'll let it go,' said Carl.

'Two!' I said. 'You've pulled two off.'

'Nope!'

'Three!'

Before I'd had a chance to move he pushed me to the ground. He did this with hardly any effort at all. He placed his heel against my throat and he kept me like that until he'd told me everything he thought about me and my mum. He told me that he hated me. He reminded me that I wasn't going to be his brother no matter what anybody said. He said that my mother was a weakling and that was why I was too. He called me a freakazoid again, and told me that every day we had to share the same space, he would make me suffer for it. Then he did the most disgusting thing. He forced my mouth open and made me eat the butterfly. I refused at first, but kept punching me in the stomach, until I shouted, and he stuffed the butterfly into my open mouth.

'The answer was none by the way,' he said and marched off back to the house.

This wasn't the end of it. There was something else he wanted to tell me, something that would cause me the deepest pain.

SIXTEEN

Carl went back into the house. He was swaggering like a cockerel. I followed him. What made me do that I do not know. His arrogance was too much for me that day with all that was on my mind and so I just did.

As I stepped into the living room, I saw him casually lifting up things and then dropping them on the floor. Cushions, ornaments, discarded cups, framed photographs.

'Why are you doing that?' I asked him.

'Basically, gay boy,' he replied, 'because I want to.'

I could really have done without this immature behaviour. Carl was round about the same age as me. I would never have behaved like that and nobody would have expected it from me. 'Don't!' I said. 'Just, don't!'

'Why? What you gonna do?'

'Nothing,' I said. 'I just don't want you to do that.'

'Getting on your nerves is it?'

'Yes!'

'Good,' said Carl. 'Perhaps you'd like to move out.'

'My mum likes it here,' I said.

'Your mother isn't here, is she? And she's never going to be, not anymore.'

'My mum is going to get better soon and she is going to come home. She won't be right straight away, because she'll need to recuperate and that means no idiotic behaviour.'

Carl grabbed my throat and pushed me against the wall. My elbow hit a framed photograph and cracked the glass. 'Are you calling me an idiot, gay boy?'

'No-o!' I said pathetically. 'I'm only saying that it would be better for her if we made an effort to get along. I mean, we don't have to like each other, me and you, but it doesn't mean we can't pretend while she's around does it?'

He released his grip and I slid down the wall. My backside hit the floor.

'So you're expecting her to come home, then, are you?'

I said, 'Yes'.

'Then you're a bigger fool than you look.'

'Why?' I said,

'Because she ain't coming home!'

'You don't know that!'

He leaned over me and I felt a globule of spit hit my forehead as he spoke. 'I know,' he said. 'That's all. So let's leave it at that, shall we?'

'What do you know, Carl?' I said. 'You're hiding something. What did you do to my mum?'

'Nothing!' he replied. 'Nothing the dozy cow didn't deserve anyway.'

With these words fixed in my head in some sort of weird concoction of nonsensical syllables, I fixed my gaze on him and lifted myself from the floor. It was as if all my primeval instincts had come together to do something terrible and right and natural. Without any warning to man or beast, emitting a fearsome scream, I hurled myself at him. Nothing else in the world mattered. I wanted to do him some serious damage and I wasn't going to let anything resembling common sense get in the way.

My body hit Carl's, he lost his footing and we both crashed to the floor. This time I grabbed his throat. I was so angry that I was convinced that there was no way that I could hold the Projector back now. I was proved wrong.

I didn't hear Tony's footsteps approaching the front door and I didn't hear the key in the lock. I didn't even notice he was in the room until he pulled me away with my hands still trying to hit out at his son.

'It doesn't matter about all this shit!' he said. 'We'll sort this out later. We've got to go.'

A million butterflies flew into my stomach and my heart felt as though it stopped. 'Why?' I said, my body shaking.

'I had a phone call at work, from the hospital,' he said. 'It's your mother. She hasn't got long!'

I don't remember the car journey to the hospital at all. I don't remember any of the words spoken after that. I only remember this...

I touched my mother's hand gently. Stupidly, I feared I might break the slender, cold, white fingers. I looked into her eyes. Strange, I thought as I viewed the fading light in her face, that I didn't really know all that much about her, apart from the fact that she gave birth to me. She cooked and cleaned and rubbed my head whenever I was ever in any physical or mental pain. She did all this without any complaint. Feeling like the worst kind of slimeball, it occurred to me, as I stood there drowning in my own self-pity, that I had never asked her anything about herself ,that might have helped me understand who she was. I realised that I had no idea about what food she liked best, whether she had a favourite film, what her dreams were, whether or not she had done at least one of those things she told herself she would do when she was a little girl.

I supposed, as I conjured up all those pictures of her flitting back and forth, from one room to another, that all she was at the end of the day, was a mirror for everyone else, being whatever the other person needed her to be. As far as I knew, she'd had nothing nice in her life. She had only been to the seaside once, and that had been with Tony. Dad had always been too busy.

My last gift to her on this Earth was decided.

'Mum,' I said softly, 'before you go to wherever it is you are going, please try and focus on me for a moment. There is somewhere I would like to take you.'

I had no idea what her dream was and she was too weak to tell me, so I gave her one of mine. With all of the strength she could muster, she parted her eyelids. I knew at a glance how much it took out of her. I thought of the nicest, sweetest place I could think of, a place with a long sun-bleached beach and a sparkling sea, a place untouched by mankind and far away from man. I could see her move away from me; her arms outspread, wanting to touch everything at once.

'What's all this?' she asked, spinning and looking, looking and spinning again.

'I have absolutely no idea!' I laughed through my teary eyes. 'It's a nice place and that's all that I know about it. There is another one, only you'd think it was just a lumpy patch of land waiting for the council to build on it.'

'It's beautiful!' she said. She took her tatty brown shoes off, and placed them neatly side-by-side on the beach, and went off to investigate the sea.

When she was convinced that it really was water, she sat down and gazed at it. It was what I would have done at that point, too.

'Is it warm enough for you?' I asked her. 'You know I can do something about that if it isn't.'

'It's perfect,' she said. I added dark glasses to her face and she laughed.

'Leon,' she threw her hands into the air, 'where are we, luv? Is this the Projector?'

'Yes, but it doesn't matter,' was my only response. 'It's somewhere else. Perhaps we'd better leave it at that.'

'Are you doing this?' she asked. 'Is this all you?'

'Yes,' I replied.

'So where am I now?'

I didn't really want to answer her, but I did anyway. 'In my head,' I said, 'or rather we're in each other's heads. It's not real.'

'It's real enough for me,' said Mum. 'I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven.'

'You sort of have, mum,' I said, wiping away a tear.

'I don't feel dead,' said Mum. 'I feel more alive.'

She asked me how long it was going to last. I wasn't sure. We said nothing, then for half an hour. She spoke next and I was surprised that, even though she had remembered she was slipping away from this earth, it didn't bother her at all. She had quickly become accustomed to the idea. 'Promise me one thing,' her gaze never left the sea as she spoke.

'Yes,' I said. 'Anything!'

'Promise me you will do everything in your power to follow your dream.'

'I'm not sure I can,' I said honestly, 'not anymore.'

Mum grabbed my hand. 'You must try,' she said. 'Forget this, forget what Carl did. You are a better person than that. If you kill him you'll be as bad as he is. You'd be letting us both down.' She looked at me and smiled.

'So it is true,' I said. 'He did do this. He wasn't just winding me up.'

'He made me a cup of tea,' said Mum. 'I thought it was weird him doing that. I should have realised really. I know he did wrong, but just let the police handle it, Leon. When they ask you what happened tell them what I told you.'

'I'm not sure they'd believe this, mum,' I said.

'Ah well, never mind.'

A thick globule of tear hit the sand and made a crater. 'He will pay,' I said.

Mum dried my face with her hand and rubbed it on her skirt. 'Yes,' she said, 'but you must let the law catch him. You go away and study to become a scientist.'

I didn't answer her. It was the furthest thing from my mind at that time. Feeling the breath of the end at the backs of our necks, we both stood up. I put my index finger and my thumb in my mouth and whistled, something I could never do in the real world. A shiny black stallion with a long flowing mane came thundering towards her, stopping in a flurry of sand. She turned towards it and smiled. On its back was my dad.

'Come with me,' he said. 'I'll take care of you now.'

My dad nodded at me and I nodded back knowingly. Mum had never been on a horse in her entire life. Dad extended a hand and pulled her up onto the stallion's back, placing her safely behind him with all the skills of a rodeo star. I assumed that even in the afterlife you could learn something new.

They rode towards me. 'You know what you must do son, don't you?' dad said soberly. '

'I do dad,' I said. 'Just let me cry for a while first. I need to get away for a bit.'

'Just be careful! As soon as people realise who you are, they will come looking for you. You must look out for them and when they come you must run the other way.' He nodded, then swinging the stallion away from me they cantered towards the sun to dissolve in its burning haze.

I like to think that my mother didn't die in hospital. I like to think that she died in paradise. It was the very least I could do for her.

SEVENTEEN

Just after mum's funeral, I ran away. I didn't want to be around anything that would remind me of what had happened. I headed for the city of Loncaster, which was less than twenty miles from Wersham, so I could easily walk there. Although it was so close I had never visited, but I thought it sounded like the ideal place to lose myself. By the time I'd arrived on the outskirts it was getting late. The road into the city centre seemed to go on forever and my stomach was growling. I trudged over the bridge and the shops became more numerous. I wandered until I reached the High Street and stopped outside an American Diner. That was where I met Cally Ember.

She was sitting alone at a table for four. She had greasy blonde hair woven into a tight plait which snaked down her back and was wearing a red vinyl jacket and a red beret. She was eating a baked potato smothered in tuna, which looked as though it had been liquidised with mayonnaise. To stop it running off the plate it was heavily fortified with crisp green lettuce, finely sliced tomatoes and slivers of cucumber.

I tried to convince myself I wasn't really hungry. My stomach begged to differ. It was cursing me for not having the sense to have taken money from Tony's wallet before leaving. I'd noticed it on the telephone table in the hall before I left. I'd thought about it, but it wasn't me. I wasn't the kind of person to do bad things on purpose, I was sure of that.

I sat down and put my rucksack on an adjacent chair. I perused the laminated menu, but ended up flinging it on the table after searching my pockets and finding no loose change. I watched Cally casting her eyes to the counter and then to the road. She was watching the cars and lorries pulling in. Every now and again she looked at me. Then she smiled and the warmth helped me feel a little better about myself.

Now my stomach was growling. A woman about my mother's age and build, wearing a summer dress and green cardigan, sat herself at a table next to me with her son. She slid the largest tray of fries I had ever seen in front of him and the tastiest looking chicken nuggets. She then passed him a plastic fork and a straw for his cola, and smiled broadly at him. This prompted a tear to run down my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and sniffled.

This action didn't escape Cally's attention. She wiped her mouth, pushed her tray of food to the centre of her table and came across. A whole new chapter of my life was about to begin and I didn't know it.

I attempted to avert my gaze by facing the floor, but two skinny white legs, draped in black fishnets and a black vinyl mini skirt, come into my eye line.

'Are you OK?'

I didn't move a muscle. 'I will be.'

'Are you a runner,' she said, 'if you don't mind me asking?'

I nodded weakly.

'The name's Cally!' She held out her hand. I borrowed it for a second and then gave it back.

'Leon!'

'A bit older than the ones you usually meet. How old are you?'

I didn't answer.

'Have you got any money?'

'No,' I said. 'Sorry!'

'I didn't mean for me, you idiot, I meant for you. Have you had anything to eat today? I bet you haven't. You can't go anywhere unless you got fuel inside you.' Before I had a chance to utter another syllable she went to the counter and promptly returned with a tray of thin chips.

'What's that?' I said, realising afterwards what a stupid thing it was for me to say.

'What's it look like?' she said. 'A bleedin' aircraft carrier?'

'I'm not hungry,' I said, pushing it away. 'Sorry!'

'So,' she said, 'you haven't got any cash on you and you don't want to eat. And don't tell me you're not hungry again. I could hear your stomach from over there.' She pointed to where she had been sitting. 'I thought it was a motorbike.'

'It's full of other things,' I said.

'So where are you gonna get grub, from when it's empty again?'

I hadn't thought that one through.

'I don't know what you're running from,' she said, 'but if I were you I'd get those chips down your neck and get back home. Your mum and dad, are gonna be worried sick about you. Whatever it is, it can be sorted if you talk. Go back and make it up with them. You'll make 'em dead happy.'

'I can't,' I said. 'They're both dead. There's nobody to go back to.'

There was a brief embarrassed silence. 'Sorry,' she said as if there was something to apologise about. 'Have you been put in a home? What about relatives? There must be someone you can stop with.'

'They're all in Edinburgh,' I said, 'or so my mum told me once.'

'Then you'd better eat while you can,' said Cally. 'I've been where you are now and let me tell you, before you carry on running you'd better be sure that what's in front of you isn't worse than what's behind you. If you choose to keep going, you should eat when you can, cos you never know if you're ever gonna be that lucky again.'

I could see her logic. Putting a chip to my lips, and pretending to have to force it in, I thanked her, limply. This time I saw her face properly. She didn't look much older than me, although she seemed a lot older in her ways. She had a pale face, which was made to look paler by the dark cherry red lipstick she was wearing.

I munched the end of, the next chip with more obvious enthusiasm.

'So what are you running from?' I asked her.

'I'm not,' she said. 'A...' She paused. 'I was doing a favour for a friend. He was supposed to drop me off at home, but he didn't. He dumped me here. He said he wanted to use the cash point, so I said I'd get chips and when I turned around the cheeky bugger was driving off.'

'That's a bit rude,' I said. 'Will he come back, do you think?'

'Somehow I doubt it,' said Cally. Under her breath, she added, 'Gone home to his wife, I expect.'

'That's not a very good friend,' I said.

She looked at me as if I'd said something stupid. 'Yeah, right!'

'How long had you known this... friend, then?'

'Not long,' she said. 'About half an hour I think. But don't worry about it. What about you? You can't stay here all night. Have you got anywhere to get your head down?'

I told her the truth. 'I hadn't thought about it. I only knew I had to get some things together and get out of that house. Too many bad memories.'

'Look,' she said, fishing a mobile phone from her little red handbag, 'I've got this friend who might be able to give you her sofa for the night. I'm not promising anything mind. I mean, she's been through a bit of a rough time with her bloke, so she might not want another one around for a while. I can still ask though.'

She turned away for a few seconds, and I stuffed a fistful of chips into my mouth, while she prodded some buttons.

'Hello, Steph? It's Cally!' She spoke breezily into her mobile. 'Hi! Are you feeling better, Hun? Ah, never mind, mate. It'll get better soon, I'm sure. I was wondering if you could do me a favour. Eh? No, I'm alright for that. I got this friend and he badly needs somewhere to kip for the night. Can he stop in your front room? Eh?'

She asked me my name quietly. I told her. 'Liam!' she said. 'He's a nice lad, he is, won't be no trouble. What? Yeah, I would say he was good-lookin'.' Wink. 'A bit young for you, though, Steph. What? Ok, then. Have another vodka and I'll speak to you in a minute. Bye!'

'And?' I asked her.

'She said she'll ring me back in a minute!'

While we were waiting, Cally gave me the edited highlights of Steph's life. I heard all about her whirlwind romance with Paul, the new assistant manager at the local Bettasaves. How their eyes met over the frozen vegetable freezer and how true love joined them together in the rose-scented breath of a moment. How, in his shiny, blue suit, he resembled a knight in shining armour, and how with a few awkward words, he cast a spell on her. How they went for a 2-4-1 meal at a Happy Eater. How they went on to a pub somewhere out of town, where they sat gazing into each other's eyes to the music of Girl's Aloud. How they talked into the night about his visits to the gym, his gorgeous spray tan, and his forthcoming wage increases. Then, under the light of the stars, they made passionate love in the car park.

I had to admit it, this wasn't like any fairy tale I had ever heard. This one had nothing magical about it at all and it ended badly, when Paul's wife turned up at their engagement party with their three kids rattling around her heels.

As soon as Cally had finished telling me this heart string pulling tale the phone rang. She glanced at the display before she spoke.

'It's Steph,' she said. 'Fingers crossed. Hello? Yeah? Oh, OK, then.' A nanosecond later she added, 'bye!' She severed the connection. 'She said no. I suppose I should have expected that.'

Two police officers came in. They spoke to the woman behind the counter. The woman pointed at us.

'Bugger!' said Cally. 'That's all we need.' She got to her feet and I did the same.

'Are you in trouble?' I asked.

'You might say that,' said Cally. We walked towards the door before they had a chance to get near us. 'It's alright,' she said to the police officers. 'I just stopped off for a bite to eat, that's all. I'm not working.' As the door was closing behind us she added, 'and just in case you're wondering, this is my brother.' She blew them a kiss through the glass.

We walked into the car park and sat on the wall by the grass verge. The wall was cold. I took my coat off and sat on it.

'I hope you don't mind me asking,' I said coyly, 'but are you a..?'

'Tom?' she said flippantly. 'Yes!'

I knew what she meant because I'd seen it on 'The Bill'.

'I was just curious, that's all,' I said. 'It doesn't make any difference to me. I don't discriminate.'

She lit a cigarette and offered me one. I declined. 'Good for you,' she said. 'It's a mug's game, smoking.'

'You sure showed them,' I said awkwardly. I thanked her for asking Steph about the sofa. She said I was welcome and apologised for her failure, for building up my hopes. I asked her what she was going to do now.

'Go home I s'pose,' she said. 'I'll ring Roger and see if he'll pick me up.'

'Roger?'

'A...' She winked, '... friend. The one who looks after me, though that's debatable.'

'Oh, right,' I said. 'I don't suppose I could stop with you, just for one night, while I plan my next move?'

'I don't think that's a good idea,' said Cally. 'It's kind of Roger's flat. He doesn't live there himself. I rent it off him. He takes it out of my earnings, the sod. He'd kill me if he saw you there.'

'No need to explain anymore,' I said. I stood up. 'Would you like me to wait with you until he comes?'

'That wouldn't be a good idea, either,' said Cally. She got up and gave me a peck on the cheek. The warm, damp sensation on my skin was quite pleasant. I gave her a gentle wave and started on my way again.

I moved out of the light and back into the darkness, and began moving away. I'd just walked a few metres across the park, when I heard Cally calling me.

I turned around and there she was, a silhouette standing on the wall waving madly. I went back to her.

'You can't walk around here at this time of night,' she said, 'not if you haven't got any place to go. Anything could happen to you. Wait here. I'll try something else.'

Cally punched some more buttons in her phone and spoke to Roger. I didn't want to listen this time, so I moved out of earshot for a while. I hovered by some overflowing bins, trying to ignore the stench.

When she finished, she waved me back. 'Good news,' she said and my heart lifted an inch. 'He says he'll give you a lift back, but you can't get off at my place right? I told him you were a mate and you live on Camberwell Street. That's a couple of streets away from mine.' She got one of her cards out and wrote on the back of it with her eyebrow pencil. 'That's my address. Wait fifteen minutes after he drops you off before you come round. Make sure there's not a silver Saab parked outside before you knock on the door or I'm done for.'

We heard Roger's car before we saw it. The Saab rumbled into the car park and crawled up beside us. The driver's side window went down with a hum to disclose a small stocky man in dark glasses. He was chewing gum. He looked me up and down.

'Your mate, is it?'

'Yes,' said Cally. 'This is Liam. We were in school together. He was a year behind me.'

'Right!' said Roger. 'Get in. I haven't got all night.'

We got in, Cally in the front passenger seat and me in the back. I'd hardly got a chance to get the seat belt around me before we shot off. When we stopped on Camberwell Street, I disembarked quickly. I said goodnight to Cally and added that it was nice to see her again, and closed the door. I thanked Roger for the lift. Roger didn't say a word. As I was moving away from the car I caught a glimpse of him handing something to Cally and she put it quickly in her bag. It was something white in a shrink-wrapped oblong packet.

EIGHTEEN

I turned up at Cally's flat and tapped tentatively on the door. She answered it very quickly and practically yanked me into the hallway. She guided me into the living room, a dimly lit place filled with dancing shadows, created by candlelight. She'd lit some Joss sticks. I didn't know if that was for my benefit or not, but there was something distinctly hippie-like about it all.

I dropped my body onto a low leather sofa. My legs were a bit long for this so I spread them out so that they were under the smoked glass coffee table.

'I don't know about you, but I'm cream crackered,' she said. 'I thought I might crack open a bottle of rose and stick a film on the DVD player. What do you think?'

A film sounded good. I wasn't sure how much of it I would take in, but a little mindless escapism might be just what I needed. There wasn't to be much of that. It turned out that Cally was a fan of revenge westerns. The shelf under the TV was bulging with them. She liked the type of film where a family member gets shot by the bad guys and the protagonist goes after them for a bit of sweet justice. I might have guessed that chick flicks wouldn't be her thing.

She went into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a couple of glasses pinched between two fingers, a bottle of chilled rose under her left arm and a large packet of tortilla chips dangling from her mouth. She flicked the kitchen door shut with her foot, then dropped the tortilla chips on my lap and placed the glasses on the coffee table. 'Now,' she said, 'it's not often I get guests. I thought we might as well live it up a bit.'

'I don't know,' I said, looking at the bottle doubtful. 'I'm not sure.'

'Stupid,' she said. 'One glass won't hurt you. Come on, you're not a child.'

'Well, perhaps one won't hurt,' I said, sounding like a total lightweight. I had been given a sip of sherry one Christmas and had decided then that I wasn't too keen on alcohol. I couldn't remember having tried any since. As too much of it would put you into a state of mental incompetence, it sounded like something to be avoided. I liked the idea of being in control of myself when I could help it.

'I always have one at night,' said Cally, 'especially after a long day. I find it takes the edge off things, smoothes things over.' She poured out two glasses of Rosé and we chinked them together.

'Cheers!' I said.

'Down yer throat and no waiting,' said Cally. The clear pink liquid disappeared in one go. After slapping the glass on the table, she winked at me.

She slid both her shoes off, and kicked them into the corner of the room with the practised skill of a circus performer, and we watched Clint Eastwood twirling his guns at rival gunslingers. I assumed that 'The Outlaw Josie Wales' was one of her favourites. She practically knew the entire screenplay.

'Are you gonna pull those pistols or whistle Dixie?'

'Does it clean stains?' (Spit)

'Don't piss up my back and tell me it's raining.'

'Tell him. The war's over.'

I had them all, word for word.

I thought it was strange, as I witnessed the transformation of the hero from simple farm worker to blood-thirsty killer, for anyone to change like this. It's something that runs hand in hand with time, events and nature. It was unsettling to think that I was changing and one day the blood-thirsty killer might be me.

The first thing I'd done when I'd returned to the house after mum's funeral, was look for Carl. I had no idea if I could go through with what was on my mind. He made the decision easy for me. He had disappeared again, this time for good, his father said. His clothes had gone this time. I hoped that the police were looking for him. There'd been no sign of him at the funeral and I was glad, as his presence would have been something of an insult. I thought about the logic of reporting him. What could I say? My mother told me in a dream that he poisoned her and my dead father told me to take revenge?

When the movie had finished Cally cheered at the TV screen and she went into the kitchen. 'You never told me,' she called through to me.

'About what?'

'What you're running from.'

'That's because it's complicated,' I said, filling my mouth so I didn't need to say anything else.

'I understand if you don't want to tell me,' said Cally, and then out of the blue came, 'abused, were you?'

I nodded and then shook my head, realising that wasn't exactly the same situation.

'I was,' she said. 'It was my uncle Martin, me dad's brother. If you asked my family about him, they'd go on as if butter wouldn't melt. You wouldn't believe the things he did.' As if I'd asked, she told me, spieling everything off for me in glorious 3D Technicolor imagery. Her descriptions were quite graphic and it made me feel sick. She pointed me in the direction of the bathroom and I dived towards the sink and threw up some wine and tortilla chips. I have a weak stomach and that's thanks to my mother. I began cooling myself off, by cupping my hands under the cold tap and throwing water onto my face.

A hand found its way to my shoulder. 'Sorry,' she said. 'It was a long time ago. I'm one of the lucky ones. I don't like it, but I've got my head round it. Loads of people never do, and their lives are hell.'

'You must have nightmares.'

'No,' said Cally. 'I can deal with it now.'

'How?' I said, retching at the thought. 'It's horrible.'

'Simple,' she said. I followed her back into the living room and we sat next to each other on the sofa again. 'You see, when bad things happen to you there are only three things you can do. You can go under and let it eat you all up inside, or you can choose to accept it and suffer, or you can move on and look for a better kind of normality.'

'And the bad things have gone?' I said. She didn't answer. She stood up, snatched her glass from the table and said, 'Well, I don't know about you, but I'm breaking the habit and having another.'

Cally's eyes were shining with tears as she spoke. I gathered things weren't all that much better for her now after all. I asked her if she had ever thought about doing anything about what happened to her and she shrugged. 'Revenge,' I said, pointing to the TV screen. 'Did you ever want to find him and shoot him like Clint did? He must deserve it.'

'Roll up at his place with a pair of six shooters?' said Cally. 'Maybe once I would have. In the cold light of day, it's no answer. I mean, if I had gone after him, and killed him, that would have made me as bad as him, wouldn't it? In the eyes of the law murder is worse than abuse.' I hadn't thought of it like that. Was I worse than Carl or those two rapists on the beach? I wasn't entirely sure I could agree.

'The law is an ass!' I said.

'What?'

'Something I heard someone say once. I think it means that the law doesn't always get it right and sometimes criminals get away with things and their victims have to suffer. I take it you did tell the police?'

'No,' said Cally, 'I couldn't see the point. I was always the bad girl, a proper tomboy, always getting into trouble. You know the kind of thing I mean, nicking sweets, bunking off school, mouthing off at coppers. My uncle, however, dear Uncle Martin, Mr Posh himself, was a respected member of the community. Head of the neighbourhood watch, governor at a school, eleven thousand pounds plus for registered charities under his belt.'

'And where is he now?' I slurred.

Cally shrugged. 'Dunno! Probably still teaching at the posh school as far as I know. Meanwhile, Cally is in this crappy flat in Loncaster, with some strange lad, who can't take a glass of cheap wine.'

She asked me what my story was. It was the last thing I heard that night. I hadn't been aware of my eyelids closing or the duvet that magically materialised over my body. I don't recall dreaming that night, only blackness, a space which seemed to take me away from everything. Without any resistance at all I let my body fall into the void, away from pain and pleasure. I was resting my head from all of the things that were troubling me.

NINETEEN

In the morning I woke to see a steaming mug of tea where the wine glasses had been the night before. It was a large blue mug with a caricature of a blue cat wearing gaudy red lipstick bearing the words Glamour Puss. I thanked Cally, even though my head wasn't totally convinced that it was daytime yet.

'Sleep alright?' said Cally. 'I find that a bit uncomfortable myself. It's old and the springs come through sometimes and nip you on the bum. I'll get a new one when I can afford it.'

'I didn't notice any springs,' I said with a carefree yawn and outstretched hands. I'd been as dead to the world as if I'd had been kidnapped by Morpheus himself.

Cally opened the window. City noises came rushing through. The gorgeous glowing sun, we had been promised all year was partly obscured behind greyish-white cumulus clouds. The cool, morning air carried street smells of greasy fry-ups and already someone was pegging out newly-washed and fragrant laundry. She poked her head out to have a look at the street, peered both ways and lit up a cigarette.

'Helps calm the nerves,' she said, taking a good, sharp drag and wincing with the experience. 'I can't stand fags, but they help somehow. Did you say you don't smoke?'

I reminded her I didn't.

'Make sure you never do, either,' she continued, 'and I wouldn't have given you one if you'd asked. Like I said, it's a disgusting habit and when you start that's it. You're pulled into each packet by your lungs. Before you turn around its like nicotine is part of your biology.'

'That's a strange way of putting it,' I observed with a slurp of my tea.

'It's true,' she said. 'I'm a slave to tar because of these things. You kiss someone and your breath tastes like a newly laid bypass.' When she finished, she stubbed the remains of the cigarette on the window sill. She threw the stub out into the street and made a 'yeuch' sound. I was going to ask her about the white powder that Roger had given her and then thought perhaps that was a bad idea.

I watched Cally fish some make-up and a small mirror from her handbag. Carefully she drew round her eyes with an eye pencil, stroked blusher across her cheeks and applied lipstick to her mouth. The lipstick was the same bright red colour she'd worn the previous day. Cally pouted into the mirror and examined her appearance carefully.

'Right!' she said. 'I've got to go out for a while.'

'Do you want me to leave?' I said.

'No,' said Cally. 'You can stop longer. I just wanna know one thing first.'

'Anything!' I replied eagerly.

'The truth,' she said.

I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the worse. The truth was something I wasn't all that comfortable with yet. 'Truth?'

'Yeah!' She quickly kissed some of the excess lipstick onto a tissue, and pouted again into the mirror. 'I don't mind you being on the run. Just tell me it's not from the cops.'

'No,' I assured her. 'It's not that kind of running away. Things aren't right with my life and I need to be far away from the people I've been living with so I can make a decision about something.'

'Good!' Cally ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head a little. 'You're a good lad I can see that. It's just that I've been lied to before and I don't want liars under the same roof as me. You'll be out if you've lied to me.'

'I haven't lied to you,' I said. I wondered if not telling her I had killed two people and was thinking of killing another one counted.

She looked me square in the eyes as if trying to penetrate my soul for answers. 'I believe you. Now, if you're sticking around here stay away from the window. If you go out make sure no-one sees you. Take the door off the latch and pull it to. Roger's got a key. I doubt he'll come round today, though. He's got something on in Liverpool. He could pop in. If he does, hide. I recommend the fire escape.' She pointed. 'Crouch down and he won't see you.'

'OK!'

'I'll be out all day,' she said. Totally unexpectedly, she kissed me squarely on the lips and left. That, I thought, would be the first and last time anybody would do that to me.

I knew very little about Cally, but she seemed a trusting soul. After all, she had left me alone in the flat with just about everything she had in the entire world. It may have been Roger's flat, but what there was scattered about the place was all her, from the stuffed toys and fancy ornaments on the shelves to the assortment of outfits suspended from furry pink hangers on the walls. There wasn't enough of it to call clutter. I could see that she liked pigs. They were everywhere. Fuzzy ones, shiny ones and even one with a zip up its belly so that you could stuff your pyjamas into it.

On the way to the toilet I noticed that the door to her room was ajar. I didn't go in, but I could see a single bed with a pig pattern duvet. A suitcase and a rucksack were in the corner, wedged between a wardrobe and the wall. They weren't zipped shut and, I could see they had clothes in them. I couldn't decide if Cally hadn't unpacked or was preparing to leave. They gave the impression that here was someone prepared to move on at a moment's notice. Perhaps she was waiting for the elusive Roger to throw her out.

The great Sir David Attenborough often draws our attention to animals living on desert plains which don't think of anywhere as a permanent home. Many are nomadic by nature, as circumstance often requires them to be. Major influences of forced relocation in nature include floods, drought, food supply and danger from predators.

It all reminded me of something my dad once said to me. His job meant that he was nearly always on the road and hardly ever at home, so he tried to make the time he had with mum and me count. One day he announced to me that we were going to have to move away from Edinburgh and relocate and not to ask any questions about why.

'Why?' I'd asked anyway. I understood only half of what he was going on about. He grabbed my little shoulders and said that I should do whatever I needed to do in order to enjoy life while I have it, because nothing is certain. Sometimes things get bad and you have to start again somewhere else.

Using all my survival instincts I kept vigilant, considering every sight and sound as something to be scrutinised and labelled. Keeping the door leading out onto the fire escape in full view I sat still, watching daytime television at a very low volume with the door keys clutched tightly in my hand. I was prepared to get onto the fire escape and lie flat on the ground out of sight the second I heard anyone trying to get into the flat.

For the sake of not drawing attention to myself with smells I avoided cooking and made a cheese sandwich for lunch. I made sure I cleaned up afterwards. Hot food smells, remain in the air for hours. I rinsed out only one of the wine glass and left the other where it was. It was a deliberate ploy to make it look as though Cally had spent the evening alone. Cally's glass still had traces of lipstick on the rim. When I finally began to believe that no-one would be calling and I could relax I heard the creaking of the front door and voices on the landing.

I panicked. Cally had left it on the latch. I got to my feet swiftly, switched the TV off at the wall, got myself into position on the floor of the fire escape and waited.

TWENTY

I lay on the cold metal grill on the fire escape hardly breathing at all. I couldn't help thinking that I would have made a fairly convincing corpse. I tried hard not to let any of the sudden sounds that the hyenas were making inside the flat, startle me. They were opening and slamming drawers, turning over furniture and smashing things. They could have seen me, if I'd moved, I swear, but I risked turning my head very slowly and very carefully so that I could see through the bottom of the glass in the door panel, where the net curtain had been moved away in the commotion. I watched the activity and concluded that there were two people in the room, although the speed that they were moving around made it seem like there were more of them.

A white trainer landed on the carpet and bounced up against the glass a few centimetres from my face. I flinched as if I'd just experienced a sudden surge of electricity through my body. I screwed my eyes closed and counted to ten in my head to try to calm myself. I hoped the men would soon leave, but they showed no signs of going and continued to throw Cally's belongings around in their fruitless search. Eventually they slowed down and I thought it looked as though they were giving up. Then I remembered my rucksack. I'd left it hanging on the back of the door.

I made a mental inventory of its contents. There was a change of clothes, some books, a few of my favourite CDs, my magnifier, a notebook, a pen, some measuring equipment, a hand towel, my dad's tee shirt and my laptop. I couldn't think of anything else. As they turned around to leave, they spotted it. It was only a matter of time. They passed it between one another for further inspection and put into a plastic carrier bag.

'It's not here!' I heard a voice say.

'Should we be doing this?' said the other. 'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.'

'I told him, Jacky, if he's not going to cough up the readies I want it back.'

'Roger must still have it on him. We should get something for the lappy anyway.' They left and I breathed again. I thought about all the important data that was on my hard drive. There had been times when not having it would upset me. Weighing it up against what had been going on in my life lately, it wasn't all that much of a loss.

For the sake of maintaining some sort of normality, I did some tidying up before Cally got back. I didn't want her to have the shock of seeing the place looking like it did after the intruders had finished with it. I put the coffee table back on its four legs. I wasn't sure whether the crack I spotted in the corner was there originally or not. I covered it with a magazine just in case.

I didn't know if Cally was the sentimental type, one of those people who liked to hang on to gifts, long after they're broken. I'd found some glue in the kitchen, so I decided to have a go at fixing things anyway. Anything that was beyond repair I put in a crumpled old Tesco bag that I had found hanging on the kitchen door. When it was full I tucked it away tidily behind the TV for safe keeping.

Cally finally returned about an hour later. I expected her to call my name out, then realised that she would have been taking the precaution of not doing so in case Roger was there. I knew it was her. I heard her singing to herself. She had been drinking. She brought the smell of beer into the living room with her.

'Everything alright?' she said cheerfully. 'What's wrong? The place looks different. Have you been cleaning?'

'I have!' I said and then told her why.

'Did they hurt you?' she said when I'd finished. 'I should never have brought you home.'

'No,' I said. 'I hid on the fire escape like you said.'

'Did they take anything?'

'My laptop,' I said. 'It's OK, there wasn't much on it. A few notes about butterflies. That's all.' I added that to make her feel better about it.

Cally apologized, and offered to replace it somehow, even though I knew that she would find it impossible. I said that it didn't matter and it was my fault, anyway, for leaving the front door unlocked.

'If it was who I think it was I don't think locking the door would've stopped 'em!' she informed me. 'They'd have still got in one way or another.'

I asked her who they were, as if somehow the answer would have made me any wiser. She told me that they were a couple of friends of Roger's, only less so now. They had fallen out over something he did and they were angry with him.

I could see that she was shaking almost as much as I was, so I made us both a cup of strong, sweet tea, having heard of its calming qualities, especially when it came to emergency situations. She didn't appear to be all that bothered about strangers ransacking her home. It was as if it was something she was always prepared for. She told me over our drinks that it was normal around here. In fact, this had been the sixth time this year that it had happened. At no time did I ask her if she knew what they might have been looking for because I sort of already knew. It would have been the bag of white powder that Roger had given her in the car, which I'd decided was probably heroin. I'd looked hard at Cally's arms when I had the opportunity and I was relieved to find no needle marks.

I was to know the real truth later, about teatime to be exact. We'd just finished off a lasagne that Cally had put together magically, out of practically nothing. There was a knock on the door, or rather a hammering and shouting. I knew the voice at once, recognising it from the car. It was Roger.

'Shit!' Cally shot out of her seat and launched me towards the fire escape again. I opened the door and got back into my position, wondering how often I'd have to do this.

I saw Cally's elflike size five feet moving erratically over the carpet and Roger's sandy leather designer boots following them. If I had to describe what was going on from my perspective, I would have to say that it was like dancing without music. I heard murmuring which every now and again turned into shouting.

'Let me see your arms!' Roger was demanding. 'You've not been using. Why haven't you been using?'

'Because I don't need it, Rog, I can do it without.'

'Cow!' he erupted. 'My girls inject. I told you that when you started working for me.'

'I know, but you can trust me, Rog! You know you can. You know me, Rog. I'm not gonna run off, and go on someone else's books am I? Who was it who stopped that Irish geezer going to the police? You'd have been inside now if it wasn't for me, you owe me for that.'

Roger's feet went into the bedroom. After the opening and closing of a wooden drawer he came back. There was a rustling of plastic wrapping as he put something in Cally's hand.

'I'm coming back tomorrow!' he said. 'I'm going to check you again and if I'm not happy they'll be fishing you out the river before morning.'

The front door was slammed quite aggressively. I took that as my cue to re-join Cally. She was on her knees crying when I found her. The sight of her like this, made me cross. I felt the Projector beginning to stir in my head. I managed to calm it down.

It didn't feel right seeing her like that. I placed my hand gently on her shoulder and asked her to tell me what the business with Roger was all about.

We locked and bolted the door and sat together again on the sofa. I put my arm around her to comfort her and she rested her head on my shoulder. There had been times when I would have loved to have been in that position with a girl, but under different circumstances.

We sat together as still as night. For a moment there was perfect silence, while the mixed up words in our heads struggled to rearrange themselves into coherent thoughts.

I didn't push her to speak before she was ready. I waited. When she began I listened.

'I was only fourteen when I come down here,' she said, almost whispering at me. 'Didn't know where I was going to live, or how I was going to eat or nothin'. You don't think about that when you're running away like I was. These things are the furthest from your mind.'

'So what did you do?' I asked her.

'Slept in doorways and ate out of bins,' said Cally. 'Charmin' innit? But it was either do that or die. Then I met this girl, Chloe her name was. She told me there were ways of getting money for food, and providing you worked hard, you could earn enough for a place to stay.'

'And?'

'The idea of what she was suggesting was disgusting, especially for a girl of my age, so I carried on the way I was. I could see in her eyes that she knew I was going to come back and she was right. You can't live on the streets forever and it was November by then and it was freezing.'

I felt her squeeze me tight with the memory.

'It must have been hard for you,' I said, 'on your own like that with nowhere to turn.'

'It was,' Cally continued. 'I found a squat to live in for a while. I worked from there. Only the place was awful. You should've seen it. Mould all over the walls, holes in the windows, damp, the smell of wee everywhere and rats. I put up with it for a long time.'

'So where does Roger fit into this?' I said.

'About four months ago I was walking by the river and a car pulled up. A long white American job it was. I thought this is going to be different, someone with a bit of cash, he might even treat me right. He asked me to get in and I asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted to offer me something better than what I was getting at the time. He knew about the place I was living in and said if I worked for him I could do better.'

'Only it wasn't?'

Cally shook her head, and then nodded in the way that I often did. 'It wasn't so bad,' she said, 'until he gave me this...'

I looked down at her hand and saw what the crinkling plastic covered. 'A syringe?'

'You got it, Sherlock!' said Cally. 'Of course, I should have expected it sooner or later. I would have been better off still walking around the filthy streets delving in bins.'

'So he wants to control you with drugs?' I said, finally putting two and two together to form the appropriate equation. 'That white bag was full of heroin?'

'Bag?'

'I saw him give it you in the car,' I said. 'I was trying to mind my own business. It doesn't always work.'

She held the bag with the syringe in to her face and then without warning threw it at the wall, as if she was expecting it to shatter into a million pieces. She was so disappointed when it didn't.

'Look,' she said tearfully, 'I was wrong. Staying here isn't a good idea. You should go in the morning.'

'No way!' I said, and damned well meant it.

'If he finds out you've been here,' said Cally, 'he'll kill both of us.'

I didn't respond, because I had no intention of leaving her. As far as I was concerned we were kindred spirits, two troubled souls in the night who needed to lean on each other. If protecting her meant that I was going to kill again in order to do it, then so be it, but I hoped I wouldn't have to.

TWENTY-ONE

That night our insomnia kept us awake until the early hours, but eventually we slept together on the sofa. By then we were too tired to move and so we didn't. My arm was numb as Cally had been lying on it all night and I couldn't bring myself to disturb her. I lay there silently putting up with it, waiting for her to move her head. Like a love-struck buffoon I found myself staring at her hair in the moonlight through the curtains, noting how silky and shiny it was. Perfect, like something from a shampoo commercial. I wondered if, when she woke up, I should tell her how cute the mole was on the back of her neck. Maybe it would have been something she was sensitive about. My own neck was aching. Cally's sofa wasn't only shallow, but had an extremely short back on it. I tried to get my head to the cushion and failed miserably.

I didn't know whether to mention us falling asleep together. I thought I'd wait for her to speak about it first. It was funny that I didn't recall sleeping at all, but I remembered dreaming. It was about my father again and I spoke to him and looked into his face and it was all so vivid. I could see all the wrinkles around his eyes.

I don't know what happened. One minute, I was thinking about the pain in my neck, and the next, I was standing on the white, sandy beach squinting at the piercing sun, and we were looking into each other's face, wondering who was going to speak first. I recognised the spot immediately. It was where I said goodbye to my mother for the last time. This meant that we were in my own imagination again.

I didn't hear him arrive. He was a spirit and so it was to be expected. His feet weren't touching the sand at all. They were hovering a good inch above it. He had a far away look about him that led me to think that he might have just popped down from Heaven to say something important. I thought perhaps that it wasn't my head after all and we were both in some celestial waiting room between our world and the world of the angels.

My dad didn't seem all that happy to see me. He had that same look in his eyes that was there when I had done something wrong. He didn't speak for ages. It was his way of building up the tension. When he finally did speak, he did it with sideways glances much in the way that Clint Eastwood always did in the movies, before he went for his guns, a sort of dry squint.

'So you haven't done it yet,' he said, stating the obvious. 'What's the matter with you? Scared?'

'No,' I replied in a sorry schoolboy sort of tone. 'I'm still thinking about how I am going to do it.'

My dad made a grunting noise with the back of his throat, indicating disapproval and dishonour. 'Sounds like too much dithering and not much doing to me, lad. There you are, someone with the ability to wipe the filthy scumbag off the face of the earth, and not have to worry about going inside for it, and you're messing about, in some tart's flat.'

'She's not a tart,' I said defensively, 'so don't call her that. What Carl did to mum was wrong, very bad, and I want him to suffer for it.'

'I don't know why that toe-rag's still breathing oxygen.' My dad stared out to sea. I sat myself down, picked up a handful of sand and let it fall through my fingers. It landed between my legs in the shape of a question mark. I asked if he watched me from Heaven. 'Sometimes,' he said.

I asked him about mum. He told me that she wanted to come too, but he'd told her not to. He wanted to speak to me alone. I asked him to bring her next time and he said he'd think about it.

My head was still hazy. The Projector took a lot of energy from me and the process sometimes robbed me of memories and facts, like the dream that I had about going to that mysterious building. I knew it was linked to something that happened, although I couldn't say what it was. I knew it was something important that happened to me and for some reason my mind was choosing to block it out.

I wanted to ask dad about it, but he looked too cross. Instead, I reminded him of what mum told me that I should do, about concentrating on my education and my future.

'You have your whole life to do that,' he said. 'Kill Carl Harper and then think about yourself.'

'Won't the law deal with him?' I said.

'The law won't do anything,' said dad. 'He'll be sent to a young offender's institution and he'll be out in no time. Why? Are you chickening out, on me?'

'No,' I said. 'I just thought instead of actually killing him I could get him to confess everything.'

I felt a sudden powerful surge of tension, from my dad. I apologised for my weakness.

'I will kill him, dad, honest,' I said, although I was still a little unsure. 'I just need a little longer to get my head together first.'

Dad sighed. 'Don't take too long about it.'

'I'll have to find him first, though,' I said. 'He disappeared after mum's funeral. I think he went on the run.'

He was silent for a minute. I gathered he was soaking up my words. I felt there was something else written on his face and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. There was something alive in his eyes that he wasn't telling me about, something else.

'What's the matter?' I said.

'It's nothing,' he said. 'Just look out for those strange people I was telling you about. Don't worry about it. Try and stay out of sight and wipe that low life piece of filth off the face of the earth for me, that's all, and do it soon.'

I said, 'OK,' and he was gone. In his place was my reflection in the dead TV screen and the soft glow of the table lamp.

'Come on!' said Cally holding her hand out in my direction. I hadn't noticed that she had moved, had got up and gone to the bathroom, but now I could hear the cistern filling.

'What?'

'I'll be damned if I'm going to be moping around this place all day looking miserable.'

'What have you got in mind?' This was interesting, whatever it was.

'We are going out for breakfast today.'

'Sounds good. Where?'

Cally's enthusiasm in the face of what she had to put up with on a daily basis was remarkable. 'Have you ever been around Loncaster before? You must have.'

'Sort of,' I said pathetically. The whole world, his wife and his bit on the side, had been to Loncaster by now surely. 'I drove past in the car one time. I've seen pictures of it in magazines. There was a centurion talking to some tourists.'

'Well, if you like, we can go and have a good old gawp at it, while we give a couple of pigeons a kick up the arse. You can tell me if it's anything like you expect it to be.'

I allowed a smile to invade my face again, a big one. As if I had absolutely no control over what came out of my mouth, I asked if we could go to the zoo. 'Strictly for study purposes,' I said, 'nothing childish. I'm interested in natural history.'

She looked at me oddly for a second and then shook it off. 'Sure,' she said. 'We can go to Hong Kong in a shopping trolley if you like, as long as we're back here for half past seven. I've got to get myself ready for a meeting.'

We had breakfast at McDonald's. I sat opposite her munching something called a breakfast in a bun while she dipped thin golden chips into a pot of barbecue sauce. I had never known of anyone eating chips for breakfast before. I thought that it must be something that they did in the big city. It filled my insides with warm thoughts and reminded me of when we met at the diner. She had been eating chips, then as well. Only now her hair was different, looser. She was wearing a knitted hat with an Indian pattern on it, like henna hand paintings.

We finished quickly, as fast appeared to be the way of this land, and we stepped into the big city.

TWENTY-TWO

Cally, dragged me quickly along the pavement through the crowds. She must have felt, with me being such an amateur tourist, there was a danger that I might have got lost like a child.

Every now and again she stopped and asked me if I was OK and then pointed at something that she insisted I had to see, being a visitor. To my irritation these were all things that were up in the air, so that I had to strain my neck to view them. We walked the city walls, we visited the Grove Museum and the Roman Amphitheatre. Once I had persuaded her, that I'd seen enough to be convinced, that we'd seen everything that was Roman, we got on the bus for Loncaster Zoo.

As we walked through the gates and into the animal zone I couldn't help but think it was payback time. All through the morning she had been dragging me around her world, whilst basking in the joy of displaying it to me. Now it was time for her to see the one I always thought of as mine.

Over the past seven years, I had pretty much seen about every wildlife documentary, studied every animal in a book, read The Origin of Species (as every naturalist should) and reached the opinion that by now, I would know the majority of the animals at the zoo, like my own reflection. No matter how much you think you know, though, you are guaranteed to find something new.

'I like animals, too,' said Cally as we stopped to look at the map. 'They're uncomplicated. They just do what they do. They don't deceive each other like we humans do, do they?'

'I like them,' I said, 'because no matter how many times you look at them, there is always another one of a different shape and size than the ones you've already seen.'

'Oh,' said Cally. 'Right!'

And she was wrong, of course. There are plenty of creatures on the planet that are well practised in the art of deception.

Take the Fringed Jumping spider, for example. Not happy with chomping on whatever fragile little flying thing that happened to have got entangled in its web it takes itself off to look for other spiders to eat instead. Nature has given it some very clever camouflage. Disguised as a piece of shrivelled up leaf, it hangs around on another spider's web. There, it spends some time creating vibrations on the silken strands, to make the host spider think that it has caught something. Then, when it comes to investigate, it pounces on it. And we shouldn't forget the Black Widow, which devours its mate straight after copulation...

Of course it would have been bad manners to have kept going on about the habits of every creature we saw, and so I stopped. I looked at them without trying to utter the words that were directly connected with them. Too late. She already had found a nickname for me.

'Darwin!' she said with a grin. We were standing in the ape house by then and so the timing of the announcement was ironically apt. 'Isn't that the bloke who talked to the animals?'

'That was Doctor Doolittle,' I said, 'and anyway, he is a fictional character, and so he never actually existed.' To bring things back to earth I added, 'You know, we're very alike in many ways, us and them.'

She glanced at the chimpanzees behind the glass and then back at me and back at them again. 'Yeah, that one there, looks like you, come to mention it.'

'No,' I said in their defence, 'I mean that they live in social groups like we do, have leaders, cast out the weak in favour of the strong and they feel compassion sometimes as well. If young ones are eaten by predators, they've been known to grieve.'

What she said next hit my chest like cold steel, although I forgave her for it. 'At the end of the day, though,' she said, 'they're just animals, aren't they?'

'They are very important in maintaining balance in the world,' I said, barely holding back the offence that I felt. Cally apologized, and grabbed my hand again. 'Come on,' I said. 'The large primates are next door. Let's go and see if there's one that looks like anyone we know.'

We left the small ape house and went outside where there was an unusually large crowd standing by a concrete wall surrounding a dip going down to the gorilla enclosure.

Through the moving limbs that obscured our view I saw what I instantly knew to be two gorillas. One was sitting in the shade and the other was charging back and forth. As he passed a suspended tyre he thumped it sending it swinging into the air. We all looked on in amazement as it flew back over the branch and hit him in the back of the head. He wasn't happy about this at all and the only thing he could think to do to vent his frustration was to hit the tyre again with even more anger.

The gorilla whooped and roared in a way that I had never heard before in real life. He was called Bongo. The other one, who had so wisely chosen to stay out of the way in the shade while this was going on, was called Duchess. I overheard a woman explain this to a little girl in a white dress.

The onlookers thought that something that large and potentially aggressive being angry for no apparent reason than doing something stupid was hilarious. They began shouting and cheering.

'I wish they wouldn't do that,' I said, hoping that someone in front of me would hear me.

'Why?' said Cally. 'He doesn't know they're laughing at him.'

'He probably does,' I said, 'but that's not the point. The noise is going to drive him mad and he's going to hurt himself if he's not careful.'

Then, as if to prove my point, the gorilla did a hard somersault on the grass and cracked his back on the wooden post of the climbing frame. This only made him much angrier and much more agitated. The madness continued, with Bongo running back and forth, throwing everything he could get his hands on over his head. I heard someone screaming, and realised that the little girl in the white dress had gone. Her mother was spinning on the spot desperately trying to catch sight of her and was quite rightfully panicking.

A man with video camera begun yelling, 'There's a girl in there! Quick, get the keeper!'

Clutching her head with both hands the girl's mother let out a scream, then fought her way to the wall. I had never seen anybody as desperate to get to another human being as that before. I, too, fought my way to the front of the crowd to see what kind of danger the little girl was in and was soon standing by her mother.

I grabbed her arm. 'It won't hurt her,' I said, sounding quite pathetic as I spoke. 'They have the same instincts as we have for the young and they consider us to be like them.'

She didn't hear me. She was calling her name. 'Alice! Alice!'

The crowd was in a flap. You could tell that they all wanted to help, although I wondered, if anyone had asked them, how many would have climbed into the enclosure to get her. Alice didn't seem to be scared at all. She stood on the grass verge below us calling to Bongo as if she didn't have a care in the world. When you are about five or six you have no real sense of danger. I suppose you are fearless in the face of such things. Monsters under the bed, ghosts and Halloween witches would terrify you. Real life giant apes would be nothing more than large, differently shaped teddy bears.

I thought her calmness, would probably go in her favour. Any screaming by her, might have been misconstrued. Bongo would only go for her if he considered her a threat to the group, and as she approached him she offered absolutely no threat to him whatsoever. Only there was no telling what Bongo was going to do.

'Stay very still!' someone shouted out. I turned to see a man in green overalls. He had a litter stick in his hand. He'd been by the ice cream hut picking up rubbish when he'd heard the commotion and come running. 'Do not move. We are going to get someone to get you out, OK?'

Bongo began running around the girl in a wide circle, stopping every now and again and placing his knuckles against the earth. I suppose he was weighing her up. He thumped the ground twice more, something that worried quite a few people, including me. I felt someone grab my hand and turned to see Cally looking like a ghost.

'It's gonna kill her,' she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. 'I know it is, it's angry and she's so small, the poor little thing.'

'Stand absolutely still!' someone else cried out.

Alice didn't listen. In fact, she even held out her hand and offered Bongo a dolly that was previously in her pocket. Bongo only knocked it flying out of her hand and the suddenness and shock of it made her cry. He circled her again, this time making loud, guttural noises and thumped the ground harder.

I got onto the wall.

'What are you doing?' said Cally. 'Do you want him to kill you too?' Then realising that it was a bad thing to say, she apologised to the mother, who was now looking at her, tear-washed and confused.

'My baby!'

'I've got to do something,' I said. 'Gorillas don't kill people, but the noise isn't making him happy.'

I climbed over the wall, guiding my skinny body through the twangy bits of wire around the enclosure and walked slowly down to Alice. When I was within hearing range I called her name, not too loudly.

'Yes?'

'My name is Leon,' I said in a sort of stage whisper. 'Don't be afraid. I'm going to do something that will make Bongo go away. Don't be scared.'

'OK.' Sob.

I looked at Bongo and he at me. Man and beast linked by a single stare. I felt a lump form in my throat. I fought off my fears and gathered pictures in my head, a scene that might calm the beast down.

My head began to feel warm as the Projector fizzled into life inside my skull. Bongo sat perfectly still on the grass. That's the thing about the Projector. It is a form of telepathy and when you use it both the sender and the receiver can feel the connection. Bongo felt it, I knew that. As we were there frozen in linked concentration I realised that apes and men really were similar. Our minds must have been, otherwise this wouldn't have been working so well.

I didn't know what would subdue a gorilla. Calm, sunny days and hot sandy beaches probably wouldn't have worked on him. So I began by thinking of just nothing. Wiping away the aggression in his mind, I created a black canvass, a void. Then into the black I inserted white stars. Just a few at first, but eventually there were hundreds of millions of them. I then inserted the notion that it had been a long hot and humid day in the jungle and he was very tired. Behind him, mostly obscured by large dark leaves, was Duchess. She made a soft grunting sound. He turned to look at her and back at me.

I whispered, 'Go to her!'

Slowly, very slowly Bongo's eyes began closing. When I'd managed to convince him that he needed to rest, he staggered over to his mate in the shade and there he hit the ground instantly falling into a deep sleep.

A small green van pulled up. Two men got out. One had a rifle and small hard case, which I assumed contained tranquiliser darts. Someone shouted at me to keep still. Everything was fine, so I ignored him. I grabbed Alice's hand and we walked back to the fence. I was told off by the keepers for going in, even if it was to save the girl. I was harshly reminded that it was their job and their responsibility.

Cally said nothing about what happened, until we were finally home, and then, when I'd suggested that we have a nice glass of wine together, she erupted.

'What the hell are you, Leon? What did you do to that gorilla?'

TWENTY-THREE

I sat perfectly still on the sofa watching Cally pacing back and forth on the rug. She was waving her arms about erratically, as if she was trying to swat two flies in midair at the same time. Stomping around in her heels she was seriously in danger of knocking through the floorboards, and ending up joining the couple downstairs for supper. 'So what are you, then?' she said. 'Some sort of animal hypnotist or something?'

'I don't know what you mean, Cally,' I replied unconvincingly. I was a terrible actor. 'I went to the girl to try and get her out of the enclosure and by then Bongo was probably tired. He was bound to be after all of that charging around.'

'No, you definitely did something,' said Cally. 'I don't know what it was that you did, Leon, but you did something. I saw you.'

'I don't understand,' I replied weakly. 'What could you have possibly seen to suggest that something out of the ordinary was going on?'

'When you looked at that gorilla it stopped dead still,' said Cally. 'I've never seen a wild animal do that in my life.'

'It was still because it was waiting to see what I would do,' I said. 'It was waiting for my next move, to see if I was going to go for Alice. I bet if I'd grabbed her he would have been on me. Instead, he went for a lie down.'

'And why would he want to do that?'

Cally's tone, and the volume were worrying me. I shuffled to the back of my seat.

'Why wouldn't he?' I said. 'Like I said, he was tired by then.'

'Oh, come on, Leon,' said Cally, 'I didn't arrive yesterday on a banana boat. This isn't my Auntie Doris we're talking about here. This is a big, strong animal we're talking about. Gorillas don't just get tired like that.' She clicked her fingers.

'You have to understand that Bongo has been in captivity for a long time,' I said. 'Just confinement on its own can take it out of you.'

'I don't know,' said Cally, 'but let's say you are right. That doesn't explain the freaky behaviour, does it?'

I asked her what she meant by that. The last person who used that particular F word on me didn't turn out to be a very nice person.

'All I do know,' she continued, 'is that everybody else at that zoo was frightened out of their wits for that poor girl. You could see it. They were all jumping up and down and screaming about what that animal might do to her. Not you though, Leon. You were standing there calm as you like without a sound or a flicker of your eyelid.'

'So I'm not a panicky person,' I said. 'If you must know I was merely trying to gather my thoughts together in an attempt to work out what was the best thing to do.'

Cally wasn't going to believe me, I could tell by her face. It was a little on the stormy side if I was to be honest. I had been feeling that in lying to her, especially someone I had grown to love was wrong. I was insulting her intelligence.

'For the last time, what did you do, Leon?' she barked at me. 'Tell me!'

'I stood in a zoo looking at a gorilla,' I said. 'That's all. What's odd about that?'

Cally paused, before she responded. Giving me a cutting glance she leaned towards me so that her face was directly in front of mine. If the mood had been different I would have half expected her to kiss me. 'Nothing,' she said, 'except for the fact that it was looking right back at you while you were doing it.'

I was stunned. I said nothing, for a few moments. I offered her a smile as weak as dishwater. I could see that there was little point in continuing this charade for much longer. In her occupation she had seen and heard practically everything. It was a foregone conclusion that people had lied to her at some time or another and she had learned to know when somebody was doing it.

And so I told her absolutely everything. Well, perhaps not everything. I told her the bits that I knew, the bits around the gaps in my head and the factual information about my past that swirled around the unanswered questions.

I told her that I remembered being ill when I was small and since then I had been able to do something extraordinary. I couldn't go into very much detail about what it was, as I didn't know myself. I said that I had a warm tingling feeling and something inside me told me that I could change a situation by using pictures in my head. I could also see inside other people's heads while I was doing it. I told her that, too.

I strategically left out the parts where it caused me to kill. I felt I had told her too much as it was. Having told her all of this, I didn't notice anything less frantic about her. In fact, she seemed to be even more irritable, but I had just informed her she'd been sharing a room with a person who was considered a circus freak.

She moved away from me. 'Am I safe around you?'

I asked her to try and be calm and to take a seat while I continued and she did, although with added caution. She perched herself on the very edge of the cushion. I felt her eyes going towards the door as if plotting an escape route.

'The Projector is safe,' I said. 'That's what I call it, the Projector, because it projects images and scenes from me to somebody else. I can't use it without switching it on inside my head. I wouldn't use it on you, Cally.'

'Good,' she said, 'cos you better not. I got all sorts of sharp things in that kitchen and I got a Taser in the drawer. I'd use it if you tried anything.' She paused. 'So it was just there, then, this Projector thing?'

'Strange,' I said, 'but it's like it's always been there. That's why it feels like a part of me and I find it hard to think of it as abnormal. I've felt it there since I was small, but I haven't always known what it was or what to do with it. I know it's always been inside me, glowing like a small ember.'

'Does it hurt?'

I said no, although there were times when it had, like back on the beach at Goldensands.

'I bet you could hurt somebody else with it, though, couldn't you,' said Cally. 'I mean, if you can put things in another person's head like that, you can make them do anything. You could make them commit suicide or something.'

I thought long and hard before answering that one. There was no fooling her and she was right. I said, 'I would have to really want to, and that's not the kind of person I am, Cally.'

Cally nodded nervously. 'I suppose not,' she said. 'You're a nice lad, but I can't say that I'm comfortable with this.'

'I understand,' I said. 'Would you like me to leave?'

'I don't know,' said Cally. She got up and checked herself out in the mirror. 'I've got to go for my appointment. I'm going to get changed, OK?'

She looked at me very suspiciously for a while after that. I left her to her own devices while she drifted in and out of her room, taking things off and putting things on. She exchanged ample fitting clothes for slivers of lace and skimpy leather. Off came all of the tame, passive shades and on went the war paint, the gaudy reds and putrid greens. These were the colours of the night, of the dark, and each one was an advertisement for what she did for a living. As she passed me to go to the door, she gave me a sour face.

'I couldn't hurt you,' I said, hoping that I had loaded my voice with enough reassurance for her to feel it. 'Roger would, but I wouldn't.'

She said nothing, didn't even turn to me. Then she left, slamming the door shut behind her.

TWENTY-FOUR

All of the time that Cally was gone, I sat still, staring at the moon through a gap in the curtains. There were a few swirling black clouds drifting across the inky blue cosmos, but apart from that the heavens seemed uncluttered. I hoped that the same would happen to my head. I'd been wondering what to do.

The most sensible thing to do would have been for me to go. After all, I was only supposed to have stopped one night, and if Roger found out, we would both be in big trouble. I also wondered what my father would be thinking, if he could have seen what was going on. While they were alive, he and mum practically insisted that I wasn't to breathe a word about that special "thing" I could do. I thought telling Cally was still the right thing to do. Somebody needed to know, even if it was just one other person. I made up my mind. I would leave first thing in the morning.

My eyelids clashed together at some point like orchestral brass cymbals. My head gave in to the struggle of consciousness and slowly made its way to the arm rest. Just as my head came in contact with something soft there was a banging at the door and I started.

'Open up!' The voice was definitely Cally's, or at least I hoped it was. She called out again and I breathed again.

'Coming!' I launched myself from sofa towards the door. I caught my foot on the coffee table en route. Now hopping on my remaining pain-free foot I flicked the chain out of the metal groove and it dangled and clattered against the door frame. I knocked the catch back so that she could get in and hobbled back to the sofa where I let myself drop like a bag of potatoes.

The door opened with a creak, and I heard Cally's heels on the lino in the hall. I didn't make eye contact when she entered the living room. I thought, considering the circumstances, the ball was pretty much in her court. Telling her that I had the ability to enter her head at any moment must have seemed pretty whacko.

I expected her to go straight to her room and lock the door behind her but she didn't. Instead, she went to the kitchen and came back with a large whisky, which she knocked back in one gulp right in front of me. I kept my eyes low, and kept my gaze at her feet. Her red fishnets had a large hole in them just above the ankle.

Eventually, she said, 'You wouldn't hurt me, you say?'

'Like I said, I couldn't,' I said, feeling the cold night air move from her body onto mine.

'Good!' she said. 'I'm having another one of these. Do you want one?'

'No,' I said, now daring to look at her knees. 'It's a bit late for me. I want to turn in.'

'Suit yourself!' She dipped back into the kitchen and returned with a replenished glass. She had a half-full bottle in the other hand. She knocked back another drink. Stopping in the door way to her room, with her back to me, she emptied some more of the whisky into her glass. This time, I couldn't help but look at her properly. It was the nervous clinking of the bottle against the glass. I knew that something was wrong.

'Are you alright?' I said.

'Yeah!' she replied shortly, sharply. 'Just a rubbish night. Don't worry about it.'

'I will, though,' I said. 'You don't have to worry. I said I wouldn't use the Projector on you and I meant it.'

When she turned to me my heart stopped dead in my chest. I hadn't expected to see what I did, but there it was. Her face was reddened on one side where she had wiped her bloody nose with her hand and there was a cut on her lip which was so bad that she had to sip her drink with the other side of her mouth.

'Cally!' I got up. My body had found the energy and allowed me a sudden surge of movement.

'No! Don't!' she said, stopping me in mid flow. 'Don't. I'm OK. Just leave me.'

'Cally, your face!'

'It goes with the territory, Darlin',' said Cally, sniffling. 'You have good days and bad days like everybody else and let's leave it at that.'

I agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. She went into her room where for a whole hour she cried. It killed me to think that I was to respect her feelings and leave her alone. I wanted to go in and put my arm around her. When she finally stopped sobbing, I gathered it was because she'd drifted off to sleep. I settled down on the sofa again and forced my eyes shut.

In the morning, in total contrast to everything that had been going on in my head lately, the lounge was delightfully peaceful and serene. It felt as if sound itself, had caught the last flight to Hong Kong, and decided to let us get on with it. So far, all the mornings since I'd arrived at Cally's flat had been the same. Normally I would get the noise of the traffic first thing. There would be cab doors slamming as the all-night party-goers spilt out into the street. Then there were the buses which seem to keep going all through the night and the draymen's trucks that pulled up outside the pubs, followed by shouting and loud metallic clanking. Then I realised that none of the aforementioned had gone away at all. I had just shut them all off inside my numb brain. As soon as I got up from the sofa, went over to the window and yanked the curtains apart, it all came crashing in again, with the addition of beeping horns and pneumatic road drills, hammering through concrete.

Staring warily at Cally's bedroom door, I wondered if she was going to emerge soon. If she did, I wondered if she would ever want to speak to me again after the revelation of the previous evening. I also thought about her injuries. I wondered whether her face would have swollen with hideous bruising and whether to knock on the door and tell her that I was going to move on. I decided that the best option was to leave her a note. I tore a leaf from my reporter's note pad and scribbled some words of gratitude.

CALLY,

I UNDERSTAND COMPLETELY IF YOU DON'T WANT ME AROUND. I WILL ALWAYS BE GRATEFUL FOR YOU LETTING ME STAY FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS. I AM SO SORRY THAT I UPSET YOU. I ALSO HOPE THAT YOUR FACE ISN'T AS BAD THIS MORNING AS IT WAS LAST NIGHT. I HOPE THAT THINGS GET BETTER FOR YOU SOON AND YOU GET THE LUCK THAT YOU DESERVE.

LEON. X

Like a complete and utter idiot, I put it on the coffee table in plain sight of any eyes that would come into the room. I went quietly into the hallway. I didn't need to open the front door. It appeared to open all by itself before I had a chance to touch the latch. My whole body turned to ice and the blood drained from me in a second. All it took was one glance at the person in front of me. It was Roger and he was in the foulest of moods.

TWENTY-FIVE

'Who the bleedin' hell are you? Where's Cally?'

'I'm nobody,' I quivered. 'I'm just somebody visiting a friend, that's all. I was just leaving.'

'No, you're not!' He grabbed my arm, surprisingly quickly and launched me back into the room. My legs caught the coffee table and I spun on my heel. My head hit the wall before I'd managed to steady myself.

'I'm not here to cause any trouble,' I pleaded. 'I came to see how Cally was getting on. I heard she was attacked last night and I wondered if she was OK.'

'Attacked?' Roger growled in my face. 'Don't move from there or you're dead!'

I nodded nervously, he let me go and I fell to my knees. I saw him throw things about angrily, like Carl did on the day we'd got back from seeing my mum at the hospital. He launched books, ornaments and CDs and after few choice expletives he stomped into Cally's room with no regard for her privacy whatsoever. He slammed the door behind him. I shuffled myself closer to them and listened.

'What the f_ happened last night?'

'Roger, what are you doing here?'

'Never mind that, what happened?'

'What do you mean, what happened?'

'Your 10.30. The guy at the hotel.'

'Oh, him. Look what he did to me, Roger, to my face.'

'I've told you before about provoking the clientele.'

'I didn't provoke him, Roger, honest'.

'You must have Cally. I know Ian Sullivan and he wouldn't have done this unless you did something to him first.'

'You don't know what he was asking me to do, Rog. It was wrong. I'm only sixteen.'

'You're a hooker, for God's sake. You're supposed to do anything the punters want you to do or you don't get paid'.

I put my hands over my ears to shut my ears off the rest of the conversation, which wasn't easy. This man, this horrible, selfish man, was bullying the girl, who I was too scared to tell I loved.

Roger came out of the room first, clutching the top of his head with both hands moving across the room like an angry bull. Cally followed closely. She had her duvet wrapped tightly around her.

I couldn't help but notice that the flat had experienced a sudden drop in temperature. Roger had brought the cold with him.

'How could you do it to me, Cally?' he ranted. 'I trusted you. Remember, if it wasn't for me, you'd still be living under a bridge eating out of bins.'

'Just look at me, Roger!' Cally was pleading miserably. It wasn't easy seeing her like this. The idea that this man didn't care about her bruises was making my blood boil. 'I know he's your mate, but did he need to do this? I can't work like this tonight. Who's going to fancy me with my face puffed up like an old sofa?'

Roger was horrified. 'You bloody well are going out tonight, Darlin,' he snapped. 'You lost me good money last night, and he was a good friend.'

This was all he seemed to be concerned about. Not the life a young girl, who through some cruel twist of fate was thrown to the ground only to be picked up by this soul-devouring monster. Roger seemed to be more bothered about losing out on a few quid because she'd run away from someone who might have ended up killing her.

I wanted to kill him for that. For the sake of not allowing myself to be the monster that he was I tried to restrain myself. It wasn't easy listening to the way that he was shouting at her and the way that she was cowering away from his voice, as if it was some big stick. I could feel the Projector bubbling away in reaction to this. It was as keen as I was to act, even though I tried to control it.

Cally swung her eyes at me, white and wide, desperately pleading. I couldn't honestly decide whether if it was a signal for me to do something or to leave quickly.

Then Roger grabbed her by the face and, pulling her to his own, said, 'Why Cally? Why? I've put a roof over your head, given you food and you only have to do one simple thing. Go out there and do as you are told and you can't even do that.'

Cally was shaking more now. 'Please don't hurt her,' I said. 'It's not her fault. It was the other man. You can't put her in a dangerous situation like that and expect her to stay when things get rough.'

It was a ridiculous thing to say to such a Neanderthal as Roger. He flicked his head sideways. 'What the f_'s it got to do with you? And why are you still here anyway?'

'It's Leon,' said Cally. 'Remember? The lad from the diner, my friend?'

He squinted at me, looking me up and down as if his head was scanning a barcode down my front. 'What's he doing here?'

'I'm not staying here, honest,' I said. 'There's no need for any trouble. I'll go if you don't hurt Cally.' I felt my eyes slowly drifting towards the note which was still on the table. Somehow the words on it were more prominent than they were when I wrote them. I could swear the part about me thanking her for letting me stay was trying to leap off the paper. I had to get it before Roger could see it. I tried to move inconspicuously and pick it up, but it was well out of reach.

'What are you gonna do, creep?' Roger barked out and I shuddered. 'You wanna get out now, before I do something I'm gonna regret.'

'No!' I said. 'Not until you let her go. I have to see that she's safe.'

'OK, then!' Roger pushed Cally away from him and stood for a moment with his face still in her direction. I couldn't see his expression. I didn't need to. Cally looked at me, and at him and back at me.

'No, Rog,' she said. 'Don't. Not him. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's not right in the head.' She began mouthing something at me. The shape of her lips was telling me to run for it. My legs wanted to obey. My head didn't.

Roger stood in front of me like a rock of ice. He seemed to be a lot taller now. Behind him, I could just make out Cally's head shaking ferociously.

'No, leave him, Rog! It's me you're upset with, not him.'

'If I let you go you'll run straight to the cops,' said Roger, 'so I'm going to make sure you can't.'

'I w-won't tell the police!' I said. 'I can't!'

'Look, son,' said Roger, 'I don't know who you are. You say you're a friend of Cally's, but I don't know you from a rat's hole. Who are you?'

'I already told you, Roger, remember?' Cally intervened. 'He's a school friend. I bumped into him a few nights ago. You dropped him off at Camberwell Street. He was a bit worried about me. I bumped into him earlier. He wanted to call in this morning and check to see how I was doing, that's all. Don't worry. He's going to go now and he's not going to tell anybody about any of this, are you Leon?'

'Only if you promise you won't lay a finger on Cally,' I found myself saying.

Roger did something worrying and unexpected. He laughed maniacally. 'You what?' he snorted. 'Do you honestly think I care what you think? If you grass me up, I get two years inside. I'm out in one and guess what? I'll come looking for you.'

Roger locked the front door and put the key in his pocket. He paraded around the room with his chest thrust out as if to establish himself as the alpha male of the group. This was what Bongo had been doing at the zoo. Then he reached inside the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a contraption of metal and wood. It was a cheese wire. He started walking towards Cally with his hands on the wooden handles, pulling it tight.

TWENTY-SIX

'No!' I yelled. 'Leave her alone!'

'Do it, Leon,' Cally was pleading. 'I know what you can do. I saw it. Make him stop!'

'Saw what?' said Roger.

'You're for it now, Roger.' Cally was panting as she was talking. She moved backwards towards the kitchen where he was pushing her. 'Leon can make people do things with his head. I've seen it.'

'Like what?'

'Like anything he wants you to do,' said Cally. 'He's good. Got mental powers, haven't you, Leon?''

Roger turned slowly to face me. 'I don't know what she's banging on about,' he said. 'If I were you I'd get out now, before I remember what you look like and do you next.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Me and Cally are going to have a little chat, that's all,' said Roger.

Obviously I didn't believe him.

'OK,' I said. 'Just, if you hurt her...'

'If I hurt her nothing,' said Roger. 'You're a stupid kid with a big mouth and you are going to walk away now while you're still in one piece. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep on walking and you won't look back, understood?'

I looked at Cally. Her face was a picture of fear. 'I can't do it while I'm angry Cally,' I said. 'Anything could happen.'

'I'm on my own, then,' said Cally.

'Try and understand,' I said. 'What I told you last night was true, only there was something that I missed out. When my mum was alive and I was with Tony and Carl we went to the coast...'

'Good for you!' Roger grabbed me by the back of the neck and shoved me head first into the kitchen. 'Stay in there and don't move!' he ranted. As I stumbled I smacked my shoulder on the cooker. I felt a jolt of pain go down my arm. He pulled the door shut and I heard him push something against it. I tried the handle and pushed. Nothing happened.

In the living room there were the sounds of things getting thrown around. Something reasonably large hit the wall and shattered. My imagination told me it was the coffee table. Roger was doing his absolute best to scare Cally out of her wits.

I looked for something hard to penetrate the wood. Trying hard to focus on what I was supposed to be doing, and not the fracas in the next room, I picked up a metal bin from under the sink, and slammed it hard against the door. It only made a small dent. I kicked the door under the handle, first with one foot and then the other. The door rattled and I heard a cracking sound.

I looked down to see a narrow line about eight centimetres long running down the panel. I kept kicking. Finding the strength wasn't easy, but what was going on next door was a good incentive. However, the crack didn't grow.

I went to the window and yelled for help. I saw a boy about my age and waved at him frantically. The boy waved back at me. A woman with a shopping trolley glanced up at me as if I was mad and carried on with what she was doing.

I had another go at the door, this time using the chopping board. I smashed it harder and harder against the wood and had more success. The panel cracked a bit more.

In the next room things were worryingly silent. All I could think about was the wire around Cally's throat and her body lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

I wasn't aware of getting the door open at all, but suddenly I was standing in the middle of the living room with the chopping board in my hands. Events can turn around very quickly.

Roger was so hot with anger he hadn't even realised that I was there.

'What the f_'s this?' Roger erupted. He was holding my note.

Cally screamed out my name, when she saw me.

Roger turned to me. 'Well,' he said, 'if it ain't lover boy! Why can't you do what you're told?'

'Lover boy?' Cally's voice went up a few notches. 'He ain't my lover boy, Rog. I don't fancy him. I wouldn't touch him if he was the last boy on earth.'

'I don't believe you, Cally. You've lied to me too many times. Now you are going to pay. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it!'

I edged towards him. 'Oi! Leave her alone, you bastard!'

Roger was panting breathlessly. His eyes were large and white. He resembled a lion that had spent hours chasing a gazelle and was now collapsed over the bloody carcass, tired out, dazed and grinning crazily.

'Leon,' said Cally, 'he's gonna kill me, I know he is. You don't know him when he's like this. Do something. Do that head thing!'

'No, Cally!' I said. 'The Projector wants me to kill him and if I let it do that I'll be no better than he is.'

However, it was too late. I already had the warm buzz in my head and I realised that what I'd said was just words. I tried to get control of the Projector. The beach incident had told me that a simple rescue situation could turn very bad if I got carried away. Stupidly, I tried to think peaceful thoughts like I did with Bongo, with the little girl on the railway and with mum. It was easier said than done.

Roger grabbed hold of Cally's throat again. He put the cheese wire around her in one swift move and I felt a hot surge of anger coursing through my veins.

'I'm sorry, Cally,' I said. 'I can't stop now.'

'Stop what?' said Cally. 'What are you gonna do?'

'This!' I grabbed Roger by the hair and pulled down tightly. 'Roger,' I said coldly, 'do you know what? You don't deserve to be on this earth, never mind in this girl's life.' And with that I closed my eyes and visualised a place to send Roger in his head.

There was a flash of brilliant white light and when it died, we were both hovering in the air, with white misty clouds under our feet. The wind was blowing ferociously through our hair. We must have been two-thousand feet in the air. Beneath us there was an unreachable earth.

Roger screamed, desperately trying to make sense of what had happened. 'This is a trip! This is a trip, right?'

'No Roger,' I replied, calmly. 'No trip. This is real. We're flying, Roger. Can't you see?'

'I can see, I can see,' he gasped. 'How the f_k did we get here?'

'You brought us here,' I said and in a way I wasn't lying. I wouldn't have done this at all if it hadn't have been for him and the way he was treating my friend.

'This is a trick. Where are we? How have you done this?' His voice was thick with fear.

'I am your worst nightmare, Roger,' I said. 'How do you feel about stars?'

'Stars? Stars?' The terror was growing in his voice.

With the next thought we flew even higher until we were at the edge of space. I was in control of the situation. I looked at him as he struggled to breathe. His face went a curious shade of bluish red and he began to swell and then I let go and his head exploded into several pieces of splintered bone and blood.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Squealing sirens, frantic shouting, flashing lights, piercing yellow reflective jackets jumbled in front of my eyes and ears so that my head could hardly process it all.

I stood in the room with my hands still trembling. My head was throbbing as if an express train was passing through it and my shirt was soaked with sweat. I didn't remember calling the emergency services, but I suppose I must have. Cally's mobile phone was still in my hand.

Someone had put an off-white cellular blanket over Roger's head and shoulders. I imagined the wide-eyed stare that would still be frozen on his face underneath the material. It wasn't something they would want anybody except the coroner to see.

I didn't know what had happened to Cally. There was an oxygen mask over her face and paramedics were attempting to establish a verbal link. They didn't appear to have been having much luck. She was alive though, although I wasn't sure by how much. I saw her eyelids flicker and I felt a little better.

One of the paramedics asked me what her name was and so I told them. They kept calling it out over and over again, but they were getting no response. In the end she just went still. I heard someone say that she had slipped into a coma. I cursed myself again. I hadn't got to Roger quick enough.

When the police arrived I was ushered quietly into Cally's room, where I sat down on the corner of her bed. They put a blanket over my shoulders, which bore a striking resemblance to the one that they had thrown over Roger's corpse. I had the picture in my head of the monster's stone-grey hand sticking out from under it, a vision I had caught en route to the bedroom.

I took a sip of the hot sweet tea ,that I had been handed and thought about my story. The one I was going to tell the authorities. Of course, there was nothing for me to worry about. There was no way, I was going to get arrested. Like my dad had said, there was nothing to link me to someone's death apart from the fact that I happened to be there. There was no smoking gun, no bloodstained knife, no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. Still, it had to be a good one and it couldn't be the truth. That would only lead to me ending up in a mental health unit.

Roger's death had left my head unusually sore. I asked for paracetamol. I don't think anybody understood what I was saying. My voice was little more than a murmur. Somebody in the room asked me if I had been hit on the head at any point. I shook my head at them and they went away.

A calming hand, a slim, pale one, landed on my shoulder. 'I'm Lynda,' a voice from above said. I glanced upwards to see a slight WPC with green eyes and red hair. Behind her, shuffling from foot to foot was a constable, who nervously undid the flap on his vest and pulled out a pad and pencil to jot down everything I said.

'Liam!' I said and smiled. That was what everybody seemed to be calling me anyway.

'Good,' she said. 'Liam what?' She started writing it down.

'Liam - Brown!' I cringed. I could have picked a name, less similar to the one I had already.

'Liam,' Lynda continued, 'do you think you might be up to answering a few questions? I'd like to get some sort of picture about what went on here.'

'A few,' I said. 'My head hurts. I think I need pain killers!'

The two constables looked at each other. 'Better get him to the hospital in a bit,' said Lynda. 'Get him checked out.' She looked back at me. 'Liam, we won't keep you long. Was it you who called us?'

'Yes.'

'How old are you, Liam?'

'Seventeen!' I lied.

'Right, who's the man in the front room, Liam? Do you know who he is?'

'No,' I said. 'Some bloke. I've never seen him before.'

'I see. Do you know the young girl's name?'

'I don't, sorry. I just heard her screaming from outside. Nobody else seemed to want to do anything about it. I ran up the stairs, and bashed the door in with the fire extinguisher.'

'That's very brave of you,' said Lynda, the PC agreed. 'Not many people would bother to do what you did. You could have saved her life you know?'

'Really?' I whimpered. 'Wow!'

'We see a lot of this in our job and most of the time people just close their eyes and ears to it. I don't know why. Maybe it seems easier to shut it out and pretend it's not there. It's good to see there are still people around who are willing to act in an emergency.'

'Thanks.'

'So you say you heard screaming,' said Lynda. 'What time was this?'

'About ten, I think. I'm not sure.'

'And where were you when you heard the screaming?'

'Outside,' I said. 'I mean, in the street. Or rather a few houses up the street. Ca- The girl was screaming, and the man was shouting things.'

'Like?'

'You bitch, you let me down. That bloke was a mate. I'll make you pay. Things like that.'

'You heard all of this from up the street?'

'It was all very loud,' I said. 'I would have thought they'd have heard it in Aberdeen the way he was shouting. It sounded like somebody was going to get hurt and so I ran as fast as I could.'

'And you were able to get to the right flat, straight away?'

I had to think about this one. 'I followed the screams,' I said. 'It wasn't that difficult once you were inside.'

'I bet,' said Lynda. 'So you broke the door in. How?'

'With the fire extinguisher in the hallway,' I said, hoping that she wouldn't try and look for it.

'Then what?'

'It was horrible,' I said. 'He was on top of her and he had a piece of wire in his hand and there was blood all over her. I shouted for him to stop only he didn't take any notice. He just kept hitting her. I tried to pull him off her, but I'm not that strong. He pushed me away and then he stood up and fell to the floor. How do you think that happened, Lynda? I didn't touch him.'

'We've guessed that,' said Lynda. 'Although nobody would've blamed you if you did. Like I said, the girl could have died. No, the man is, I mean was, known to us.'

'Who was he?'

'Not a nice man,' said Lynda. 'Between you and me, Liam, that man was a drug pusher and a pimp. There is God-knows-what, swirling around in his circulatory system. It wouldn't have done his heart any favours. I don't know for certain. There will be a post mortem, but my money's on a coronary.'

I thought she might have been right about that. After all, I had given Roger the shock of his life.

'Count of three! One, two...' In the next room they were lifting Cally to move her to the ambulance. The door was ajar. I gazed at her body as the paramedics carried her past. I hoped she'd be well again and I could tell her how I felt about her. Not long afterwards two men in dark overalls came in with a sergeant. As if it was some sort of cue, Lynda asked to be excused and darted out to her colleagues. Muttering followed and instructions were given. Roger was zipped into a body bag and taken out of the room. I heard the words drug-related death, and began to breathe more easily. It meant that I was definitely in the clear.

A moment later Lynda returned and spoke to the PC that she arrived with. 'The coroner is going to do a PM later today, but says it looks pretty much like an open and shut case. I spoke to Sergeant Reef and he seems to agree that there's no need to detain the boy. There's no evidence to suggest that he had any involvement in the incident beyond what he's already told us.'

'Does that mean I can go?' I asked her.

'Yes,' replied Lynda. She asked me for an address. I picked up a piece of scrap paper and scribbled a false one. 'I would like you to call in at the station when you've got time and make a statement. Would you like me to speak to your parents? I expect they'll be worried about you. They need to know what you've gone through.'

'No,' I said pretty quickly. 'They're used to weird things happening. Loncaster, eh?' Shrug.

'And get to the hospital for a check up,' said Linda. 'Do you want a lift?'

'Erm!' I said. 'I'd rather not.'

'Don't tell me,' said Linda. 'You don't want your mates to see you in the back of a cop car?'

I nodded. 'Do you know what hospital they've taken the girl to?'

'That'll be St Marks,' said Lynda.

I smiled, gave them back their blanket, thanked them for the tea and left, taking care to remember my rucksack on the way.

So, I thought, watching the last police car drive away, one more killing and still no sign of any chalk marks or police 'do not cross' tape. My methods were police proof to say the least. I could take away someone's life and there wasn't a court in the world that could touch me for it. Killing for me didn't involve any kind of touching at all. What was happening to me? I actually enjoyed it that time.

That afternoon I saw Carl again.

TWENTY-EIGHT

I couldn't explain why I felt so good about what I had done. I had deprived another human being of his life and yet I felt a certain degree of elation about it. I tried to justify my feelings by considering what Carol Malloy had said about destroying a life to save many lives. I thought about the idea that it might have been an accident like the last time. It didn't wash. I'd been perfectly aware of what I'd done as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Roger was an absolute scumbag and I actually got a kick out of wiping him off the face of the earth, because he was about to take away my Cally. This, I decided, was what taking hard drugs must be like. You just don't care about anything else, just the feeling.

I strutted off down the street, swinging my rucksack by my side, beaming at the traffic that went past me like a complete buffoon. I felt strong and extremely powerful and I was on my way to the hospital to tell the girl I loved that the bad man was out of her life forever. I was about to tell her that she could now give up the street and, who knows, she might run away with me and we could start a new life together free of all the garbage that cluttered up our past lives. Perhaps we could even head up to Scotland, and spend the rest of our days on one of those peaceful, sheep-infested isles, where you have to do your weekly shop by boat.

My eagerness to tell her this put speed into my steps. Before I noticed where I was I was standing in the middle of a subway, wondering which of the mysterious tunnels led to the hospital. I closed my eyes tight and did that spinning around thing as if I was someone drunk on life. I was trying to see if I could get the Projector to sense Cally.

When I stopped and opened them again I saw a man right in front of me. He was quite an old man, in his seventies. He was heavily wrinkled and grimy. He asked me if I was OK and then he took a tin out of his pocket and rolled himself a thin cigarette.

'I'm fine,' I said. 'Just trying to get my bearings, that's all. Do you have any idea which way the hospital is?'

'Why mate?' he replied with a cough, 'you been mugged?'

'No,' I laughed. 'I'm going to visit a friend.

'I've been mugged here. Eleven times mate. You gotta watch yourself. They call this place knife alley. Are you new in town?'

I nodded.

'Sticking around?' he asked me.

'For a while, I think.'

'You'd be wise to know where the hospital is then.' He pointed ahead of us. 'Through there, up the steps, cross at the lights and you'd be best cutting through the precinct. Then turn right, go up the hill and you'll see St Mark's on your left.'

'Thanks.' I started to leave and he grabbed my arm. 'What are you doing?'

He looked me up and down and then stared me in the eye. 'You got that look in your eye, son.'

I said, 'I don't know what you mean.'

'I've seen it before, son,' he said. His grip didn't loosen for a second. 'I've seen it on men, when I was inside. When they're about to be let back out on the street and they've got a score to settle. They call it reaper's eye. Who are you after killing son?'

'Nobody,' I said. 'Leave me alone, please!'

'That path'll lead you to hell boy,' he said. His eyes were inflamed like balls of fire. He took a card from his pocket and thrust it into my hand. 'Before you seek vengeance you might want to go this place. You'll find a man there. He will show you how to tame that demon inside you.'

'Who is he?' I said flatly.

'The answer to all of the questions inside your head,' replied the man. 'Mostly he's a friend of mine. He helped me get the monkey off my back. Are you a runaway?'

I said, 'Yes.'

'It's the right place for you, then,' said the man. 'He likes helping runaways, does Matthew.'

With that, he shuffled away, leaving me staring at what he had left in my hand. I felt as if I had been handed the black spot by blind Pugh. I pocketed it rapidly before I started to think too much about it.

I flung my rucksack over my shoulder and ran up the steps back into the busy city. Within minutes of being on the pavements I was swallowed by people and I was glad about that. What had just happened had fazed me completely, and I supposed I deserved it. My new found occupation as a cold-blooded vigilante, righter of wrongs, had made me momentarily cocky. I suppose I needed putting in my place.

It was getting on for lunchtime. I stopped in front of a café and looked at the sumptuous delights on the pictures in the window.

I checked my pockets for change and was surprised to find a ten pound note in my jeans. Cally must have slipped it in, when I was sleeping one night. She'd said that the flat could be boring at times, and I had mentioned that I often liked to go off on my little expeditions. I'd said I would be happy to do that, so that she could have some time to herself. The thought brought a little warmth to my heart. She obviously cared about me.

I ordered a Lattẻ and a cheese and onion toasty and sat at the one table that didn't have anybody else sitting at it. There I sat sipping and chomping at my leisure observing the bee-like people buzzing from shop to shop in search of the things that they hadn't realised they needed. Humans are odd creatures. We are led by the nose by our own gullibility.

I felt like one of the Formula one racing cars in Carl's head that had made a pit stop for an oil change. Faces went by in a blur reminding me how relaxed and still I was, sipping my coffee. When I had finally finished, I placed my crumpled serviette on my plate and put my cup next to it. I smiled appreciatively at the waitress. As I stepped back into the stream of humans I saw Carl Harper. Or maybe it wasn't. He looked at me. He had the same blond hair and grinned like a sadistic maniac. I had to follow him to see for sure.

I weaved through the bodies with my eyes fixed on my quarry. I darted in the direction I had seen him go, hoping to keep him in range. He was wearing his red hoodie jacket, the one that he didn't wear much. Ironically, it made him look like Satan. I watched him swaggering off down the high street. He stopped for a moment to retie one of his laces and pulled his hood over his head to obscure his appearance. I saw him hop on the escalator at the precinct, where he took a large stride over a couple of steps and pushed past an elderly woman. He'd probably done that to unnerve her. It was just like him.

I had to get to him and finish this. I was certain that I could do what my dad asked me to do and bring closure for both of us. By the time I reached the base of the escalator, he was already at the top. As he disembarked, he broke into a sprint. I ran to the top, apologising to the people I rudely barged into. There was no sign of him. I ran past every shop and scanned their customers carefully for someone remotely Carl-like. Through a large window I saw him. He was queuing at McDonald's.

I couldn't even begin to explain the rage in my chest as I waited patiently for him to come out again. Carefully, I rifled through my explosive imagination for a suitable way for him to die. I wanted to make it a good death to please my father. Perhaps I could project him into a star that was about to go supernova or, better still, send him hurtling mercilessly into a black hole to die. I only knew that I'd tasted blood and had no reservations whatsoever about finally making Carl pay for mum's murder.

I sat on a bench and tried to focus on my mission. It would have been easy to kill him quickly, only something inside me wanted him to die many times, over and over again. I glanced over at the clock above the jeweller's shop to check on the time. When I looked back, Carl was gone.

I ran around the corner and scanned all directions. I saw him going into the gents' toilets.

'Got you!' I said under my killer's breath. I straightened my clothing and took a deep breath. I bucked up courage to enter. I was struck by a thought that was both dark and ironic. Perhaps a public lavatory was the ideal place for him to meet his demise. I considered finding some way of taking his body apart and flushing him piece by piece down the toilet. I stood for a moment behind him gazing at his arrogantly poised shoulders, imagining my hands around his disgusting throat.

I pushed him in the back and he fell against the wall. His food package hit the floor, spilling bits of chicken and skinny fries all over the damp tiles. 'Right, you!'

'What the...' He spun around quickly, weeing over the legs of my jeans. 'Oi, perv, what are you doing?'

It wasn't him. The face wasn't his, no matter how much I'd wanted it to be. I apologised. I held my hands out in the air defensively and began backing out of the door. 'I thought you were somebody else.'

TWENTY-NINE

I finally got to Cally, packed to the gills with good intentions and a love that was going to last forever. I asked at the reception about her, saying that I was a friend, not a relative, and I was directed to a room down the corridor. It was a single room.

'Her family is with her at the moment,' a nurse with a concerned voice told me. I settled for second best and gazed through the window of the room where she lay. A woman and a man hunched over her bed. The woman, her mother, I gathered, was whispering in her ear and sobbing.

Cally's face had been cleaned up. There was stubborn dried blood on her cheeks. She was intubated and on oxygen. The IV drip was hanging over her like a praying mantis. It was a disturbing sight. Her eyes were shut tight and the machine by the side of the bed, hissed and chuffed, like an old railway engine. I remembered what the paramedic had said, when they were tending her at the flat. She was away from the world. She was in a coma.

There was a CD player at the side of her bed and I could hear music playing. I had never heard her play music in the flat. It was 'Queen's Greatest Hits, Volume 2'. I liked that. I wondered if I would ever think about Queen in the same way ever again.

I had to speak with her. Although I'd told her that I would never enter her head without her permission, I closed my eyes tight and within seconds I was standing next to her. I recognised the place immediately. She was sitting on a bench looking at Lake Windermere. Mum and dad took me there once. This ought to be a nice place to talk.

'Hello Cally!' I said. She looked up at me. There was sunlight on her face for a moment, but when she saw it was me it seemed to leave her.

'What are you doing here?'

'Cally, you're in a coma,' I said.

'I know that, you idiot,' she said. 'I was enjoying the peace and quiet until you turned up. What do you want?'

'I thought you'd be pleased to see me,' I said.

Cally shrugged. 'I am,' she said, 'sort of, but you have to realise what happened to me back in the flat was horrible. I've never seen him like that before, Leon. I thought it was going to be the end.'

'It's over now,' I assured her.

'I quite like being in a coma,' said Cally. 'Being inside your own head like this with everything else shut out is quite nice. Is the Projector ever like that?'

I sat beside her on the grass. I didn't want to get too close. I wasn't sure how she would react. 'Sometimes,' I said.

'My parents used to bring me here when I was very little,' she said softly. 'Even at six years old I still appreciated the way the water sparkled. My mum said there were fairies living in it.'

I congratulated her on her choice of mind place. This was just the sort of place that I might have gone to in my head for a peaceful moment, one born of warm memories. It was the most glorious of days and there were only the two of us. The romanticism of the place had to be noted.

'They are here waiting for you,' I said. 'When you're ready I can bring you out.'

'I know,' said Cally, 'but I'm not sure I ever want to. There's too much badness out there.'

'If you stay here they'll pull the plug on you and you'll die.'

She didn't answer me. I decided that this was the reason that people didn't always come out of comas. It was because they were such heavenly places with great magnetism.

'I wonder what it would be like if I dipped my toe in the water,' she said and she rose.

'You'll get it wet,' I said. It's in your head so it's real to you. You'll be touching the lake. About your parents,' I said.

'What about them?'

'They miss you,' I said. 'They want you to live.'

'I don't know why.' She put her hand on my shoulder. 'They couldn't give a damn about me when I was conscious.'

I couldn't agree. 'I think they do care,' I said. 'They're crying up there.'

'Really?' She took her shoes off, walked to the water and put her feet in. 'You're right! It's wet like real water.'

'I'd miss you,' I cried after her. Again, she wasn't listening. 'You've got to live. I haven't told you about my plans yet.'

I sat there and watched her playing, wading like a stork or a heron. I watched as she stood there holding her skirt above her knees and giggling. I joined her.

'Cally,' I said, 'things are going to be different now for you and me.'

'Why?'

'There's no Roger now,' I said. 'You are free of him.'

She stopped dead still and stiffened the muscles in her back. 'What?'

'Roger's gone,' I said. 'You can be happy now.'

'What do you mean – gone?' Cally turned around and hit me with a hard frown.

'Have I done something wrong?'

'Why?' she said. 'What did you do to him?'

'I - killed him, Cally,' I said. 'He's dead.'

'What!' She screamed at me. 'What did you do that for?'

'I thought you wanted me to,' I said. 'He was going to garrotte you with the cheese cutter.'

'I didn't want you to kill him!' Cally came out of the water and stood directly in front of me. For a moment I thought she was going to slap me in the face.

'What did you expect me to do?'

'Do what you did to the gorilla,' said Cally. 'Make him go to sleep or something. Damn it, Leon! I thought you were different. You're a murderer now and no better than he is.'

I apologised. This was something that was getting to be a habit.

'I thought I'd wiped the slate clean so we can start anew,' I said in a lame manner. 'I thought you could give up that thing you do and I can be a natural historian.'

'Why would I want to live with you happily ever after?' said Cally. 'I've never had happily ever after. It doesn't exist.'

'I hoped you loved me,' I ventured.

'Wha?' she said, and it sounded a little like spitting. 'I could never love you.'

This hit me like a shovel to the chest. 'No?'

'No!' she said. 'I liked you, but I could never love anyone like you. Not somebody who could strike somebody dead and then smile about it. Anyway, you're not my type for a start. Doing what I do puts you off men. Men only pick you up and throw you away when they've finished living out their sick fantasies. They're all like that. I thought you were nice when I first met you, but you're just as bad, violent, selfish and nasty like the rest of them.'

'Oh!' My head went down. 'I'm not really like that.' I asked her again if she wanted to leave. This time she nodded somewhat reluctantly. I grabbed her hand. It was cold like dead fish. We stood up together. A second later she was sitting up in bed coughing and I was gazing through the window again.

A team of nurses were called to the bed, and although she couldn't hear me, I said my last goodbye.

I realised then what a stupid mistake I had made and I wondered if she had been right. Perhaps killing someone for whatever reason could never really be justified. On the way out of the hospital, I pulled out the card that the old man had given me. I scanned the address and then put it back.

'Matthew can help you tame the demon inside,' the old man had said. With these words in my head, I left.

THIRTY

I came across a bridge by the river. I made myself as comfortable as I could and waited until I was tired enough to sleep.

That night I dreamt about the boy again, the one that used to be me.

It was daytime and I was five. I was in a large, inhospitable old-fashioned room with an enormous fireplace. There was a woman sitting directly in front of me. I got the idea that she didn't want to be there. She was casting her eyes about the room, everywhere except the tiny little space that was occupied by me.

With a quivering little voice I told her that I was feeling scared and I asked her about what was going to happen to me. A smile appeared on her face and then, as if it had realised that it wasn't a good place to settle, vanished in a whisper. I asked her if she was scared of me. It felt like she was.

She said, 'No.' I think she was lying. I think that she had been told what it is I have inside me and what it could possibly do to her.

Finally, footsteps and voices approached the door. There was a sort of discomfort about them, as if there had been an argument. The woman thanked Jesus through her tight, heavily-glossed lips and trotted out past the two men as they walked into the room. I saw a middle-aged man in a white doctor's coat and my father.

Dad called me Steven. That was my name back then. 'I've been having a chat with Doctor Carrion,' he said, 'and he would like you to stay here with him for a while. Only for a few days. He wants to do some more tests.'

These words made me sad. The idea of staying away from home for any amount of time wasn't good for me. I gave a sorrowful nod and my father removed the tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. He kissed me delicately on the forehead, gave the doctor a hard stare and then left.

This was all real to me, because I remembered then that it was something that had actually happened.

I woke with mud on my face and down my arm from where I had been lying all night. I was frozen cold. The newspapers and the cardboard over my legs hadn't been as effective as I hoped they would. The cardboard had slid away when I rolled over, and the paper got soggy, with the sudden shower in the night.

There was sizzling bacon in my head. I could have put some in a bap and devoured it in a single second if it were real. All there was to greet me that fine morning was the smell of decaying rubbish and dog faeces. I couldn't have spent another night like that.

Steven? I thought about it, stretching myself a little further into consciousness. That was a name I'd not heard in my head for a while. I was called Steven at one time, but when I couldn't recall. I only knew that there must have been a very good reason for the Projector to hide it from me.

I rose and considered my appearance. My mother would often tell me that, whatever the situation, you should never let your standards slip. What she meant was there is never a good enough excuse not to have a wash and she had me doing that at every possible opportunity. I located my nearest public convenience. There I rinsed away the horrid filth that had clung to me in the night. When I was clean enough to present myself to an eating establishment I went in search of breakfast. With the change from the tenner I went to a café and treated myself to a bacon bap and can of diet cola. I had no idea about which way I was supposed to go, so I bought a street map for £1.50 from a tourist kiosk to help me find the mysterious gentleman who is so adept at helping deal with one's personal demons.

I didn't even know who this person actually was or what he was going to do. The only picture my head would give me was a nice warm house, a good hot meal and, if I was beyond help, then I would have a sensible place from where to plan my next move. What I'd hoped this man would do was to help me obtain the ability to control my anger at the times I needed to use the Projector. I wanted him to teach me to shut out the evil thoughts when I didn't want them there. I didn't want to go on killing forever if I could help it.

I quickly came to the conclusion, that Loncaster was not a good place to stand still, or you are likely to drown. A body could get swept away amongst all the other ones trafficking busily along the pavements. I decided to think of the card in my hand as the first step in the opportunity for something good. At the very least I could have a good old cry about the people I had lost in love and death.

I soon thought I had found the house and glanced at the address on the card and the building in front of me to check that they were both the same.

REV MATTHEW APPLEBY

42 LARCH STREET

WHITETREES

It was a very shy domicile of Edwardian origin with fallen arches and cracks going up the walls. The corroding brick work was a massive clue that the place was vulnerable to pollution, subsidence and rumbling traffic.

I knocked lightly on the door so that I would give the impression of someone who wouldn't be a threat. The frosted glass pane was invaded by pink flesh and an eye went to the spy hole.

'Who's there?' someone asked in a gentle voice, wobbly and light.

'I was told you could help me,' I said. 'I'm a runaway.'

'You have the wrong place. Try the YMCA.'

'I was told I have an inner demon in need of control.'

'Just a minute!' A chain on the other side was disconnected with a metallic rattle and then the door opened. I was greeted by a man with shoulder-length dark brown hair. He was about forty and was wearing a blue zip-up cardigan and ragged jeans. 'You'd better come in,' he said and so I did.

THIRTY-ONE

I was taken into a small sitting room, modestly decorated on one wall with pale floral wallpaper and with the other three walls neatly painted in magnolia emulsion. It had an old-fashioned bay window with a little wooden seat, where I imagined you could sit and watch the world go by with a cup of tea. Pushed against the wall there was a small oak table with the leaf folded down, draped with a clean white linen tablecloth. Two old Parker Knoll chairs had been placed each side of the fire. Matthew picked up a magazine from the seat of one of them and waved me into it.

'Are you Matthew Appleby?' I asked.

'One and the same,' he replied. There was a strange Irish lilt to his accent that was quite gentle and in a way comforting. 'You say someone sent you?'

'Yes,' I said. 'My name's Leon. I'm here because I met a man in the subway. Don't ask me his name. He was a stranger. He looked me up and down and gave me your card.'

'Ah.' Matthew leaned back and raised a finger. 'That'll be Tom Paster. He's an old friend and one with a very special talent, too. You must be constipated!'

'I'm what?'

'No,' said Matthew. 'I didn't mean in the way that you probably think. I simply mean constipated in another way. There is something inside you that troubles you am I right? Well, you need to be free of it. Old Tom obviously thought so.'

'I suppose so,' I said, although I wondered if it was a lie.

Matthew picked up something from the hearth, a small brass bell. He rang it. 'Tea?' he said. 'Conversation is much more civilised if you are drinking tea, don't you think?'

'Yes!' I nodded. 'It's a very British way of doing things.'

'So.' He placed his fingertips together positioned them under his nose and continued. 'Tell me, how does this trouble, this burden, manifest itself?'

That was the million dollar question. I didn't want to go into too much detail. 'I have anger issues,' I said. 'I want to learn to be able to control my thoughts so that I don't act on the wrong ones.'

'I see.' He sat up as if I had touched a nerve. 'Do you hear voices?'

'Like there is something there, trying to tell me something. They're similar to thoughts only louder.' This was entirely true. There had been times that I thought the Projector was talking to me. As if it was a completely separate being altogether.

'Like bad thoughts?' said Matthew.

'Sometimes there's something else as well, something that worries me. Something which makes me,' I paused, 'think about hurting people.'

'I see,' said Matthew, sounding like a psychiatrist. That was a point. What did this person actually do that was going to help me? I waited curiously.

'Don't get me wrong,' I said defensively, 'I'm perfectly safe. It's just this thing in my head. I don't know what to do about it. I need you to show me a way to switch it off when I need to. I'm not a psycho.'

'Relax,' said Matthew, 'I never thought you were for one moment.' A small, thin, tired-looking lady with hunched shoulders appeared in the doorway.

'Yes?'

'Two teas, if you will, Dorothy. Do you take sugar..?'

'Leon,' I reminded him. I left out my surname for now, 'and, yes. Two, please.'

'And I'll have mine the usual way, please. Not too strong and one level teaspoon, please, Dorothy!' He added, 'And can you bring the biscuit tin so that we can dunk?'

'I beg your pardon!' Dorothy scowled and crept up to Matthew. She stood so that her face was against his. 'Right, now let's get this thing straight shall we, once and for all?'

'Yes!' replied Matthew, cowling under her judgmental finger.

'First of all, I am not your bloody servant...'

'Ok!'

'Secondly, don't you ever ring that bell again or I'll shove it where the sun don't shine. I'm not a bloody pantomime genie do you understand?'

'Yes!'

'Right!' Dorothy went into the kitchen, leaving us both feeling rather awkward. I looked at him differently after that.

Matthew gave me a knowing look. 'Mothers, eh!' he said, tutting quietly. Then, in a weak attempt to guide us back on course, he added, 'Now, where were we? Your head?'

'Do you mind if I ask you a question first?' I ventured.

'Technically, you already have,' said Matthew and then noticing that I wasn't laughing added, 'Sorry, please do.'

'What exactly do you do for a living?'

'Ah, good question,' said Matthew. 'What indeed. Well, the job I actually get paid for is teaching. I'm a supply teacher. I teach English, History and Religious Education. Only ill health has prevented me doing this of late and so I've been concentrating more on my other occupation.'

'Which is?'

'I'm a sort of exorcist!' said Matthew.

Now I had the measure of him. 'You get rid of evil ghosts?' I said.

'No,' said Matthew, 'not that sort of exorcist. Let me explain. I believe that each of us, no matter who we are, have a good person and a bad person inside us. The good person keeps us on the straight and narrow and the bad person, well, that person makes life, shall we say, a little bit more interesting.'

'I suppose so,' I said.

'Sometimes the bad person in us grows and overshadows the good person and then there is chaos. The universe favours balance. It's in everything, good-bad, dark-light, man-woman, hot-cold, yin-yang, wet-dry. My job is to find the unwelcome negative force that overpowers the positive and redress the balance.'

I was going to ask him what the 'Rev' title on the card was all about. Then I noticed the qualification in religious studies sitting proudly in a cheap wooden frame on the wall. It was from Jed Googlam's Cyber University of Alabama.

'But how do you know that you've taken enough of the badness from a person?' I said. 'Surely the negative parts of us are there for a reason, for the purposes of survival for a start. If we were completely nice we would trust absolutely everybody and everything and we would be open to all sorts of attack.'

'True,' said Matthew. The tea and biscuits arrived. Dorothy put the tray on the floor sharply, spilling tea. She had quite obviously done this on purpose. She gave him a dirty look and left. He continued, 'But I don't remove anything completely. I just trim away excess with my metaphorical secateurs.'

'And you think that I might need levelling out,' I said, 'not anger management?'

Matthew took a slurp from his cup and nodded. 'I prefer the more hands on approach to things,' he said, wiping his lips with a Kleenex, 'but don't worry, it doesn't hurt one bit, I promise.'

'What does this levelling involve exactly?'

'Not much, a few choice words to get Satan out of your system, that sort of thing. I'm not a nutter you know.'

I begged to differ. He was indeed a nutter there was no doubt about it. However, I was under the strong conclusion that he was a harmless one. I felt that there would be no disgrace in just going with the flow for the time being. What was there to lose? Outside there was just the street and damp bridges. If it worked, then fine, and if it didn't, then at least I could lie. I could say, well, that's me cured, thanks! And move on.

I asked him about his success rate, just to test the water.

'It's not a hundred percent,' said Matthew, 'but reasonably close.'

'And I won't be a bad person when you've finished?' I said. 'I'm not perfect, but I'm not a psychopath'.'

'I gathered that by the look of you,' Matthew laughed slightly, 'unless you've got an axe or something stashed away in that little bag of yours. And yes, you will still be a good person.'

I asked him about the process, merely for a practical reason. I wondered if it was going to give me transferable skills. He told me that it would be just a little meditation and it usually only took a few hours. It meant that I would have to stop overnight, but that was fine with me. I was quite proud of myself. I thought about how a few months ago I would have run out screaming. The one good thing the Projector had given me was a new found confidence. Nothing scared me now. Not now that I'd killed.

'I don't mind trying that,' I said, feeling bold. 'There is one thing, though.'

'What's that, Leon?'

'I've spent my last bit of change on breakfast,' I said. 'I won't be able to pay you. I mean, I'll get some money at some point and I will come back and give it to you.'

Matthew threw his head back and laughed. 'Dear boy,' he said, 'I don't charge. This is a gift that I have received from on high and I owe it to the world to use it. I consider the results of my work to be payment for my efforts.'

'I see,' I said. 'You have a gift, too, then?'

Matthew nodded.

'The thing is,' I said, 'I have something I consider to be special. I don't want to use it to hurt anybody. I know there will be a time soon where I will need to turn on my anger. Then, when I'm through, I don't care if it's gone forever.'

'Hmmn,' Matthew's eyes widened. 'A gift? What gift is that, then?'

'I'd rather not say,' I said, 'if it's all the same to you. It's the reason I need to learn to control myself.'

'Fascinating!' exclaimed Matthew. 'Absolutely fascinating! The spirits will be most pleased when I tell them.'

'Spirits?' I said.

'The spirits of Mantoomi, of course!' said Matthew.

I gulped. 'You talk to spirits?'

'I do,' said Matthew. 'The Spirits of Mantoomi. It is they who guide me and give me the energy to conduct my tasks. I will speak to them tonight and we will make a start in the morning.'

I finished my tea, wolfed down buttery shortbread and got to my feet. 'Thank you,' I said. 'I'll come back later then, shall I?'

'No, stay,' said Matthew. 'You must be tired of walking the streets.'

'And it's just for a couple of nights?' I said.

'A couple of nights,' Matthew echoed back. 'That is all it will take.'

'I need a change of clothes,' I said. 'I must really reek of the streets.'

'Understandably!' said Matthew. 'I will give you something to wear and Dorothy will put your clothes through the wash for when you leave.'

I breathed a sigh of relief. 'If you're sure that's OK.'

'It is,' said Matthew and he got to his feet. 'For the sake of your problem I would suggest that for tonight you should stay in the yellow room.'

'Yellow room?'

'So that the spirits can examine you in the night and then they will speak to me and tell me what I must do. They will give me the guidance I need to cure you.'

'So these spirits of Mantoomi are a sort of celestial consultation group?'

'I suppose they are,' said Matthew. He took me into the hallway where his mother was running a duster over the banister. 'Mother,' he said, 'Leon is going to be stopping over tonight. Can you show him where the yellow room is while I go and have a look in the library? Please!'

Dorothy gave a sort of disapproving grunt. 'The yellow room!'' she huffed, stuffing her duster into the pocket of her apron. 'Come with me, lad!'

We climbed the stairs and when we reached the landing, she said, 'You know he's stark raving mad, don't you?'

'Is he?' I said. My words probably didn't sound all that convincing.

'But he is harmless,' said Dorothy, 'and what he does helps people.'

There were a few religious pictures on the wall. The Virgin Mary surrounded by angels, another with her holding the infant Jesus in the stable. I felt like a hypocrite being there. I was a naturalist, and a disciple of Darwin. Religion and science are opposites in the world and I saw that as a kind of a balance too. 'Do you mind me asking,' I asked Dorothy, 'are you and your son Catholics?'

'I am,' said Dorothy, 'however, his nibs downstairs has, shall we say, taken a temporary leave of absence. We have a Priest who comes round on a Wednesday, Father Mulligan, who tries to talk some sense into him, but it's not all that easy. He's away with the fairies and there's no hope.'

'I see!' I said. 'I must say you are very understanding about it all.'

'My son is a complete loon,' said Dorothy. 'I can't deny that. It doesn't mean he's a bad lad, though. He had an accident a year back and it sent him bonkers.'

'Accident?'

We stopped on the landing. 'He got hit by a car,' she said. 'It was his own fault. He wasn't looking where he was going. We'd been stopping with his sister in Cardiff. It was a hot day and she'd taken us out to see the sights. Well, Doctor Livingstone down there thought it was a good idea to go off exploring on his own. He's a bit uncomfortable around women, see. Anyway, he just launched himself into the road. I don't know what he thought he was doing. A car came whizzing round the corner, whacked him straight in the arse. His head hit a lamp post and the next thing we knew he was on the ground, unconscious.'

'Blimey!' I said. 'It's almost like something you would see in a film.'

'After that, he started hearing the voices. He said that the spirits of Mantoomi spoke to him. They told him to give up Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary and follow them instead. He said they'd give him a gift if he did. Sounds bloody stupid, if you ask me.'

'Yes, it does.'

'It all reminds me of those ads you get on the telly for fifty plus pension plans,' she said. 'Sign up with us and we'll give you a carriage clock.'

She thanked me for humouring her son and dipped into one of the adjacent rooms and returned with a pair of dark glasses.

'What are those for?' I asked.

'You'll find out in a minute,' she said. I put the glasses on and she opened the door to the yellow room. Yes, it was indeed a yellow room, a dazzling yellow room. The walls were luminous yellow, like the paint that railways use. The ceiling was yellow and the linen on the bed was yellow. The carpets, the furniture and the curtains were all yellow. The whole room was turned into an explosion of yellow overkill by the four dazzling banks of 100 Watt light bulbs on the ceiling.

'Oh no,' I said under a whisper. 'I can't sleep in here - it's a madhouse!'

'That's my Matthew for you,' said Dorothy. 'Lunch is at one!' She left me to get settled in. Of all the things that were to happen to me, this was going to be the most surreal episode of my life.

THIRTY-TWO

As instructed, I removed all of my clothes for washing. Going by what I could see what I was wearing would have spoilt the yellowness of the room anyway. There was a yellow smock on the bed like the ones that nineteenth century farmers used to wear. I put that on and shoved my laundry round the other side of the door onto the landing. I heard Matthew coming up the stairs and took the opportunity to ask him what all this yellow business was about and if there was a switch was for the lights.

In his wisdom he informed about the importance of the colour. Of how it was the true colour of purity and decency, and not white. It was why the sun was yellow, why the yolk of an egg was yellow and why the desert sand was yellow. It was why corn was yellow and even why custard was yellow. In fact everything that was yellow was that way because the spirits of Mantoomi liked them that way. I was quite tempted to ask him if bananas counted as yellow, when they were white once you got them open.

At lunch we all consumed a meal of mainly yellow things. I had it explained to me. In order to attract their attention you had to think in yellow. We had cheese omelette and sweet corn which was served on yellow plates.

After we finished Matthew asked his mother politely for permission to leave the table and went off to do some more research. I leapt on this opportunity to do some research of my own.

'Did he say earlier on that he is a supply teacher?' I asked Dorothy.

'Not at the moment, anyway.' She shook her head and was about to clear the plates away but changed her mind and sat back down. 'To tell you the truth, I've been taking all the calls for a while now and there hasn't been any work for him, if you know what I mean.'

I most certainly did. 'And all this yellow stuff and the spirits of mankini, or whatever, is from the bump on the head?'

'I have been playing along with it for nearly a year now, hoping my boy will come back. To be honest, it all gets on my nerves once in a while. I went off and stayed with my daughter once. She's got seven kids and they're all monsters. Noisy little sods they are - screaming and shouting all the time. I tell you it was bliss compared with the mental shenanigans of him upstairs. Matt I mean, not the Lord.'

'I don't want to be rude or anything, but has he seen a doctor about his condition?'

Dorothy took a sharp intake of breath, piled some of the plates on top of one another and pushed them to the centre of the table. 'I couldn't,' she said through a whisper. 'I just couldn't. If I took him to be looked at, he'd be institutionalised before I could turn around. He'd be locked away in some grotty hospital unit and given drugs that would turn him into a zombie. I'd lose my son, Leon, because when finally he did come out he wouldn't be the same. He's got these sleeping pills, he had off the doctor, stuff that gives him a dozy head. I can't always get him to take them.'

'How do you expect him to get better otherwise?'

Dorothy gave me one of those knowing sort of looks, an 'I know something you don't know' sort of look. 'Can I ask what you and Matt were talking about this morning, while I was making the tea?'

'Oh, I've forgotten,' I said, lying through my teeth again. 'I think it was bloke's stuff.'

'Come on,' said Dorothy leaning back in her chair, and peering down her slim nose at me. 'The wall that separates this room from the kitchen is as thin as rice paper and I'll have you know I'm not as green as I'm cabbage looking. Do you want to run that by me again?'

I was never all that good at modern slang, but I think the expression was she had me bang to rights and there was little I could do about it. That is, apart from create a diversion, and run out of the door while she wasn't looking.

'If I told you the truth,' I said after an unfeasibly long pause, 'you would insist that there was more than one person under this roof who was a loony.'

Dorothy gave me a stern look, an almost cold look. 'Leon,' she said, 'I have been on this earth for more than sixty-one years now. I have worked in every hospital and nursing home between Land's End and John O'Groats and have seen and heard things that would make you blush, scream, laugh or throw up. So why don't you try me?'

And so I began. This time it felt different. Not like telling Cally, when it was kindred spirits, offloading baggage on one another. This time, it was like sitting at a confessional. I was the nervous sinner on the other side of the mesh, surrounded by wooden crosses and religious effigies.

No, actually I didn't tell her everything. There was no way on God's sweet earth I was going to tell Dorothy that I had committed murder and got away with it. This was considered the worse sin of all. For that she would have called the police or turfed me out of the house as quick as a kestrel can detect a vole. What I gave her was the abridged version. The part about Roger, the drug-dealing pimp, who conveniently dropped dead of a heart attack after trying to garrotte the girl I loved. I told her about my mum, who was murdered by the most evil boy. I told her about my dad (his road death not his affair) and that he came to me in dreams. I said that Cally was in a coma and I had visited her mind, as I had done with other people in my life. I said, that it was all possible, because of the thing I'd had inside me since I was five, and that I called it the Projector, as if giving it a name made it easier for me to handle.

When I finished telling her the horrible tales of my recent adventures, she got up and took the crockery to the kitchen, as normal as can be. I was a little unnerved by this. There was no telling what was going to happen next. When she returned, I was half expecting her to be carrying a sharp knife. To my utter relief she wasn't. Neither did she call me a devilish heathen, and curse my very existence. Instead, she sat down and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

'Listen,' she said, 'I don't know if you believe in the Almighty or not. That's up to you. Or whether you worship great lumps of stone or golden cows or elephant-headed deities or the sun, but just let me tell you this. Whatever force created this galaxy of ours did it for a very good reason. When the good Lord Almighty broke the rocks together, that created the universe, I believe that he intended that each and every living thing on these lumps of dirt, had a direction to follow. We don't always choose the one that he has picked out for us, and that is up to us. We go, whichever way we go, and pay the price if we have got it wrong.'

'And I have a direction?' I asked her gingerly.

'Yes,' she said. 'Your Projector is the way. From the tone of your voice I can tell that you see it as a curse?'

I said, 'Yes!'

'It might seem like that to you, son,' said Dorothy, 'but like it or not you have something given to you by God to fulfil a specific purpose and you must use it for the good.'

'I see,' I said, 'and what if I take the wrong path? What if someone ends up injured or,' I paused, 'dead?'

'Then rest assured you will be grabbed by Satan himself and dragged into the fiery abyss by your balls to spend the rest of eternity burning away in excruciating agony.'

'Oh,' I said emitting a gulp, 'thanks for clearing that one up.'

'Use your gift for the good, Leon, and when the time comes the good Lord will be having you sitting at his feet with all the angels. If you can go into people's heads, then you can talk to them. Convince them to follow Christ. You can be a saver of souls, a fisher of men like Peter.'

'And what about this thing Matthew has planned for me, this spirit levelling, what if it does work, and I end up losing the power of the Projector?'

'It won't,' said Dorothy. 'I told you my Matthew is a fruit loop, God bless him. He's a nice man, but his head is filled with daft notions of yellow space men. He hasn't got any proper healing powers. It doesn't hurt to let him think that for a while, after all it makes him happy. Do what I said to do and just go through the motions. Then when it's all over say thank you very much and leave.' She leaned close to me, so that her lips were almost touching my ear. I felt her hot breath on my cheek. There was a small blast of garlic. 'I'll even give you twenty quid if you stay for a while. What do you say?'

'To be honest,' I said, 'I could do with that. It will help me to stay alive out there for a little longer, at least.'

'And you'll have it Leon,' said Dorothy. 'Stay a couple of nights and smile at what he does. Maybe one day these Mantoomi bloody spirits will tell him to bugger off and we can bring him back to the Holy Ghost.'

THIRTY-THREE

A few minutes later Matthew came back into the room. He dropped a large, heavy-looking book down in the space on the table left by the dinner plates.

'Here!' he said. 'This should really interest you.'

'What is it?' I said. Dorothy rose from the table. I caught her eye as she passed me on the way to the kitchen to wash-up. She gave me a wink.

'I found it in the attic,' said Matthew. 'It's called Unearthly Powers. It's a four-hundred and seventy-six page volume of fascinating true tales of unexplained phenomena.' He opened the book up as if it was something he had taken from an ancient tomb and directed me to one of the pages. 'Read that!'

I did.

In 1973 in Milwaukee, USA, a small boy (aged 9) named Thomas Tulmenary, claimed that he had a strange ability which he received on a warm July evening, while walking home from his grandma's house. Instead of his usual route, Tommy, as he was known, decided that as it was getting late, and he didn't want to be told off by his parents, so he cut through a neighbouring cornfield. Before he was halfway across, he was brought to a sudden standstill by a piercing white light. When he was able to observe the source without his eyes, being in pain he saw what he described as a circular-shaped craft. Too scared to run, he watched as a ramp descended to the ground, and what looked like a small yellow man in a silver suit came through a sliding door at the top. He told the boy, that he was member of a race of people called the Mantoomi, and that they could contact the species of other worlds through an alien spirit world, that exists as a swirling mist at the centre of our universe.

'This is... what you want me to read?' I said.

'Keep reading!' said Matthew.

Imagine his delight, when he was told that he was chosen, of all the people of the earth, to receive a special gift from Venus.

'From this day,' he was told, 'you will have the ability to enter people's heads while they were asleep. There you can make merry in their dreams and take them to Heaven or to Hell with your thoughts.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'I can't read any more. This is total drivel.'

'It isn't drivel,' said Matthew. 'If you care to read to the end you will find that on the very next day there was a large, circular scorch mark where the alien ship had landed.'

'It was probably him who did it,' I said. 'Isn't it obvious? He was out until late, up to no good. He'd probably set fire to the cornfield himself, and made up this cock and bull story to excuse himself. Anyway, how do you know if you've entered somebody's dream? You could just be dreaming about the person yourself, and if you did, wouldn't they mention it to you at some point? And how could you prove it anyway?'

'That's my point,' said Matthew. 'You can't. In the last paragraph, it says quite clearly that they told him that the people whose dreams he had walked into, wouldn't remember. Not only that, he wouldn't remember either.' He winked.

'Am I missing something here?' I ventured. 'I don't mean to wee on your barbecue, Matthew, but I just can't see anything in this that can offer any explanation of anything.'

He winked again. 'That, Leon, is why they call it unexplainable phenomena.'

'I suppose so,' I said, in what was probably the least convincing manner. I joined his mother in the kitchen. I would have gone mad otherwise. She reminded me about what she said earlier about humouring him.

'I told you,' she said, drying off her hands, folding the tea towel up and placing it softly on the drainer. 'Mad as a bicycle, he is.' She stopped in mid flow and looked me straight in the eye. 'I've been thinking. Would you do me a favour?'

'It depends what,' I said cautiously.

'I would like you to go inside his head and sort him out.'

'I'm not sure that's a very good idea,' I said, panicking.

'Sure you can,' said Dorothy. 'If you can go into people's heads, then why don't you get in his and give it a bit of a spring cleaning? Get this Projector thing of yours to tell him this Mantoomi stuff is just a lot of rubbish.' The way she was speaking made me sound like the psychic SAS.

'It doesn't work like that,' I said. 'It's complicated and doesn't follow rules. Sometimes I think it has a life of its own and it works without me. That's why I came here. To ask Matthew for help.'

'The Lord wants you to do it,' said Dorothy, 'that's why he sent you to me, Leon. It's kismet if ever I saw it.'

'I don't think he did,' I said. 'Sorry!'

'He did,' said Dorothy. 'I know so. He has heard my prayers and answered them. Now it is your duty to do right by God and cure my boy.'

And she wasn't going to have it any other way. I knew that, because I looked straight into her eyes. There was something behind them, I couldn't quite get at, something cold and serious. I didn't know what it was, but it had teeth that I just knew, I wasn't going to be able to trust somehow.

I opened my mouth to say something, although I didn't know what. I was stopped before I could utter a sound.

'Not another word from you young man,' she said. 'We'll talk again later. For now, I want you to get yourself in there, grit your teeth and nod in all the right places.'

So I did. I went back into the lounge and agreed with every piece of gibberish and every unbelievable word the man said. I smiled all the way through it and told him how right he was and he didn't even question my apparent drastic change of viewpoint.

That night, as I entered that accursed room with my darker than dark glasses sitting tightly on my face, I couldn't help feeling a total fool. Being there was like being inside a giant lemon. Half an hour later, I heard a key in the door and a clatter as it was turned sharply inside the metal lock.

'Nothing personal,' I heard Matthew say. 'The spirits of Mantoomi insist that the doors be locked tonight, so that there is an absolute guarantee that nothing non-yellow will enter the room whilst they are operating.'

I got up and tried the window. Down below there was the back garden and a triangular rotating washing line with some clothes on it. I saw my tee shirt and my jeans. I was fairly convinced that the ground wasn't as far away as it looked and so I thought I'd chance a jump.

Matthew must have heard my hand grasp the latch. He knocked on the door lightly.

'Sorry,' he said, 'I did the window this afternoon, while you were talking to mother.'

I threw myself on the bed and tried very hard not to picture my hands around his sorry throat. I decided that when the appropriate moment came I would make my escape.

THIRTY-FOUR

The intensity of that awful colour was mentally invasive and I couldn't think. Sometime in the night in a haze of anger I'd taken my glasses off and thrown them at the wall. I could never sleep very well with something stuck to my face. Each time I rolled over they had dug into my cheek. I spent the rest of the night face down on my pillow. My head was raw and aching in the morning.

My first instinct on rising was to run to the curtains and open them. Not to let the day in with a cheery Disney smile. Just to put my eyes on something soothing and there it was - a nice blue sky and all the promises of a beautiful day. I would have given anything to have been on the other side of the window.

I had no idea what time it was. There was a stupid yellow clock on the wall with a stupid yellow dial, yellow numbers and yellow hands. I couldn't see the time. I strained my eyes to see if there were any clues and got a sharp painful twinge in my temple.

My bladder was full to capacity. The door was still locked, and so I hammered on it and cried to be let out. I put my ear to the floor to see if there were any signs of life downstairs. Down in the kitchen the scraping and the clanking of metal put pictures in my head of somebody washing saucepans and putting them away in cupboards. Dorothy was up and about. I banged on the floor for attention and awaited a response. I thought after a while that she might have been a little hard of hearing.

After locating and replacing my darker-than-dark shades, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall for a while. Perhaps if I did that for long enough words might appear like magic, a set of instructions from some ethereal benefactor.

'Is all this really necessary?' I yelled. I didn't know who to. I waited for someone to answer me. It appeared I was conversing with myself.

I got up and gave the door a hard kick and sat down again. Then I started taking books from the shelf (the ones glossed over in yellow) and throwing them at various parts of the room at random. I swore that if I stayed in that stupid room any longer I would go mad like Matthew.

I cried out again and hit the door again, this time with my bare fist. I could feel myself burning inside. I felt a sudden tension in both of my arms and my forehead was getting hot. Then it hit me that I was getting angry. With the Projector in my head that wasn't a very good idea at all and so took deep breaths and made an effort to calm down.

I lay back on the bed, attempting to shut out all thoughts of urination. I filled my head with others. As if someone had pressed the reverse scan button on my mental DVD player, I ended up reviewing pictures of my recent past. Once again, I was with Cally by the lake. She was giving me that look as if declaring my undying love for her was the ultimate insult.

I supposed when I thought about it, I couldn't really blame her. I should have made more effort to try, and make Roger release her instead of what I did.

I wondered if in time, if one day I opened up to her about who I was trying to be inside, my feelings would be reciprocated. I was sure that one day we would meet again and she would accept my apology. I have never liked the idea of leaving somebody with bad feelings about me. In retrospect, I think what put her off me was something she saw before she collapsed. Like the look of complete rage in my eyes. I couldn't blame her for hating me that much. Anybody would feel uncomfortable around someone like that.

About ten, and I knew this because finally the wind changed direction and I heard a clock chiming somewhere, there was a knock on the door. It was a quiet, unobtrusive little knock as if somebody wanted me to respond without having to wake me up to do it.

'Leon?' At last! It was Matthew.

'Matthew, let me out! I need to go to the toilet.'

'No, I can't do it,' said Matthew, 'not until I have consulted the spirits again.'

'And they say what exactly?' I said. 'That I must piss myself?'

'They say that you are a complicated case and must remain with us until they have decided the best course of action. Once the elders of the yellow light have investigated the root of your problem they will inform me about the action that I must take to cure you.'

I was annoyed now. 'Matthew, you said that you would start working with me this morning. Did they say I was going to harm you? Because, so help me, I will if you don't let me get to the bathroom.'

'There is nothing I can do at the moment,' said Matthew, and I had to admit his voice did sound convincingly sorrowful. 'The matter of your immediate future is in the hands of the spirits and you cannot leave the yellow room until the word is given. Not even for one minute. Those were the words they gave me in the night.'

I heard a pair of feet shuffle quickly along the hall carpet and creep furtively down the stairs, where they faded to a distant creak at the bottom. 'Damn you, Matthew,' I ranted, 'get back here and let me out! This is kidnapping!'

Not long after there was a knock on the door. It was Dorothy.

'Leon?' she said. 'I can't believe he's locked you in. I'll swing for him, I will.' A key went into the lock and the door swung towards me.

'Dorothy,' I said, 'I've changed my mind. I'd like to leave, please.'

'Please don't,' replied Dorothy. She put an arm on my shoulder.

A door across the landing was open. I spotted a welcoming porcelain shape in the gap. I said excuse me, and made a mad dash to it.

She continued the conversation through the door. 'Please don't let this put you off,' she said. 'I'll have a word with him. Better still, I'll give you the spare key so if he does it again, you can unlock it when he's gone.'

'There's no point in me staying, Mrs Appleby,' I said to the cistern. 'I don't think Matthew has any intention of showing me any meditation techniques. I'm sorry, but I am leaving!'

When I'd finished, I squirted some of the anti-bacterial hand wash onto my hands from a pump tub and gave them a rinse under the hot tap.

'I really am sorry, Dorothy,' I said again.

'I don't blame you,' she said, 'but please, I beg you, before you go, enter my boy's head and make him better, I know. You can do it tonight while he's asleep. Then he will really believe it is the spirits who are speaking to him.'

'I can't,' I said, vigorously drying my hands. 'It's dangerous.'

'How can it be dangerous?'

'I can't explain why,' I said, 'it just is.'

'So you're not going to even try then?'

I thought about it one more time. 'No!' It was an exceptionally bad idea.

'That's a shame,' said Dorothy. There was a worrying change in her voice. It dropped like a lead weight into something cold and serious.

I opened the door. 'Loo_!' I stopped dead. It was the cold stone look on her face. As if everything that was good about her, had slid down her body and out through her feet into the floorboards. Before I could utter another syllable I was pushed against the door frame. I felt pain in my shoulder where I'd hit it. In seconds she had a handkerchief to my lips and I passed out.

THIRTY-FIVE

I heard my dad's voice in the darkness. 'What a mess you got yourself into.' It was something he'd often said to me when he was alive. I could hear sea gulls. We were on the beach in my head again. The sun came on with the flick of an invisible switch, lighting up a pale blue cloudless sky.

'What?' I said. My eyes struggled to focus on his face. For a moment it was an oval blur and then it was him. 'What did she do to me?'

'You have been put to sleep,' said my dad. 'You are in the cellar tied to a chair. The idiot's mother has chloroformed you. You are now officially a prisoner in hotel Bedlam. Well done, son!'

'Bitch!' I said. 'But I don't understand. Why would Dorothy do that? She's not the loopy one.'

'You never were any good at seeing what was going on around you,' said dad. 'Always sitting around with your head in those animal books instead of noticing the real world.'

'You were always too busy,' I said, 'and mum was never what you could call a conversationalist, unless you counted soap gossip or shopping.'

'You should have agreed to work on Matthew.'

'I might have killed him if I did that.'

'And? You could have just agreed and then made a run for it while the mad bat's back was turned.' He then looked me in the eye and shook his head. I asked him why.

'You wouldn't have done that,' he said. 'It's not in your nature. You're too nice. I remember when you were little. We used to go for walks sometimes, in the park or the countryside if there was time. Every time you saw a snail or a worm or something on the path you used to pick it up and put it somewhere safe so nobody could tread on it. Whenever you found a penny you wanted to hand it in to the police.'

'I don't remember,' I said. 'Did I?'

'Yep,' said dad, 'and that's not all. One time your tooth came out in the night and so you put it under your pillow for the tooth fairy. When she didn't come you didn't cry. You came downstairs in the morning to tell us about it. You wouldn't remember what you said, but it was I expect she's got a lot on. Any other kid would have told his parents that the tooth had to come out so it could be replaced with a pound.'

I didn't remember that either. I wondered if I had always been a goodie two-shoes. 'So how am I going to get out of this one?' I said.

Dad sucked air through his teeth. A lecture was coming, I just knew it. 'The way I see it,' he said, 'you've dug yourself a bit of a hole and you're going to need a big ladder to get out of this one. If you'd have gone after the Harper kid like I said instead of going off for a ramble none of this would have happened.'

I said, 'I know!'

'The way I see it, you have two choices. Either you can kill Dorothy, which I know you wouldn't do, or you can agree to do what she says and try and sort her son out.'

I opened my mouth to speak again. My dad cut me off.

'I realise that there is a risk, but you'll have to do it,' he said. 'I saw her take Matthew's sleeping tablets and put them in the pocket of her cardigan and she has chloroform, don't forget. She'll keep you drugged so that you can't do anything to her. Agree to help her son it's your only hope. Then whatever happens after that, get out of that house as fast as your feet will carry you. Then find Carl Harper and finish this.'

The next time I looked he wasn't there.

The next I saw was a dirty grey mass of concrete and cracks, which was the cellar wall. There was a musty smell of mould and still water about them.

I was tied to a chair like dad said. My hands and feet were bound tightly to the arms and legs with what looked like washing line. From then on, any doubts about whether the conversations between us were real, went out of the window.

Voices echoed in orbit around my head, announcing my re-arrival into the land of the living.

'Leon,' a far away drone bellowed in my ear, 'you are with us at last.' It was Dorothy.

'He is with us,' echoed another. Matthew.

'I thought you two were supposed to be Catholics,' I murmured, like a drug-fuelled junkie.

'We are!' said both.

'Then how about displaying some compassion for your fellow man?'

There was no reply, no compassion.

I was surprised to see Matthew. He'd been adamant that I wasn't to leave the room. He was dusting away cobwebs with a rag. Dorothy was pushing a broom over the floor. 'I take it, your mother has had words,' I said.

'The spirits of Mantoomi are both wise and sympathetic,' said Matthew. 'They sensed that the yellow room was not giving you great comfort and so we were allowed to bring you down here. I take it this is better for you?'

'Better than going blind?' I said. 'I'll let you know. So why am I tied up?'

'Because the spirits have told Matthew that you are going to run away and they want to help you,' said Dorothy. 'Or that was what they told me.'

'And why would I want to do that, do you think?'

'They say you are possessed,' said Matthew.

'What?'

'By a bad spirit,' said Matthew. 'It all makes sense now. They do that sometimes. When a soul is about to be fixed often an evil entity will enter the mind so that it can interfere with the process.'

'How?'

'Through your ear or up your nose, of course,' said Dorothy. She gave me one of those knowing looks. She was saying these ludicrous things for her son's benefit and didn't he just love his mum's new found support?

'I'm going to tell him the truth,' I mumbled. 'Matthew we need to speak.'

Matthew came towards me. His mother lifted the broom, and put the handle to his chest to stop him. 'Later,' she said. 'He's too weak now. The spirit has made him sick. Look at him. The lad can hardly get his words out.'

She told Matthew to leave us alone so we could speak and like the obedient dog he was he nodded and went upstairs. When he was out of earshot, her tone changed again to the one I had been used to.

'Leon,' she said, 'I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me, but you have to see that I'm desperate. The authorities are bound to find out about him soon and I don't know what I will do then.'

'Untie me then,' I groaned. 'I won't go to the police. I'll do as you say, I promise.'

A smile landed on her face. 'I hoped you would say that.' Then it flew off again. 'Wait. How do I know I can trust you?'

The morphine was beginning to wear off. Things started to become clearer and my speech became more comprehensible. 'Because I am just the kind of boy who picks up snails so they won't be trodden on,' was all I could think to say.

'I have to be sure though,' she said. 'I need to be sure you won't go into my head and not Matthew's.'

'I promise,' I said, 'and I always keep my promises.'

She stared at me and for a whole minute it seemed like time had frozen. I think she was trying to read my mind. She eventually broke away. 'I need security,' she said and went to an old tin trunk which was in the corner of the room. She opened it up and when she closed it again, she had something in her hand. It was an army issue revolver. I'd seen one in a movie.

'You're going to shoot me?' I panicked. I was shaking. 'That's not going to help, Dorothy.'

'I keep it in case of burglars,' she said. 'It was my dad's. He was an officer in the Royal Artillery Corps. It's got two bullets in it. I don't want to kill you, but if you harm me or Matthew I'll pull the trigger.'

I nodded slowly, cautiously.

'Good!' said Dorothy. 'We understand each other.' There was another chair similar to the one that I was tied to. She dragged it over the floor and perched herself delicately onto the seat. The gun was directly in line with my head. I couldn't take my eyes off the barrel. She was trembling and that was worrying. Her right index finger was over the trigger.

'I'll start on Matthew whenever you like,' I said.

'Good!' said Dorothy. 'Do it now!'

I closed my eyes and tried to assemble pictures. All I could see was that gun. Then there was only darkness where the pictures have been. 'I can't do it like this,' I said.

'Why not?'

'We both have to be in the same room,' I said. I was lying of course. There was the man on the car park, back in Edinburgh. 'We need to be close or I can't connect. It's limited to short distances.'

'Don't try anything!' Dorothy rose from her seat and moved slowly backwards to the doorway. Her eyes never left me for a second and unfortunately neither did the gun. She called up the stairs for Matthew. Somewhere up there a door opened with a creak and he called back.

'Coming, mum!'

Dorothy waited for her son to start down the stairs and then she went back to her chair and positioned herself behind it.

Matthew reached the bottom step, and then stopped dead still. He looked at me and then at his mum. 'What's this?'

'What has to be,' said Dorothy. She pointed to the seat. 'Sit here, son.'

Matthew obeyed and very quickly, too. 'Why mum?' he said. 'Is it the spirits? They said something bad was going to happen? Is this it?'

'Son, listen to me very carefully. What's going to happen is for your own good. I don't want any arguments. I want you to sit there all quiet and do anything Leon tells you to do. He won't hurt you, because I've got this in my hand.'

'What's he going to do, mum?' asked Matthew.

'Shush, Matthew!' Dorothy waved the revolver at me as if it had a little flag on the end of it. 'Go on!'

And so I began.

THIRTY-SIX

I thought about what Dorothy had said about bringing Matthew back to Jesus. I have to admit that for a moment it was really tempting to take him back two thousand years to the Sermon on the Mount and let him hear all of the right words directly from the horse's mouth. Instead, we were standing inside a church, a large one with grey stone walls and robust Norman pillars. We stared hard at each other, me in an effort to attempt to anticipate his first reaction and him as if it was the most unnatural thing in the whole of human existence.

Matthew didn't flex a muscle. He was frozen. It could work like that at times. 'What has happened?'

'What do you think has happened?' I said.

'This is Witchcraft,' said Matthew. 'A teleportation spell. He broke away from me and ran to the altar where he picked up a long, black candlestick. He came back, waving it at me as if it was a sword. 'The spirits of Mantoomi abhor black magic. I implore you take me back or they will come in their giant sky ships and turn your wretched body to dust.'

'They can't do that,' I replied.

'And why is that, pray?'

I thought before speaking next. After all, I was about to make an attempt to shatter his illusions. Like telling a small child that Santa is really his dad and his presents have all been coming from an online shopping catalogue. I felt quite guilty for doing this. Mad as it was, this belief in higher beings had been giving him some of sense of purpose. I advised him to sit down while I explained what was happening to him. He refused and insisted I take him back to his mother.

'Matthew,' I said through a sigh, 'I have brought you here. I didn't want to. It was your mother's idea.'

'Rubbish,' he said. 'Mother wouldn't employ the services of a sorcerer. She is as opposed to the evil arts as I am - as the spirits are. That's what you are I take it, a Sorcerer?'

'Matthew, there are no spirits and I am no sorcerer!' I stepped backwards in fear that he might get close enough to strike me on the head. My heel struck the foot of one of the pews and I stumbled slightly. 'Listen! What I am going to say is going to sound stupid, but do you remember that book you showed me?'

'Unearthly Powers? A four-hundred and seventy-six page volume of fascinating true tales of unexplained phenomena? I remember, yes!'

'And that story about the boy?' I said. 'The one who could walk into people's dreams and make them see things?'

'Because the Spirits gave him a gift from their home planet,' said Matthew.

'Parts of that were true,' I said, 'although the facts have been a distorted somewhat. There are no spaceships. I think he dreamt that part, but the rest actually happened to him.'

'How can I believe you?' To my relief Matthew lowered the candlestick slightly. 'That aliens weren't involved, I mean?'

'Because that is what's happening now,' I said, waving my arms in the air as if I had found religion. 'We are inside your head and I am speaking to you. See these walls and this high ceiling and these stained-glass windows?'

'Yes'.

'I have put them here and I can prove it.' I pointed at his hand. 'What are you holding?'

'A candlestick,' said Matthew. 'Why?'

'Are you sure?'

'I should know,' said Matthew. 'I'm the one who is holding it.'

I thought of a shape and focussed. 'Are you sure about that?'

'Yes!'

'Then look again!'

Matthew glanced down at his hand again and gasped. With his mouth wide open he showed me the halibut that had miraculously appeared.

'Yes,' I said. 'I did that, so listen to me. Whether you choose to believe in these Mantoomi spirits again or not is entirely up to you, but I have to leave this place. Your mum is back in the real world, holding a gun to my forehead, and the only way I can get her to put it down, is to get you to say that you will become a Catholic again. Will you do that?'

'I can't,' said Matthew. 'The Mantoomi will never allow me to deny their existence. It is blasphemy.'

'It'll only be pretending,' I said. 'I'm sure they'll understand. They are peaceful spirits, aren't they?'

Matthew nodded.

'So they will understand that you would be doing this in order to preserve a life. Who knows, one day maybe I will come to believe in their magnificence as you do.'

'I do hope so.' Matthew dropped the fish without even looking at it. He fumbled at the buttons on his cardigan nervously until enough of them were fastened to make him presentable and he came closer. He opened up his arms to me. 'I know, Leon, why don't you come to them now? They are waiting for your love, Leon. Follow them and you will know the joy that I have been feeling.'

'I can't do that,' I said. 'I have important things to do.'

'Like take that boy's life, Leon?'

I was stunned. For a minute I could have sworn that my heart had stopped beating. 'What boy?' I ventured. How could he possibly know about that? I hadn't said a word about it to him or his deluded mother.

I moved backwards slowly in reaction to his movement. 'I know about the boy Carl,' he said. 'The spirits told me. That was why they had me lock you up in the yellow room. They knew about what you were going to do and it was my duty to stop you. I cannot let you kill. It is the ultimate of sins.'

'He killed my mother,' I said, feeling a tear wash over my eye. 'He is a nasty, evil boy.'

'The spirits say...'

'Shut up about those stupid bloody spirits, will you!' I was getting angry, which was bad. I clenched my fists really hard and let out a deep breath. It was something I'd seen or read about somewhere. I couldn't think. Matthew looked horrified, as if being inside his own head, holding a candlestick that has turned into a fish wasn't enough.

I apologised. I had insulted his god and I could see that he was deeply hurt. I glanced around the church at the figures in the stained glass windows. St Jude, St Peter, Christ on the mount surrounded by his attentive flock, rays of light bursting forth from his hands and from his crown. 'I'd like to take that back, Matthew,' I said wiping my eye. 'I don't mean anything bad. I'm under a lot of pressure, here you see. Your mum's index finger is on the trigger and I don't know how long she can go without squeezing it. I've noticed that her hands shake and it's not exactly comforting.'

He was still angry. My words were like ice-cubes that had been tossed onto a bonfire. I saw him look upwards as if there was anything more to look at than sandstone and oak. His eyes were closed and he was focused on something that I was unable to see. He seemed to be listening and nodding to himself to something it seemed only he could hear. When this bizarre conversation was over he glared in my direction. His brow was severely furrowed and his eyes had become darker and more intense. He extended his arm and pointed at me.

'They are angry,' he said. 'The Mantoomi, do not take blasphemy lightly. They say that you have been given the opportunity to walk with them in the yellow light and you have thrown it back at them.'

'What are they going to do?' I asked him. 'I mean, they don't actually exist, Matthew, only inside your...'

'Head?' said Matthew. 'I thought that was exactly where we were.'

And he was right, of course. I felt even worse now. I was finished.

THIRTY-SEVEN

I began to tremble. My legs erupted into a nervous quake followed by my arms. I realised that it wasn't me at all. The ground was shaking. I heard a cracking noise from above. I glanced upwards to see fractures branching across the ceiling. White dust settled over me like snow, covering my hair and my face. To my right a pillar began to crumble.

My voice echoed all around me. 'Make this stop or we'll both be killed.'

'No!' said Matthew.

'Please,' I said, 'and I'll apologise to them. I've changed my mind, Matthew. I will walk with them after all.'

'It won't do any good.' Matthew raised his arms and the beams parted above our heads as if a pair of hands ripped into the roof to see what was inside. 'The spirits know all about you Leon. They know what you are. They don't trust you. The words that come forth from your mouth are just worthless puffs of dust. They wanted to cure you at first, but then they saw the demon inside your head and then they feared the worst.'

'What do you mean?'

'This Projector you have can be used for good, but lately you have used it to do the vilest things. Now you must answer to the holy ones.'

I tried to explain again. 'This isn't the spirits,' I said. 'This is all you. You have made the spirits real, and so they are real here. If you stopped believing in them for a single second I bet this would all stop.'

'It's not just in my head,' Matthew snapped at me. 'This is real. This is the way that they speak to me. I admit that it is usually in a different place to this, in a temple on Venus, but they are here too, I can feel them.'

An oak beam fell away from the ceiling. It missed me, only just, though. I turned my head upwards and saw another precariously situated over me. 'What do you mean?'

'My head is a portal,' said Matthew 'a conduit which enables me to communicate with them. They said that one day when the time is right, they will use me to enter our world and that time is now. I'm sorry for what is about to happen.'

'I thought they had a space ship?'

'Do not blaspheme again, Leon. You have angered them enough.'

'What is going to happen?'

There was a roar like thunder and crackles of light like fireworks. This time I looked up to see clouds, bright yellow clouds. Behind them, was the strangest lightning I had ever seen. Each tendril of each streak was a different colour of the rainbow. The clouds were rotating slowly, like an eddy in a slow-moving river. At the centre there was a pulsating white light. I was most fearful about what might come out of it.

There was another rumble and one by one each of the windows exploded out of its frame. A cold, strong blast of wind engulfed the building. I was thrown backwards along the aisle. I lashed out with both of my hands randomly and managed to stop myself hitting the rear wall at speed by grabbing the base of a pew. I felt a sudden sharp jolt of pain in my shoulder and cried out. Various objects flew past my face. A chair, hymn books, cushions, lumps of concrete, silverware. I clung onto the wood for dear life as the force stretched out my whole body. I grabbed at the pew with my other hand and attempted to stabilise myself. I called out for Matthew to stop this madness, not that he could possibly have heard me through all of the noise. I couldn't see Matthew at all, firstly because I was close to the floor and secondly because everything became engulfed with yellow light.

Suddenly the wood in my hands started to split and without any warning at all I was sent flying into the air. I was thrown against the rear wall where I remained pinned against the cold stone. I was helpless. I couldn't move, I couldn't think. There was too much going on, too much energy acting against me. The light was piercing my eyelids causing a sharp pain in my head, preventing me from even thinking about leaving.

I called out to Matthew again through the chaos. To my surprise it was over. The wind died and the light dimmed and there I was sitting on the ground looking up at an enormous hole in the roof.

Matthew was at the altar. He was on his knees facing away from me and his head was down as if he was praying. I called out his name again, this time without having to strain my throat. He didn't answer me.

I got to my feet and hobbled through the debris until I was behind him. I shook him by the shoulder and he fell to the floor. Then I saw the bloody mess around his stomach and the long shard of glass sticking out of it. He was close to death.

'I didn't do that!' I said.

'I know you didn't.' A deep, well-spoken voice rumbled behind me.

I turned around slowly and caught something really surreal. I only saw it for a moment. Matthew was fading away fast which meant that my time in his head was about over. What I saw was simply a silver ball about five feet in diameter. It was pulsating like a brain and was covered in red veins. It had no discernable mouth to speak with, no eyes to see with, yet it appeared to be totally conscious.

'What are you?' I said gingerly. For all I knew it could have been a bomb about to explode or something left behind by Matthew's crazy spirits.

'You know what I am,' it said and vanished.

In the blink of an eye I was back in the room at Larch Street, Whitetrees, staring into the barrel of that gun.

Matthew was slumped against the wall, dead.

Dorothy went over to Matthew and stroked his hand delicately. 'Cold!' she said. 'He's cold! Matthew, wake up for me darling!'

When she looked back at me, her face was soaked with tears. 'I didn't do this, Dorothy,' I said. 'I am so sorry.'

'You were supposed to make him better. What the hell happened?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'He called the spirits and it all went mad. There was nothing I could do to stop it all. I had no power in there. I have never been so scared in my life.'

'Don't lie to me.' Dorothy checked her son's carotid artery for a pulse and then his wrist. 'You did this to my Matthew! If he doesn't come to, I'll make you pay, you devil!'

'I'm not the devil, Dorothy. I am a boy trying to do the right thing. I tried to tell you that it might end like this, but you wouldn't listen.'

She charged at me and put the gun against my cheek. 'So you're saying it's my fault now, are you?'

'No,' I squeaked. 'I was only saying that going inside somebody's head doesn't always have the desired effect. I did try to tell you that.'

Dorothy pulled back. 'I asked you to bring him back to Jesus and I suppose that's what you did. He's with him now.'

'He is,' I said. 'You must try and think about what you are doing, Mrs Appleby. If you take my life you will never be with your son in the afterlife. Killing is a sin. Please put the gun down.'

Dorothy returned to Matthew. His eyes were staring upwards at his gods. She ran her fingers over the lids and closed them with a single sweep. 'Got an answer for everything, ain't you son?' she said.

'So are you going to let me go?'

'What do you think I am? Stupid?'

She then told me to close my eyes and I felt a sharp crack on the head.

I fell into complete darkness and then sidestepped into my own subconscious. Or was it a memory? I was small again and I was sitting in the back of my dad's car. It was around midnight. We were parked in a dimly-lit street outside a large white building partially obscured by thick trees. It was just before we left Scotland. Mum was in the passenger seat twiddling her thumbs and glancing nervously into the rear view mirror.

I asked her where dad was.

'He's in that building,' said mum and she glanced at her watch. 'Don't worry, luv, he'll be back in a minute.'

I noticed that there was only one light on in the white building, and that was on the top floor. There was a shadow moving back and forth. I wondered if it was dad. A moment later he returned. He smelt of smoke and fuel. He placed a can of petrol behind his seat.

'It's going to be alright now,' he told us both. 'No one will harm any of us.'

And then it went black again and I had another dream.

THIRTY-EIGHT

I was standing in a limestone tunnel. On both sides of me there were brass gauntlets fixed to the walls, clutching flaming torches. Ahead of me there was a doorway, an enormous neo-gothic arch. I trod carefully towards it and when I was close enough I could see figures carved into it. It contained pictures of me in various scenes of my life, my birth, my years in Edinburgh, my visits to the clinic. On the other side of the arch was a circular room lined with Roman pedestals. On each of the pedestals there was a bronze bust. I entered to investigate further. In the centre of the room there was a hole. I estimated this to be about two meters across. I looked inside it. It seemed to go on forever.

I examined each of the busts in turn. For a second I didn't think I recognised any of them and then it hit me. These were all the people who had died as a result of something I'd done. There were the two thugs I'd killed on the beach, and Roger and Matthew. There was an empty pedestal. I assumed it was for Carl.

The ground rumbled under my feet like an earthquake and I heard something which sounded like a tube train. I turned to face the direction it was coming from. The noise came from the hole. Within seconds the silver orb I saw in the church emerged. It came to a halt in midair where it hovered before me like a magician's trick.

'You!' I said.

'The same!'

'You killed Matthew.'

'I did, indeed, Steven, or do you prefer Leon? It is what they have been calling you since you fled from Scotland.'

'Is this a dream?'

'No!' said the orb.

'Why did you kill Matthew? He didn't do anything wrong. He was just a religious nutter. He was no trouble.'

'He was irritating, with all that nonsense about yellow spirits from other worlds. Apart from that, he was about to kill you and you weren't going to do anything about it.'

'If this isn't a dream,' I asked the orb, 'then where am I?'

'Don't you know?'

'If I knew I wouldn't be asking.'

The orb spun in the air emitting a noise I took to be smug. 'My dear boy, you are inside your own head. As you are when you are talking to your father.'

'But to be in my head you would have to be something I know about and I have never set eyes on you before in my life.'

'Haven't you?' The orb spun again and laughed. Its voice was bass and loud.

I turned around for a moment and glanced at all of the busts on the pedestals again, at the death masks of the people I had killed. 'Back in Matthew's head, before I left, you said that I know what you are. What did you mean by that?'

'Exactly what I said,' replied the orb. You and I are as close as brothers. Two minds working together as one. I am,' it paused, 'the Projector!'

I tried not to be alarmed. 'I believe you,' I said. 'I mean, it's perfectly natural for the human mind to want to put an image to something it doesn't understand. It helps people come to terms with things. But why of all of the things I could think of would I want you to look like this?'

'Because I do look like this,' said the orb. 'You have seen me before. You were too young to realise what was happening to you, but you have seen me, Leon. That is no lie.'

I had to disagree.

'Please yourself!' continued the orb. 'I just thought that we have been a part of one another for so long that it was about time we met and had a chat.'

The whole situation was beyond surreal. Whenever I was inside myself like this it was like Russian dolls.

I was going to speak, but I was interrupted by a loud electronic hissing sound followed by the whir of turning cogs. I turned around in time to see another pedestal materialise before my eyes. 'What's that for?'

'You'll see in a minute,' said the orb.

'Where am I? Where's Dorothy?'

'This minute you are in the back seat of Dorothy's car. You are unconscious, your hands and feet remain tied. '

'Where are we going?'

'To the woods,' said the orb. 'The mad old fool is going to take you there and shoot you for the murder of her son. She has a spade with her on the front passenger's seat so that she can bury you afterwards. She is very wise. Not many people go into those woods. There is some ancient superstition about an escaped lunatic who is supposed to live in the trees and lives on the flesh of dog walkers. Strange creatures, are you humans, so gullible.'

'I didn't kill Matthew, you did!'

'You and I are part of one another, Leon, as one, a symbiotic unit! So technically we both did it.'

'That's not true,' I said.

The room began to shake again. The pedestals rocked and the walls started to crumble. There was a loud bang. I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I looked down and saw blood on my hand. Something warm, tricked down my cheek.

'What have you done?' I demanded. 'Tell me!'

'I am saving your life,' said the orb. It was adamant that was the case.

The room shook one more time and something cracked in my neck like whiplash. My eyes returned to the empty pedestals. Suddenly there was another bust. It was Dorothy.

'Why?'

'It was the only way,' said the orb.

'No,' I yelled, 'there is always another way, if you think hard enough!'

The next thing I became aware of was being in the car. It was upside-down. I was lying on the roof. My arm was sticking out through the glass of the rear passenger window. Something that had happened during the accident had set it free. My legs, however, were still tightly bound. Worse, I could smell fumes. I had to get myself out of there somehow and fast.

I could see the back of Dorothy's head. It was doused in blood. I called out her name, just to be sure that the Projector hadn't lied to me. There was no movement at all. Then I saw the steering column sticking out of her chest and I gave up. Even though it hurt like crazy, I extended my free arm and started pulling chunks of the broken glass from the window. As soon as there was a large enough gap I yanked my body through it. Once I was out I had to get myself clear of the car. I anticipated an explosion.

The blood that had run into my eyes was beginning to get sticky, making it difficult for me to focus. My head was throbbing and that didn't help. My ears could make out sounds in the distance, the whooshing of cars down the bypass. It was coming from above me. I was on grass and wet leaves, by a brook. The car had hit something, flipped over and had landed at the bottom of a bank.

I had no idea where I was. I was able to pull my ailing body back up to the road in time to see the car burst into flames and then I heard the ambulance pulling up and I passed out.

THIRTY-NINE

On the way to the hospital, I dreamt that I was small again.

I was standing in the middle of a playground on my own. The sky was a curious shade of deep purple and in the middle of it sat the moon. The moon looked as it had a face. It was sad and droopy. The swings, the slide, the monkey bars were all still like corpses.

I knew that it was well into autumn as there were brown leaves at my bare feet. Sometime in the day it had rained. The leaves were shiny, slimy and soggy like wet cornflakes in a bowl of cold milk. For a while, I moved through them, shuffling my feet like a robot, watching them scatter in sticky clumps, feeling the chill on my skin.

I didn't fear the night. I never have, because it is only another time and an opportunity to see things in a different way and it is peaceful.

Then it occurred to me that it wasn't a dream, but a memory. My parents had been arguing and I didn't like the noise, so I had run out of the house with my hands over my ears. They had been so busy yelling at each other they didn't notice I had gone.

I climbed onto the roundabout and held tightly onto the rails, trying to think about nice things. Closing my eyes to focus, I thought there was something nice about the cold breeze against my cheek, something soothing.

I had my duffel coat on over my pyjamas as I'd run out of the house in a hurry. It was the bright blue one. I pulled it tighter to my chest by its toggles and smiled. I didn't mind that I couldn't find my shoes or my wellingtons in the rush to get away from the noise.

As I was feeling at peace with the world something bad happened. It began with an eruption of sound. In my head at the time it sounded amplified, like thunder or loud explosions. When the reality emerged it turned out to be loud barking dogs, snarling noises and the demeaning laughter of adolescents.

I looked up to see two older boys with two dogs. I couldn't see their faces. They were obscured by the pulled up hoods on their jackets. I didn't know what breed their dogs were, only that they were much larger than me and just the sight of them made me want to cry.

There was a sudden warm, wet trickling down my leg. I was so scared that I'd wet myself. The resulting wet patch made them laugh even more.

Without warning I found myself being whisked around in circles. They thought it would be fun to push me on the roundabout. The tears gushed down my cheeks and I was trembling. I thought that I might die. I thought the dogs might eat me.

I grasped the metal handle grips and pretended it wasn't happening.

When they were bored with spinning me, they stopped the roundabout and I was sick down my front. They pointed at me and laughed again. Meanwhile, the dogs were getting excited by all of the noise. They were jumping up at their masters and drooling.

They told me how disgusting, I was and then asked me if I liked animals.

I nodded nervously, obediently.

Two hands grabbed my arms and I was escorted to the centre of the park. There was an empty space where there used to be a metal hobby horse. I remembered that it was a white horse with five plastic seats on it. The seats were red. The council had removed it because it was the continual target of vandalism.

I was sad the day I came to the park and it wasn't there anymore.

The boys positioned me right in the centre of the bare concrete, as if I was a counter in a game they were going to play.

Suddenly two boys turned into four boys. There were two in front of me and two behind me. The two in front of me were holding down the dogs while the others held onto my arms and my shoulders.

In the orange glow of the street lamp the dogs' heads appeared even more menacing. They were broad and black and were seething with as much anger as I was with fear.

One of the boys asked me if I wanted him to let them off their leashes so that I could play with them.

'No, thank you,' I said politely. I wished that I had something to give them to make them all go away. I didn't even have my sweets.

With all the parts of their plan in place they goaded the dogs. They barked even louder and more furiously. One of them was so close to me that I could feel hot saliva dripping onto my bare foot.

I pleaded with them to stop. This only gave them even more of a buzz. I wanted to run, but I couldn't.

I was told that their dogs hadn't eaten for days. They told me that I would have my face bitten off and that I would die and I wouldn't even be able to get into heaven, because I didn't have a face and I would be left to walk the earth forever, alone and miserable.

Then someone called out my name and they walked off, leaving all the horrible thoughts they had put in my head to stir like a whirlpool.

The next face I saw was my dad's. He shouted at me and shook me. He told me that because I ran off I would have to go without treats for a fortnight.

FORTY

The sudden daylight and the throbbing pain in my elbow dispersed the images in my head and my eyelids snapped apart.

I was lying in a hospital bed in an empty ward. My arm had been bandaged. It was in a sling and there was a plastic identity band on my wrist, which, as no-one knew my name, had been left blank. There was a name on a board at the foot of my bed. DOCTOR J. CARRION. A made up name, surely, I thought. Doctor Carrion? Carrion Doctor? Carry On Doctor? There was an air of similarity about it somewhere. Something in my subconscious flickered like a spark and then died, as if it had tried to put a face to the name and ran out of energy to transmit the picture.

I couldn't think why all of the other beds were empty, considering the state of the Health Service. It didn't feel like a hospital at all. No hospital smells, nothing resembling cleaning solutions lingering in the air. No disinfectant or bleach. In fact, these were the thoughts that prompted me to look at the floor.

I noted how grubby the skirting board on my bed looked. I leaned away from the bed, and ran my finger along it. I viewed the resulting black splodge with utter contempt.

Mrs A lives here for sure -MRSA.

At ten o'clock exactly I was visited by a Doctor Carlisle. He was a small, thin man with ginger hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. He didn't announce his name. I saw it on his swipe card. I asked him which hospital I was in and he ignored me completely. It was almost as if he had been there to examine the bed and not me. I have never been an expert on NHS procedures, but I was sure that the first thing to do with a teenager who had just regained consciousness after a car crash would have been to ask him his name and if he was feeling OK and, more importantly, how they could contact his parents.

I observed him as he looked me up and down like I was a stain on the sheets. Intermittently he would squeeze one of my limbs without my expressed permission. Despite the fact that I may have given him some indications that he might have made it hurt, he ignored my exclamations and continued scribbling words onto a piece of paper on a clipboard. Finally, he attached it to the bottom of my bed and when he left I had a peak. Most of it was incomprehensible, a typical doctor's scrawl, but there were a few I could just about make out with a strategic squint.

FINE FOR TRANSPORTATION.

A curious thing for a doctor to write, I thought. More like something you would write on a parcel. I got out of bed, wincing as my leg was keen to remind me that there was still soreness there. I hobbled over to the window. Outside there was a gravel courtyard with high walls topped with barbed wire. A hundred small, square windows looked out over the square. Each of these was heavily barred with iron rods, as was the one I happened to have been looking through. There was a small, white box van parked sloppily outside the next block. It had a logo across the side, a white butterfly on a black background – a Pieris brassicae. This ghostly insect was beginning to haunt me. It was in my dream and almost everywhere else I went. Perhaps it was some kind of symbol representing the fragility of existence.

I left the window and went furtively to the doorway. Through the circular pane in the door, I saw a man in a white doctor's coat talking to two people in military uniform. One, a tall man with broad shoulders and a moustache, was a General. I attempted to listen in to what they were saying. I wanted clues to what 'fine for transportation' meant. I couldn't make anything out at all. Everybody was speaking at the same time, as if there was something to be excited about.

They were coming to see me, there was no doubt about that. So I made my way as quickly as I could back to my bed and pretended to be asleep.

The door made a creaking sound and the voices invaded the room.

'So this is the lad you were talking about,' somebody on the other side of my eyelids growled authoritatively.

'Yes, sir!' said a paid sycophant.

'Why does he have injuries?'

'He was involved in an accident, General. Nothing too serious, though. He will be able for the program.'

'How come we found him?'

The doctor paused to gather the words in his head. 'Julius, Doctor Carrion, found him. The boy was taken to St. Mark's at first. He had blood in his eye sockets and was heavily unconscious. There had been fears that he might have sustained serious head injuries, so he was scanned.'

'That's not answered my question, Doctor!'

'Ever since Steven disappeared after the accident at the clinic, Doctor Carrion made it clear to all of the hospitals in the country that if a patient turned up with this type of cranial abnormality they should contact him immediately.'

'Splendid!' said the General. 'Then we finally have a transmitter?'

'If this boy's scans say what we think they are saying.'

'Good!' said the General. 'I want him moved tonight. No time to lose and all that.'

A different voice intervened. This one was softer and more sympathetic somehow. 'Tonight, sir? Doctor Carrion has been looking for Steven for a very long time. I'm sure he wouldn't want him to leave yet. He will want to conduct more intensive studies, compare notes past and present, write a formal report. Patients like this don't pop up every day, you know.'

'Are you undermining my authority, Doctor?'

'No, Sir!'

'Good! I don't want to have you reminded, Doctor, that the military is running this show and so there'll be no nancying around with test tubes and graphs when there are wars to be won.'

'As you say, Sir!'

'Now perhaps you can tell me why this boy hasn't been restrained. He could wake up any time and do god knows what to any of us. Can't you knock him out with drugs or something?'

'The chaps in supplies have a piece of equipment. The Army boffins sent it to us by special courier.'

'What equipment?'

'Some electronic device,' said the nice doctor. 'According to the notes that came with it, it's some sort of mental restrainer, a cranial inhibitor.'

'And that's supposed to keep him safe?'

'According to the notes, yes!'

'He is still recovering, General Mortimer,' a more senior-looking doctor intervened. 'I would have to concur with my colleagues and say that he is fit enough to be moved, but there could be other areas to explore. We haven't as yet had the chance to assess any mental issues. The boy has been in a pretty bad road crash. He may experience trauma when he regains full consciousness.'

'Damn it, man!' the General erupted. I heard something crack. It may have been his swagger stick on the bed. I almost jumped in my skin. 'I want him contained so that he can be taken to Isolation 1 tonight. Stage one of Operation Morpheus must commence soon.'

'I'll get the cranial inhibiter,' said the first Doctor and he shuffled off out of the room.

'You, man,' said the General, un-popping a flap on his holster. 'Take this and point it at his head. If he comes round the last thing you'll want is him messing with yours. I'll be back in an hour with some of my men.'

Then the General left the room.

FORTY-ONE

So that was it. I was to be used for some sort of highbrow military experiment, and I had an hour, in which to formulate an escape plan and get the hell out of there. I had to think fast.

I opened my eyes very, very slowly and pretended to yawn. 'Good morning!'

'Don't move!' said the nice Doctor. I noted his name badge. Dr Twist.

'I won't,' I said. 'I'm not a bad person, you know.'

'You will forgive me for saying that I only have your word for that.'

This doctor didn't seem all that much older than I was. He was fresh-faced and new looking. He was scrawny and pale and had a shaving rash on his chin. I guessed that it would have been perfectly possible for him to have gotten his medical degree that very morning.

It didn't mean that I could take advantage of him. Just because he sounded like a nice, kind and sympathetic person, it didn't mean that he wouldn't be the kind of man to follow orders.

He told me not to speak. To just lie there, and not try any stupid mind tricks. I told him I hadn't eaten anything for hours. He said he didn't care. He was lying.

This was the second time I'd had a gun trained on my head, and it was most unnerving, staring death straight in the eye like that, anticipating the ultimate pain before falling into the darkness for all eternity. His hand was shaking just as Dorothy's had been and he had to steady it with the other. This vision gave me a little déjà vu.

I wasn't to wait long. A few minutes later someone came barging into the ward. The sudden loud clashing of the doors made us both look. It was another man in a white coat. His buttons were only half-fastened. I could see the jeans and tee-shirt he had on underneath.

This doctor had a similar level of authority as the General. He was about seventy years old with poor posture. He had bronzed skin and was bald with a bushy grey beard. I guessed that this was the infamous Doctor Carrion.

He looked at me and then at Twist. 'Where is the inhibitor? Why isn't he wearing the inhibitor?'

'Doctor Harmon has gone for it,' said Twist, 'though I do wish he would hurry up about it. I don't feel right in here with no protection.'

'What about the gun?' I said.

'Oh yes,' he gulped, 'the gun, yes!' Twist giggled nervously.

'It's OK.' Carrion took the gun from Twist. 'You go and rest. Go and grab a coffee or something. I want to talk to the patient - alone.'

'Doctor Carrion, General Mortimer has just been in.'

'And what did that old goat want?'

'He said that he wants the boy moved tonight.'

'What!' Carrion cried out. Under his breath I heard him say, 'Out of the question! Not before I have undergone a thorough cerebral investigation. I'm not letting that mad man kill another one off before I've had the opportunity to make a decent study. Tell him that if you see him. If he comes back with his Neanderthal Storm-Troopers and I am not here, make sure that someone calls me.'

Twist left, half walking, half running. I could sense the relief in him even when he was on the other side of the door.

'So,' said Carrion, 'how are we then, Steven?'

'Steven?' I said, feigning puzzlement. 'I don't know anyone called Steven.'

'Don't play me for the fool, Steven. Your real name is Steven Tamwell. I know it is you. Do you want to know how I know that?'

I nodded.

'Because of that thing inside your brain,' Carrion continued.

'And what do you know about this thing in my head?'

'Each one, each mental transmitter, is different. It's like fingerprints. Each one is unique. It might be the shape or it might be the way that the outer tissue is patterned. So quite easily it would be possible to link one to its owner. We have your scan pictures from when you were young, when you came to see me with your father in my clinic in Edinburgh, when you were five and a half.'

My head experienced flashbacks, as if some flick book of my life was being played in my head. I could see it all, only this time there was more. I saw a room with fluorescent strip lights. I was wearing a white paper suit and a helmet covered with wires and coloured lights. It was so heavy it hurt my neck when I tried to move. I was scared and cold in that clinical room. I was behind a sheet of special glass. I think it had some sort of metal in it so that it wouldn't break. There were people staring at me. I was frightened.

Then I recalled times when they were testing my emotions. They tried to make me upset by slapping my legs and then while I was crying my eyes out they all stared at the computer monitor to see if the Projector was displaying any signs of life. In between sessions I was allowed a break. I was taken to the basement so that I could stroke the animals in the experimentation labs, the rabbits, mice, rats, dogs and the chimpanzees. Sometimes I sat and watched the butterflies in the insect tank and watered the plants.

I wasn't anybody's patient during those times.

'I remember it more clearly now,' I said. 'I was your lab rat.'

'A little harsh I think, Steven,' said Carrion. 'I admit that methods weren't the same as they are now, but you have to remember, science can be such a cold profession. You cannot afford to get involved because the results can sometimes be, shall we say, unfortunate. You have to be able to distance yourself from your subject otherwise your emotions will cloud your judgement.'

'And that was all I was,' I said, 'a piece of meat to be poked and prodded by your white-coated Nazis. It wasn't just a dream, it was all real. I remember my dad brought me to you, because he thought you were going to help me. You betrayed him and he hated you. That was why he wanted to burn down your clinic. That was why we had to run away and change our names.'

'Things were different then, Steven. I was different. Ten years is a long time. A lot can change during that time.'

I felt softness in his words, although whether there was any sincerity behind them was a mystery. I wondered if this was all an act and he was just trying to be nice to me in order to lure me into a false state of security and throw me back in the observation tank.

Doctor Harmon came in. He was carrying an elasticated strap with a small electrical box attached to it. It appeared to be an electrode device of some sort. 'Julius, I'm sorry that took so long. Would you believe they couldn't find the right release form for this? They gave me these as well. They said it's all on the notes.' He took two pairs of handcuffs from his pocket, and handed them to Carrion. Carrion instructed Harmon to cuff me to the bed while he positioned the inhibitor.

'So this is what you call change, then, is it?' I said. 'It doesn't look like that to me.'

'You may not believe it, Steven,' said Carrion, 'but this is all for your own good.'

'How's that, Carrion?'

'If ever you got anxious and you engaged your cerebral transmitter I could guarantee you four armed men would come bursting through that door and we don't want that do we?'

I said I didn't. I'd seen enough guns to last me a lifetime.

'Good!' he said. 'Now, do everything I say and everything will be fine.'

FORTY-TWO

Fine? I had never been fine for as long as I could remember. Up until that point in my life I'd lost both of my parents to unnatural deaths, been consistently bullied by a young anti-Christ, met a girl who said she didn't love me, been kidnapped by religious weirdos, spent copious amounts of time talking to various people and objects in strange and wonderful places in my head and I had been responsible for five deaths. Nothing had ever been fine.

Now I was handcuffed to a hospital bed wearing headgear, that wouldn't have looked out of place in a nineteen seventies science fiction movie. I was trapped and who knew what was going to happen to me.

This was my payment for not listening to my parents. I should have taken more notice. Stay out of sight, they'd said. There are bad people out there and they'll want to get you. Stay in the shadows and don't give out any information to people you don't really know.

Carrion stayed with me for about an hour, probably protecting his interest. He said a lot of things, most of which went in one ear and out of the other. My mind was crowded with thoughts of laboratories, scalpels and jars. I had no idea where Isolation 1 was or what Operation Morpheus was, only that it involved me. By the way the General had been talking I guessed that it was something the army had in store for me.

'Believe me,' Carrion said most sincerely, 'it pains me to see a patient of mine like this.'

'Then let me go,' I said.

An awkward smile landed on his wrinkled face. 'I wish I could.'

'So you are going to let me be a puppet for the military?'

'No, not yet!' Carrion went over to the window and looked out as if to capture something, a memory, a thought. He opened the window slightly and took in a lungful of clean air. There was something sad about him I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I asked him what they were going to do to me.

'I don't know,' was his reply. 'That is the absolute truth. Top secret stuff, I should imagine.'

I didn't believe he didn't know the truth about that. There was definitely some big connection between the hospital and the military. Dialogue had taken place in the corridor. I had the distinct impression that there had been meetings around tables at some time or other.

'You must know something, Dr Carrion,' I said. 'Don't you think that I deserve to know, too?' I tried a little play with his conscience. 'You feel bad now about all of the things you had to do to me in the name of science, don't you?'

'It wasn't supposed to be like this, Steven,' he said. 'I thought this was the discovery of the century, the next stage in the evolution of man. When your father brought you to me, and I looked in your head, I was excited as a man could be. I had read about boys like you who had the ability to do what you do, in journals written by professional people, minds you wouldn't want to even begin to question. Then there was you, Steven. For the first time I was presented with the opportunity to investigate the facts. I CAT scanned you at the clinic and I soon found that the structure in your head was similar to the photographs in the journals.'

'And what happened to those other boys?'

Carrion went quiet, as if he was pretending he didn't hear that.

'Never before was a mental transmitter heard of in this country,' he said, 'in the United States, yes, in South East Asia and in Rome but never in the United Kingdom.'

There was shouting in the corridor and the sound of heavy boots on hard tiles. General Mortimer was back. The ward door was blown open, by his enormous hands and he barged in. He was followed by an entourage of doctors.

Doctor Twist was flitting back and forth, as if he wanted to be on both sides of him at the same time. 'Doctor Carrion,' he said, 'General Mortimer is here and he wants to take the boy now.'

'I can see that the General is here,' said Carrion. 'I could hear his jack boots echoing along the corridors the moment he entered the building.'

Mortimer seemed to let this flow over him. 'I see he is ready,' he said assertively. 'There is a vehicle parked outside the front entrance. I will escort you and the boy personally. I do not want any cockups.'

'General, I cannot allow you to do that,' Carrion jumped in. 'After all, this patient has only just arrived and I have not had the opportunity to run another scan.'

'Why the hell would you need to do that?'

'It has been ten years,' said Carrion. 'Anything may have happed to it, like mutation. The transmitter is organic. In the accident, it may have been damaged. The boy has a mark on his cranium which suggests that he has suffered some sort of impact injury.'  
'And how long will that take?'

Carrion gave his forehead a scratch. 'A few hours,' he shrugged, 'maybe longer.'

Mortimer snatched the notes from the metal frame of my bed, and shoved them in Carrion's face. 'Damn it, man,' he yelled, 'it says here "fit for transportation"'

'I did not write that,' said Carrion.

Mortimer scrutinised the words. 'Isn't that your signature, man?'

Carrion lifted a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. 'Somebody else has signed this,' he said. He was lying again, I could tell. 'Doctor Carlisle, possibly, he has been covering for me lately. When I realised that the boy was here I needed to conduct some enquiries to make sure that nobody else knew. Imagine if the police found out, or the legitimate sections of the British army.'

'Very well,' said Mortimer and the words stuck in his throat as if they didn't really want to come out, 'but be assured, I will be posting two of my men by the door. I don't want him leaving, unless it is with me, do you understand?'

Mortimer left and Carrion breathed a sigh of relief.

'What did you do that for?' I asked Carrion.

'Do what?'

'Lie to the General!'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Carrion. 'I was telling the truth. Before you are moved I need to examine you.'

I sensed that it was more than that.

'I bet that signature, was something to do with you.'

There was a huddle of doctors in the middle of the ward and Carrion joined them. They began whispering to one another. I tried to tune myself in. It was difficult. The inhibitor emitted a humming noise, and it drowned their words.

While they all had their backs turned away from me, I attempted to shake it loose. It didn't work. The thing was practically glued to me.

I closed my eyes and focussed on the Projector. It was asleep. I swore I could hear it snoring in a cavern in some distant dark corner of my head. The

Projector wasn't the only thing that was asleep. Both of my arms seemed to be doing the same thing. I moved my hands up and down the bed rail. The handcuffs made a resounding metallic rattling sound. The doctors stopped to look at me for a few seconds and then, realising that I was still confined, continued their discussion.

FORTY-THREE

At three o'clock I was taken to be scanned. I was wheeled down the corridor on a squeaking trolley by an orderly. We were joined by two armed guards. On the way to the lift I caught sight of the insignia on one of the soldier's forearms. It wasn't anything like any army crest I had ever seen. It was a circle two inches in diameter with the initials AWF in intertwined lettering over a blue-green picture of the earth.

By four I was back in the ward staring at the ceiling. Doctor Twist was standing by the window, as if he was eyeing up a possible emergency escape route. Doctor Harmon was sitting by my bed. I noted how far away the chair was. Even though I couldn't move even if I tried I was somehow still a risk.

'Doctor, I have a headache,' I said. 'I think it's this inhibitor thing.'

'Tough!' said Harmon. 'Live with it!'

'Can you loosen the strap or something? My head is sore enough.'

Harmon eyed me suspiciously through a pair of imaginary spectacles, at the end of his nose. 'Do I look like an idiot?'

'No,' I said, 'but I'm in pain. The crash has left it feeling a bit tender. Please, this thing is rubbing like mad.'

'Perhaps we should,' said Twist. 'I mean we're not villains are we, we're doctors. Just because he has that thing in his head it doesn't mean we can't still fulfil our duties and keep him comfortable.'

'He's doing what is known as swinging the lead,' said Harmon. 'I would take every word this young man says, with a pinch of salt if I were you, Oscar.'

'Still, it wouldn't hurt if we loosened it just a little bit?'

'He is not to be trusted – end of.'

'He won't try anything stupid,' said Twist. 'You won't, will you Steven? There are two armed men outside.'

'I don't care! He stays exactly as he is until General Mortimer gets here.'

Doctor Twist said nothing after that. I liked him. He seemed to be more sympathetic, softer, like I used to be before the Projector started making me angry with bad people. I actually found myself feeling guilty at the fact that I was hoping that his colleague would fall asleep or leave the room to go for a pee so that I could "swing the lead" again.

I thought I was going to get my wish at one point. Harmon got up, but only so that he could stretch his legs. He announced that they had gone to sleep and perhaps they should change places for a while.

The door to the ward creaked and a head came through it. It was wearing a black beret. It was one of the guards. I hoped that Harmon was wanted elsewhere.

'Are you guys OK?' the man's accent was familiar. It was Scottish, Glaswegian, familiar, reminding me of when I was small.

'Don't worry about us,' said Harmon. 'You just keep both of your hands on that machine gun.'

The door creaked again, this time as it was closing. A second later they parted again with a crash and Doctor Carrion burst into the room. He was looking most anxious.

'What's the matter?' said Harmon. 'Is the General here?'

'He is on his way,' replied Carrion. 'I've examined the scan results and our friend here is OK to be moved. I want you, Harmon, to go and get the boy's release papers. They're on the desk.'

'What about Oscar?'

'I want Doctor Twist to help me with the boy. He needs to be dressed. He's not leaving this hospital looking like that. It will make us look bad.'

'Fine!' Harmon got up and left like a child who had been told that he won't get his pocket money until he has tidied his room.

When he was on the other side of the door Carrion went over to Twist by the window. 'Listen to me carefully,' he whispered, lightly. 'Mortimer will be here in half an hour. I need you to do something for me, something you might find a little, shall we say, unorthodox.'

'Unorthodox?' said Twist. 'What do you have in mind?'

'I'm going to get the boy out of here, do you understand?'

'You are going to do what?'

'I know,' said Carrion. 'It's a crazy idea and it's dangerous, but can you honestly say what the military are going to do to the boy is right?'

'No, Doctor, but that's not the point. We could both end up struck off, or worse!'

'It will be fine,' said Carrion, 'and so will we be. Will you help me?'

'I suppose so,' said Twist.

Carrion came over to me.

'Steven,' he said, 'I want you to promise me that if I help you escape you will not harm me.'

'I promise,' I said. 'Just get me out of here!'

Carrion told Twist to watch the door. He took the keys for the handcuffs from his trouser pocket and very carefully freed my arms. How he was going to get me past two armed men I didn't know. Twist got my clothes out of the locker by the side of the bed and handed them to me.

'Do you feel strong enough to dress yourself?' he asked me.

I nodded, but Carrion carefully pulled my tee-shirt over my head and stretched it so that I could get my arms through the sleeves without too much pain. I think he was worried that my cries might attract unwanted company.

'I don't understand,' said Twist. 'Why do you need me here?'

'You are going to be a witness,' said Carrion.

'Witness to what?'

'This is the story,' Carrion continued. 'Steven here overpowered both of us. There was some fault in the inhibitor, and somehow he was able to outwit us. You tried to adjust it and he did some mind trick on you and you passed out. He needed me to get him off the premises. He needed my security pass for the guard on the gate and so he entered my head and used me to get him past the gate.'

I asked him how we were going to get that far without getting shot.

'The problem with military Generals, Steven is they tend to have their heads shoved so far up their derrieres that they don't notice things.'

'Like?'

Carrion walked over to the far corner of the room, where there was a screen that went around beds for private examinations. I hadn't noticed it there before. Like a magician, he wheeled it aside to reveal another door. 'Like noticing that some of these wards are adjoining,' he said.

After he was sure Twist had his story right, he instructed him to lie down on the floor and we left.

FORTY-FOUR

In the car, which I guessed was a modern Jaguar, I asked Doctor Carrion where we were going. He said we were going to his house while he figured out what to do next. I asked him what he knew about others like me. He told me the story of a boy.

The boy who was called "Dwight Pilkington" complained of massive headaches as I often did. He told everybody in the village where he lived in the south of America that he was superhuman and for months they laughed at him. They called him Cerebro, like the comic book character, and teased him about it. He even told the local Sheriff and offered to help him out when there were crooks to catch. It isn't known what actually happened, but some time later in the year everybody in the village was found dead.

'It was only when he turned himself in that the authorities started to make the horrific discovery of the truth,' said Carrion.

'And now they want me?'

'Yes!' said Carrion.

'Because they know that in the wrong circumstance I might be dangerous?'

'Because you are useful to them,' said Carrion. 'I won't go into too much detail. Let's just say that thing that you have in your brain would be a formidable weapon, whether you are dead or alive.'

We stopped at a junction. Carrion indicated left and we merged with the eastbound traffic.

'I don't understand,' I said.

'I'm sorry to have to tell you, young man,' Carrion allowed himself a frown, 'that thing might be more useful to them outside your head. The scientists in the States have found a way to keep it stable and are on the verge of making the breakthrough that will enable them to harness its power. Our guys have managed to get their hands on one of the containment boxes.'

I gulped hard.

He continued. 'Can you imagine, Steven, the kind of damage this thing can do in the wrong hands. Whole continents could be wiped out with one single thought. No need for nuclear missiles. With your powers in their hands, it would be possible to control say, the pilot of an enemy aircraft, and force him to fly into the sea. Guns could be turned on a country's own military. Britain could dominate the planet again, only this time, the whole planet'.

'I thought you would be OK with that,' I said, 'being a pawn of the military.'

'Is that what you think I am, Steven? I can assure you I am not. During its period on the earth mankind has stuck its nose in far too many places. It has interfered with and destroyed races in the name of establishing superiority over others.'

'And all the money in the world wouldn't turn your head?'

'There are more important things,' said Carrion, 'lessons that have to be learned. History cannot be allowed to repeat itself.'

I looked puzzled.

'Those who need the Projector,' said Carrion, 'need it now in order to beat the US to the finishing post. There is a section of society that is keen on the United Kingdom to be a force to be reckoned with once more.'

'A return to colonialism?'

'And not only Britain,' said Carrion, glancing nervously into his rear view mirror. 'For all we know there could still be people like you anywhere. Who's to say that the North Koreans haven't found a boy with a mental transmitter? If the power you possess could somehow be magnified then perhaps we could all be in danger.'

I still didn't understand why he was helping me. After all, some sort of renegade army was involved in this project. Doing this would place him in considerable danger. I asked him why.

'Because everybody has a conscience somewhere, no matter who they are,' he said. 'Whether it is hidden behind ten inches of fortified steel or worn around someone's neck like a golden medallion for all to see. I cannot allow them to kill you. You have been born differently to other people. That is not a sin.'

We pulled up outside Carrion's house. It was at the end of an extremely wide avenue. It reminded me of a Beverley Hills mansion. He took a remote control out of the glove compartment and aimed it at a pair of tall, Gothic-looking gates, which opened with the minimum of whining. We passed through them and onto another road, this one leading right up to his front door. I asked him how much they were paying him.

'Right now, Steven,' he replied, 'I am trying not to think about that.'

The front door opened onto a spacious hallway, with a large black and white tiled floor, burgundy red walls and dazzlingly white alabaster coving. To our right, there was a life-size painting of a Victorian physician conducting abdominal surgery on a child before a crowd of fascinated onlookers. One man in the crowd was being sick into a handkerchief. He was being comforted by a woman with a teary face. To our left was a staircase with a highly polished ornate banister.

Carrion started up the stairs. I followed.

'Do you think they will buy Doctor Twist's story?' I said. 'He is an honest chap, after all.'

'Honest?' Carrion laughed. 'I was with him once when somebody asked him for directions to the bus depot in the town. He said that they should go to the end of the road, turn left and then two rights. The man thanked him and went off. About twenty minutes later he realised that he had given him the wrong directions. Turn right and then two left turns he had meant to say apparently. We spent over an hour looking for the man so that he could apologise.'

'So you think they will believe him, then?'

'Yes,' said Carrion. 'Let's just hope he doesn't get a sudden attack of conscience and tell them the truth. Then there'll be big trouble.'

At the top of the stairs we took the first door on the right into the lounge. It was full of leather furniture, highly polished surfaces and glistening decanters like a gentleman's club.

'You can watch TV if you want to,' he said. 'I know what you youngsters are like. Although you cannot have it too loud or you will wake up Winnie - that's my wife.'

I scanned the room. 'What TV are we talking about?'

'Sorry, I should have said!' Carrion took something from the sparkling crystal glass coffee table and threw it to me. It was a remote control. Not that one could tell. It was circular. 'You have to press the blue button in the middle!'

I did with slight hesitation and a modicum of curiosity. I didn't even have to aim it. I pressed the blue bit and waited to see where the TV was going to spring from. It came from a surprisingly narrow slot in the floor, like a pantomime fairy only without the puff of smoke. The only sound was a gentle click as it reached the extent of its journey and that was all from the thing which actually looked like nothing more than a sheet of Perspex.

'You switch it on with the red one,' said Carrion, 'and use the up and down arrows to scroll through the channels. If you want to view the 3D channel there are some special glasses that you will need to wear. They are on the bookcase yonder. There is also internet if you want to play games, although I would be grateful if you didn't send emails or access social networking sites. Mortimer's men have all sorts of gadgets.'

'This is fantastic!' I said, too mesmerised to take in what he was saying. 3D, Internet, 3D gaming? For a moment I was ten again. For a moment I forgot I was being hunted. For a moment I forget about my past.

'I don't bother much with it,' said Carrion, pouring himself a scotch from a decorative glass decanter. 'I much prefer the radio. It's much better for the imagination. You notice people usually say that the book is always better than the film? That's why. Winnie is the one who likes the TV. She's a soap addict and a chat show junkie. She can never get enough of the stuff.' I sensed a change in tone. 'Listen Steven, you know you can't stay here for too long. The people I work for aren't completely stupid. They will look here first.'

'I don't know where I would go anymore,' I said. 'I'm tired of running, anyway. There's somebody I have to find and then I don't care what happens to me.'

'You mustn't say that Steven,' said Carrion. 'Life is precious and mustn't be wasted.' I felt another lecture coming. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it. I flicked away at the screen and tried not to listen. George Clooney, Rowan Atkinson, sharks, Bollywood, meerkats, baseball players, glamour models, stand-up comedians, cowboys all came and disappeared before my eyes.

'There was once a man,' Carrion continued regardless, 'who killed millions of people with a single thought and for the most stupid of reasons. Maybe they belonged to a non-white race, or perhaps they were homosexual. It didn't seem to matter. They were different and that was that. The Nazis didn't do different and so millions of people paid the price for that.'

'Are you saying that could be me one day, that I could end up slaughtering whole races like Hitler?'

'Steven, you could never be like that man.' He downed his scotch and went back for another. As my eyes moved about the room, I noticed that there was a Star of David on the wall and a Menorah – a nine-armed candlestick - on top of a gleaming piano. Doctor Julius Carrion was obviously Jewish. There was a story there somewhere and I was going to ask him, then the phone rang.

'Damn,' he said, 'they have just found out that you are missing. Ah well, at least we will know if we've got away with it.'

FORTY-FIVE

Carrion disappeared into the kitchen picking up the phone en route. He was shaking. He closed the door behind him before he began speaking to shut out the noise from the music channel, which I soon discovered was much louder than the ones I had been used to.

I knocked the volume down slightly with the control pad.

When he returned which was only a couple of minutes later he poured himself yet another drink and downed it in one go. 'That was one of my superiors,' he said. 'He says Mortimer is furious. He asked me what happened. He wants to see me in the morning. I'm not sure how to feel about that.'

'What did you say to him?

'I said that we were in the ward talking and the next thing I knew I was lying in the street and you were gone. I was dazed and made my way back home. I wanted to gather my thoughts. I said my memory was coming back and I was about to phone them. It looks like Twist was convincing and our stories match, it seems.'

I gasped with relief. 'That's something, anyway!'

'Anyway,' he echoed, 'I said I was going out to look for you. As far as they're concerned, that's what I am doing.'

I asked him if I should go and he shook his head sullenly. 'Stay here until morning,' he said. 'Leave at first light. I'll give you a map, a change of clothes and enough money to keep you going for a few weeks while you set yourself up. It will give you the time to hunt down a long lost cousin or an old friend. '

'Thank you,' I said. 'You've risked a lot for me.'

He didn't say a word.

I hadn't noticed how late it was getting. I was looking at the TV screen and when I glanced up the sky was dark outside. Carrion went about the place switching on lights. As the room became illuminated his features were more intensely visible. For the first time I noticed his left hand was scarred with burn marks. For a second in my head, I was in the car outside his clinic.

Carrion bid me Goodnight, his whisky breath spraying alcohol into the air, and went to bed leaving me to my own devices. I was reminded of all of the things I wasn't to do, which now included staying away from the windows. I was to ignore the phone if it rang and if I heard any strange noises outside I was to hide. He hadn't made any effort at all to conceal the fact that he was nervous about what might happen to him and the risks involved.

Perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps he did feel deep regret, about me being in that terrible place.

It occurred to me that I had forgotten to ask him about where I was supposed to sleep. I glanced at the enormous comfy leather sofa with its comforting arm rests and had my answer. I wondered if I should go after him and ask for a blanket. I decided not to. The house was nicely heated. I'd had the benefit of its warm breath from the minute I'd stepped in through the door.

As I lay on the cushions staring emptily at the lemurs on the wildlife channel I wondered if any other of the planet's species ever got lonely and scared the way I did at times. I thought about Cally Ember and how it felt when we were lying on her sofa together, snuggled up like we were one and the same person. I was never sure who it was that was supposed to be comforting who. It didn't really matter, it was nice. I thought perhaps I should find time to go and see her again before I went looking for Carl Harper. I wondered what she was doing now.

After the programme had finished, I turned everything off and for the first time in ages I was left with nobody but me. It was both alarming and stupid. There I was, a killer, someone with the ability to commit murder at will and get away with it, and I was scared. If I had been a completely different person surely I would have been the scourge of the world. If ever I was a superhero then I was a very bad one. Whatever it was that was wrong with me, I couldn't apprehend a bad guy with my power and leave him tied up in the alley with a note for the police to find. I decided that perhaps the Projector wasn't that merciful. It wanted to go all the way, to destroy out and out. That was why I was scared. Not scared of what was going to happen to me, but of me.

I felt as if I needed arms around me, especially now that I was destined to spend the rest of my life alone in the world. I couldn't be near anybody else once I had killed Carl. I would be too much of a risk, too much in the habit of killing. What I needed to do was to find a deserted shack in the middle of nowhere, preferably on top of a very high mountain. There I could spend my days trying not to think about anything.

My next move was to make my way back to the Harpers' house, having the notion in my head that all criminals return to the scene of the crime at some point or another.

I'm not all that sure whether I slept that night or not. My eyes closed several times only to open again as if pricked by a sharp thought. But just as my head got a little too bored with the idea of thinking and caved into total nothingness in the early hours of the morning I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Carrion.

'Wake up, Steven,' he said. 'They shouldn't find you here, but it's time you were gone.'

I lifted my head and glanced up. There was a small woman standing next to Carrion. Winnie, I assumed.

'Good morning, Steven,' she said in a light voice. She had a small round face lined with wrinkles and a friendly smile. 'Julius has told me all about you.'

I looked at Carrion, whose eyes were trying to tell me to go along with whatever it was that she said.

'He told you everything?' I asked her.

'Oh, yes,' she said, 'your father, what a rotten swine for doing that, and him a top consultant!'

Carrion felt the need to interrupt her. He winked at me. 'I was filling her in, about what you were telling me last night when I found you on the doorstep, about you going home and finding him in your mother's clothes.'

'It was a shock, I have to tell you,' I said, and meant it. The thought of my dad doing that was beyond belief. 'Dad's always been a man's man. He used to make sure I played rugby like he did so that I would be tough.'

'Your father? Doctor Markham? Are you sure?' Winnie looked puzzled. 'He likes low key pastimes. I've seen him knitting at the surgery. He likes Oprah.'

'You think you know someone...' I said.

Before she had a chance to smell a rat Carrion jumped in. 'I must have a word with you before you go, about what I think would be the right thing to do.'

'I think counselling,' said Winnie. 'The lad looks traumatised to me. Make sure that he gets proper help, Julius. He seems like such a nice boy.'

'You don't know what it's like to see the man who brought you up sitting on the sofa in bra and panties smoking a pink cigarette at eleven o'clock in the evening.' I said.

'Julius said he was in a black negligee,' said Winnie, 'and I have never seen your father smoke.'

'The boy's mind is addled with the shock,' said Carrion. He beckoned me to get off the sofa and follow him into another room. He took me into the conservatory, and parked me down on a wicker chair. Carrion took an AA map of southern Britain from a dishevelled mass on the shelf, opened it at the appropriate page and placed it carefully on a bamboo coffee table in front of us. 'Now,' he said, sounding something like an experienced battle strategist, 'there is some woodland not very far from here away from the traffic. There is a raised section here,' he pointed, 'where it may be possible to observe the land for miles. There are trees at this point, lots of them close together in a thick mass and I believe you would not be seen from the air. I strongly suggest that you stay there out of sight for a while.'

'They'll be sending choppers after me?'

'Oh, yes,' said Carrion knowingly. 'The people I work for at Brassicae Industries have all sorts of resources at their disposal, believe me. They will send the helicopter out if they suspect anything.'

While he was pointing I studied his hand again and the shrivelled skin resembling a burn scar. I remembered sitting in the back of the car, looking up at the lights which were on upstairs in the clinic when my father burned it down. Suddenly I sensed something dark and secretive in him. There was something he wasn't telling me, something involving a horrible death.

FORTY-SIX

I was very brazen and asked him straight out.

'Did you get them in the fire?' I said. 'My dad must have really hated you.'

'You have to take into account, that your father was not a well man towards the end,' he said. 'Don't get me wrong, I quite liked him to begin with. However, the more time you spent at the clinic, the more obsessed he was with getting you out of the place. I wanted you there. It was in your best interest. I wanted to get to the root of what was in your head, so that I could try to understand it. Your father kept telling me, that I wasn't interested in helping you. He insisted that I was only interested in marketing you as a freak, and winning an award for discovering you.'

'And now he's dead,' I said, 'I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me.'

'Please do,' said Carrion, 'but let's not talk all day. We have to get a move on.'

'Did Brassicae Industries kill my dad?'

'No, Steven! Of course they didn't. Brassicae had no interest in your father at all.'

'Did you kill him for them? Did you fix the brakes on his car so that he would crash? If he did that to you, surely you would want to get revenge.'

'Steven,' his hand touched my shoulder. I pulled away. 'Are you even listening to me? I haven't got a clue what you are going on about. I had no part in your father's death and neither did the company. I didn't even know he was dead until you told me. Is that how he died, in a car crash? I don't want to be hurtful, but people are killed in car accidents every day. Was he speeding? Was he tired? Did he have more to drink the night before, than he thought he had? I am sure his demise was purely coincidental, Steven. My part at Brassicae was a role based on industrial bullying. I had to work for the organisation. They are powerful people, Steven. They can produce files on you, that don't even exist. It was like holding a gun to my head.'

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable about hearing anyone call me Steven now. After all, that was my old name. Steven Tamwell died a long time ago. I was Leon now, Leon Black, black like the dark, like my heart.

I could feel the anger well up inside me. 'You still betrayed me, didn't you? And my dad.'

'I tried to help you, Steven,' he kept saying. 'Believe me, I cannot stress that enough.'

'My father was a good man,' I said. I wasn't quite sure about that, but I still felt the need to defend him. 'He wanted to save me from you.'

I wish now that I could have sensed the sincerity in his voice instead of giving in to paranoia. I wouldn't have done what I did next.

I shot to my feet. 'Stop calling me Steven,' I yelled. 'My name is Leon Black!'

The next part happened in a flash. I sent Carrion to the operating theatre back at the hospital. We were in his head. There was an operating table, a green cloth with holes in, an anaesthetist, a machine that made beeping noises that I couldn't quite fathom out, circular overhead theatre lights and monitors. There were four small, hairy, muscular men in scrubs wielding scalpels.

'I think that you ought to know,' I announced angrily, 'that none of these people know anything about surgery whatsoever. In fact, I can honestly say that they haven't even read The Idiot's Guide to Anatomy. Then that's because they're Neanderthals and don't have the ability to read.'

Carrion jerked about on the operating table. 'Please don't do it, Ste... Leon!'

'I don't want to kill you, Doctor Carrion,' I said, probably not very convincingly, 'but it doesn't mean I won't if I have to. I only want the truth. What are you hiding from me? Tell me why, all of a sudden, I feel I can't trust you or I'll let these imbeciles do some DIY on your intestines.'

'I tried to help you, Leon. Honestly.'

'So you keep saying, Carrion. Shut up! You're sounding like a broken record.'

I gave the wannabe surgeons the nod and they moved towards the table. The light spilled onto their faces, revealing their true ugliness. They all pulled down their masks and showed Carrion their mutated greenish-brown flesh, low foreheads, wide, squashed noses, hairy pustules, sores and their sharp carnivorous teeth. I don't know why they looked like this. Perhaps some part of my subconscious obviously thought it would be humorous to conjure up a little something from my own imaginary Stone Age. With no idea about where to cut first they were scrutinising Carrion with a lot of interest. I thought they were perhaps considering eating him just as he was. Some of them were holding the gleaming instruments up to the light where they seemed to be mesmerised by the reflections.

'Here!' I yelled. I indicated his abdomen. 'There! Cut this man here!'

At that one of them moved forward and stood hovering over Carrion waving his scalpel over his stomach. He grunted at the others and they also moved forward.

Carrion made a feeble attempt at pulling me towards him by my shirt and stared hard into my eyes.

'Leon, look at me! You are making a dreadful mistake. I took you away from that awful hospital because I wanted to keep you safe. I didn't want the military to take you. I want to cure you. I've never stopped looking for a cure, even after your father burnt my clinic down. I even made progress once, but with the fire I lost all my notes. I was on the verge of finding a way to reverse the growth and your father nearly destroyed any chance of me ever finding a cure.'

'Cure?' I erupted. 'Bull!'

'It's true,' said Carrion. 'I had just hit on a breakthrough when your father did this to me.' He showed me his burns again. 'The man's sheer ignorance destroyed your only hope, Leon. Another week and that growth of yours would have no longer have been a problem.'

'It's not a growth!' I yelled. 'It has a name, so show it some respect. It's called the Projector and I would choose your words very carefully if I were you.'

'Your parents must have said something about you being sick.'

'My mum did,' I said, 'but I got better and so she thought there was no point in worrying me about it.'

'But you're not better,' said Carrion. 'You are still very sick.'

'What?' I waved my arms in the air and the Neanderthals stepped back.

'Stop this and I will explain it all to you.'

'If I am still sick, then why do the military want me?'

'It's not you they want, it's the mental transmitter. They need it as quickly as possible. That is why they are so impatient. Remember what I said to you in the car about you being alive, not being necessary?'

'Keep talking!'

'I cannot talk like this, Leon. Please send me back into reality.'

'Not until I've heard the truth,' I demanded. 'What do you mean when you say that I am still sick?'

'If I tell you like this you will be even more cross,' said Carrion. His shirt was suddenly soaking.

'You will tell me now!' I waved my hand again and the surgeons were on the doctor again. They were hovering over him, holding their scalpels like primitive weapons, like chunks of flint, as if they were about to stab at a deer carcass.

'Please!!!' screamed Carrion. 'Get them off me!'

'Talk to me, Carrion! Why was Mortimer so keen to have me moved last night?'

'Please make them stop! Arrghh!'

'Stop cutting!' I cried and the surgeons, backed off again. This time I hoped for the last time. I wasn't enjoying this as much as Carrion was thinking I was. 'Now speak!'

'Ok,' Carrion began, 'but you must prepare yourself for a nasty shock. You must sit down.'

'OK!' I sat myself on the end of the operating table. 'How sick am I? I mean, can I be cured?'

'Leon,' said Carrion. 'There is a very good reason that it was I who was contacted by the military. I am the country's leading specialist in my field. I am...' Carrion paused and swallowed, 'a tumour specialist.'

'A what?' I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 'The Projector isn't a tumour, it's a device. A gift.'

'It is all of those things,' said Carrion. 'It gets worse. I am so sorry, Leon.'

I started shaking. 'No way! Tumours don't look like the Projector they aren't like footballs. They are malignant growths of dark tissue.'

'This one is different,' said Carrion. 'Things grow, evolve, mutate, Leon. Viruses do it all of the time in order to adapt and survive. What you call the Projector is a super-tumour.'

I stood up. I don't know why. I didn't know where I was going to go. 'Tell me the rest,' I said and braced myself for the worse.

'The others like you,' said Carrion, 'the ones in the United States, Asia and Italy...'

'What about them?'

'I am sure that it's not always been the case, but the tumours were harmless for sixteen years of the boys' lives. Then, just as the powers grew stronger at the end of the sixteenth year, they died. That was why Mortimer needed you so soon. Although it wouldn't have mattered if you had died, he needed to catch you so he could have the Projector removed whilst it was fresh and put in one of those containment boxes he got from America so he could sustain it.'

The next thing I knew we were back in Carrion's conservatory. A good few minutes elapsed before I felt his hand on my shoulder, still shaking.

'I am so sorry, Leon,' he said, 'so sorry.'

'Be honest,' I said in monotone robotic, 'is there any hope for me at all?'

'That is a question I would rather not answer,' said Carrion. 'If seventy-odd years of life have taught this old fool anything at all, then it is that whatever anybody tells you, you must search for that last glimmer of hope and cling onto it for dear life. When you don't have hope, you have nothing at all.'

'But I have no hope,' I said. 'My father burnt that away in the fire.'

Carrion sat down beside me. His voice was soft and fatherly. 'Perhaps there is some hope. Come on, we are not to be beaten. Neither Brassica or the AWF have found us yet.'

'I saw that on the guard's arm,' I said. 'What exactly does that stand for?'

'It stands for the Alternative Weapons Force,' replied Carrion. 'They are the people who want your head. They'll take it over my dead body.'

Like a total wimp I started to cry. Embarrassment was the furthest thing from my mind. Carrion gave me a hug. While I had been in the house earlier, I noticed the absence of photographs of offspring. Julius and Winnie hadn't got around to having any children of their own.

Winnie came running in from the kitchen. She'd heard me blubbing.

'Is the boy OK, Julius?'

'Yes,' he lied. 'He's still upset about his father. I'll talk to you later.'

'Terrible thing, it must be,' said Winnie, 'not knowing if you have a father and a mother or two mothers. When we were living in Poland there was this man. All of his life he was happy as a man. He worked hard in a timber yard all day. He drank beer all night in the pub. He could never keep his hands off the local girls. Then suddenly he disappeared. He returned a year later with boobs. Would you believe it? Boobs on a timber yard worker!'

Carrion frowned at his wife. She offered to make some tea by way of an apology. He told her there wasn't time. 'We have to get the boy on his way,' he said. 'It is the only way he can put the world to rights.'

Winnie went back into the house.

'Come on!' said Carrion. 'We're not beaten yet. There is a place we can go to. If we can get there without being found, then I believe there might be something there that can help you.'

'I thought I was a lost cause,' I said.

'There is always hope,' said Carrion.

'There is something I have to do first,' I said, 'one last task for the Projector.'

'You're the boss,' said Carrion still shaking a little. 'Tell me where you want to go and I'll take you.'

'There is somewhere you can take me,' I said, then adopting a sudden sarcastic tone added, 'I would like to check on an old friend.'

FORTY-SEVEN

For the sake of evading detection from questionable sources we took an indirect route which took longer, but kept us safe from prying eyes, not that we were completely undetectable, as Doctor Carrion was keen to inform me.

'How can they find us?' I said, wobbling about under the seatbelt in the passenger seat. We were traversing some of the most uneven country lanes in existence.

'This is a company car,' said Carrion.

I had asked for an explanation and he had given me one.

'Brassicae don't trust anyone,' he said over the engine noise, 'not even me.'

'Why not?'

'There are other organisations attempting to do exactly what we are doing. All the time they are looking for people with exceptional skills and they will stop at nothing to get them. That includes kidnap, threats against the lives of your family, anything. The company wants to know where you are all of the time. There is a tracker under my rear bumper. If they get suspicious then they can find us. If the chopper picks us up, then they can be with us in twenty minutes or so.'

'How will you get out of this?'

'I don't know,' said Carrion. 'The only thing we can do is stay away from the motorway, get into the country and try and keep the trees over our heads so they can't see us. I don't know if that would work, but it's the only plan I have at the moment. I don't think they'll activate the tracker until they realise I've not come in for the meeting with Mortimer.'

'Where is this place we are going to?'

'It's not that far,' said Carrion. 'It's a research station about five miles from here. '

'What's there that might help me?'

'One of those containment units I told you about,' said Carrion.

'How is a box going to help me?'

Carrion opened up the glove compartment and pulled something out. I am sure you will never forget what this is.'

'That awful inhibitor!'

'It's strange how things come to you when you're scared out of your wits. When we were in the operating theatre I was wondering if there was a way to link this to the containment box. It might be a way of keeping you alive.'

'How would it work? Could you do it?'

'It must be possible,' said Carrion. 'If I can link the containment box, via the inhibitor, to your brain it should keep you alive'.

'Then there is hope,' I smiled and planted myself deeper into the plush leather seat.

Carrion shrugged. 'Well, you never know,' he said.

'Fingers crossed then.'

'In the meantime the only thing we need to worry about is whether they get suspicious and turn the tracker on. The helicopter would soon find us.'

And sure enough one appeared in the sky. A distant hum at first and then, glancing through the sunroof, I saw a dark shape shadowing our route. We were both overcome with an intense feeling of dread at exactly the same time. I thought that was a very bad sign.

'There is no way of getting out of this now,' Carrion said. 'They will spot us in seconds.' A red LED light on the dashboard began flashing.

'What's that about?'

'The tracker has activated itself,' said Carrion, 'or, to be more specific, the guys in the chopper have turned it on.'

'Is there any way of turning it off?'

'The company isn't stupid, Leon. The tracking system has been embedded in the bumper. It is a tiny little pinprick smaller than a microdot, and even if you could get down to it, you would never see it. What was I thinking? Why didn't I use my wife's car?'

'Why didn't you?' I asked.

'My head was numb with that thing you did and I couldn't think straight,' said Carrion. 'I was on autopilot and got into this one through force of habit, I suppose.'

A speaker in the car also activated itself.

'Carrion, you have not had travel clearance, turn back immediately!'

'I know that,' replied Carrion. 'I'm sorry. My head thought I had filled in the appropriate documentation. What can I say? I haven't been thinking straight, too many late nights.'

'Where are you going, Doctor Carrion?'

'I am still searching for the boy,' said Carrion. 'I have been in contact with the boy's step-father, and he said that he has contacted him. I am on my way down to the house now.'

'Why didn't you inform the company?'

'The last thing I am going to do is tell you and let you go thundering in with your rumbling helicopters. I thought it would be a much better plan for me to go in quietly, slip an inhibitor on his head, give him a sleeping drug and have him back at the hospital without any fuss.'

'Who is that in the car with you?'

'My nephew Ralph!' said Carrion. 'Winnie wanted me to drop him off at her sister's house in Barton. I had no choice. She would have been suspicious if I had said no.'

There was an irritatingly long pause.

'We should get to a motorway or an A road as soon as possible,' I said. 'They can't fire on us or they would risk hitting innocent people.'

'Really?' said Carrion. 'And who told you that? If my people realise I've got you in the car they would take out a hundred people, a thousand people, any number, as long as they got you.'

I didn't understand. 'Why would they kill me? They need me alive long enough to take the Projector.'

'Think about it, Leon,' said Carrion. 'For all we know they think somebody else has made me a better offer for you and I am on my way to them. My people are very suspicious, to the point of paranoia at times and they will destroy the merchandise to stop anyone else getting their hands on it. They would kill me in a nanosecond if they thought another company was going to get the benefit of my knowledge.'

It wasn't looking good. He told me that there was absolutely no way they were going to swallow the nephew story. It was nothing more than a delay tactic. He also informed me that the nearest A road was four and a half miles in front of us. Carrion said the gunner on the chopper was probably awaiting instructions from base, about whether to open fire or not. We had our answer another minute later. A volley of shots hit the back of the car and we swerved, narrowly missing the embankment. We came to a section of the lane covered by trees.

'Stop here!' I said. I couldn't explain it. I had a feeling I had to do something.

'Why?' said Carrion. 'They can still detect us and they have all manner of horrible weaponry on board.'

The car stopped, I unhooked my seatbelt and opened the door. 'Wait here!'

'No, Leon,' said Carrion, 'they will kill you.'

'I'm going to die anyway,' I said, stating the obvious, 'if we can't get to that box. We stand a better chance if I can take out the helicopter pilot. I'll come back, I promise.'

'What do you plan to do?'

'I'm going to pretend to give myself up,' I said. 'I'll say you panicked and dropped me off.'

'What if they've already made their minds up to eliminate you?'

I was trying not to think of that one to be honest. I had already decided that they wouldn't be able to get near me and that my powers were too strong and hopefully too quick for them.

My only hope was if they needed to call back and ask for renewed instructions. That would buy me the time I needed, I hoped.

Crouching like a predator I left the car, not realising that we had stopped by a stream. My left foot was soaked in cold water and mud. I paddled through the icy water and looked for a gap in the hedge. There was a large open field on the other side. I figured they could either pick me off like a wild rabbit or take the time to notice that I was waving my arms at them.

With my right arm still in a sling I hoped that I could make myself clear. If ever there was a situation where someone was most vulnerable then this was it. In seconds the chopper turned around in the air having picked me up on the heat seeker. With my healthy arm I made wide arcs in the air. To add credence to my apparent act of surrender I dropped onto my knees. I hoped that if they saw that they would think that I was too weak to do anything. I even wobbled on the way down to make it look like I had been maimed by one of the bullets which hit the car.

As I suspected there was a delay of action. There was a crackling sound, and the voice which had spoken in the vehicle, was now speaking through a loudspeaker, housed on the nose of the chopper.

'You, there! Don't move!'

I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. The chopper hung in the air, swinging gently from side to side, as if it was dancing. I focused my mind hard on the pilot. This wasn't easy, as usually I needed to see a person's face before the imagination process could be started. I pictured a flight suit, a helmet with a standard visor and hoped for the best. I envisioned a zoo, with animal enclosures, shrieking birds in cages and a reptile house. I took the pilot into the dim, moist interior of the reptile house and placed him in a tank filled with venomous snakes. Cobras, adders and black mambas writhed around him. I saw his face as white as chalk, shocked.

'What the..?' He could barely gasp, his rib cage caught in a vice of fear. He realised what had happened and threw his back against the glass. He tried desperately to get away from them. Snakes were his biggest fear. I had detected that the minute I had entered his head. He folded his body into a ball. He was trembling, hoping that someone would see him soon and save him. For a brief moment I felt guilty about it and then I recalled what he was about to do to me. The strong survive - the weak go to the wall.

Outside the tank, nobody even noticed that he was there. A small girl about four years old pointed at the Diamond Head Rattler looped and coiled under a branch. None of it was real. It was all just my imagination.

The Diamond Head Rattler lashed out, catching the pilot in the leg. He screamed. He was done for. Another, the King Cobra, arched its body and sank its venomous fangs into his thigh.

All the time that this was happening, the chopper was sweeping back and forth, erratically jerking and bolting, as if someone on board was trying to regain control. Black smoke billowed from the engine, spitting ebony clouds over the treetops. Haphazardly the guns sprayed the air with bullets which cut into the river on the other side of the field where it sent spurts of water into the air. There was a squeal from a woman walking her Golden Labrador who, seeing the commotion had dived into the trees for safety.

Eventually the chopper hit the ground, the huge rotors chopping into the earth as it circled the field on its side, vomiting fuel. There was an explosion and I threw myself onto the ground as hot metal and flames flew over my head.

When it was finally over I stood up and started walking back to the car. Something hot ripped into my shoulder. I didn't feel the pain straight away, only the heat. Typical, I thought. I didn't quite get away with it then, did I? I turned around and saw a man with a pistol, an automatic. I looked down at the sticky red mess on my chest and felt cold. Another bullet hit me, this time in the back of the leg. I winced in pain this time. For some reason I found myself laughing. It's funny how your mind works that way. You don't always feel the pain, until you see that it is pain. I hit the ground again, in order to use the long grass as cover. I figured Julius Carrion was already dead. The assassin must have followed us by car and would have picked Carrion off as the chopper was coming for me. My would-be killer decided to join me in the field. I was too weak to move now. I had only one choice and that was to die.

So I lay there playing dead. I was on my belly with my right cheek on the ground and I felt his shadow fall across my face. The gunman knelt on the ground beside me and grabbed my wrist. With two fingers he felt for my pulse. I lay as still as I possibly could and thought about death, nothing but death, coldness and death. Tired and weak and in severe pain my mind sent him images of myself cold and dead and he walked away. He had fallen for it.

For a moment I thought I actually had died. I felt as good as dead. The blackness came that comes with death and for a while I was convinced it was the nothingness that comes before the afterlife.

Then there was light and another bloody hospital bed. It was different this time. It smelt like a proper ward. My eyes opened, although it didn't appear to make that much difference. All around was hazy. I glanced at my arm on the pillow. It was as white as milk. Obviously I had lost an awful lot of blood.

My eyes managed to focus themselves and fell on a nurse with dark brown hair who suddenly leant over me. I tried to speak, only to find that it was practically impossible.

'Don't try to say anything,' she said. 'You need all of your strength to get better. You are in St. Jerome's General, Loncaster.' The city must have had two hospitals.

She wouldn't have known I had a tumour. She didn't know there was no way I was going to get better. I wanted to tell her, but I couldn't get the energy to my lips.

'In case you were wondering how you ended up here,' she said, her voice reminding me of honey, 'you were found in a farmer's field about five miles from here. An elderly couple found you and called the emergency services. It's a good thing, modern technology. The woman was eighty if she was a day and still she had a mobile phone. Could you imagine that?'

I imagined more than that. I imagined them getting to me before the bad guys from Brassicae got a chance to. They must have been the fastest pensioners in the west. How could they possibly have done that?

And then she filled what was left of my head, with the strangest of feelings. She told me I had visitors.

FORTY-EIGHT

Visitors? Who would know I was here? Wherever on the planet was St. Jerome's? I rolled my head on the pillow so that it was facing the doorway and waited. There were people noises outside my room, proper people noises, doors opening and closing, the sharing of jokes at the bedside, anxious voices, buzzers and squeaky trolley wheels. I knew I was in a real hospital this time.

'Who?' I finally managed to spit out a syllable. The sensation was returning to my lips.

'A young man and a young woman,' said the nurse. I squinted at the name badge on her chest. 'Marlin, like the fish.' She began tucking in the linen around me as if to make me more presentable or to show that the hospital had standards that needed to be maintained.

'Who?' I said again, a little stronger this time.

'Some friends of yours, Leon,' said Nurse Marlin. 'It's just as well, because all we knew about you was your name. Leon Black, isn't it?'

I nodded weakly on the pillow, half-expecting my pounding head to roll onto the floor.

'You gave your name to the couple who found you about a minute before you passed out. I've checked with Doctor Singh and you're fit enough for visitors now. He says it'll be fine as long as you don't get too stressed.'

I touched the parts of my chest where the bullets hit me. 'Are they the police?'

'The police have been and gone,' said Nurse Marlin. For the first time I noticed her accent. Broad Geordie. You could sense the iron girders in her words. 'You certainly weren't up to seeing anybody then. You were as weak as a kitten. Leon, you'd lost a lot of blood. It was very lucky, that couple found you.'

'Lucky,' I said like an echo.

I didn't have any idea whether it was a good idea or not to see these people. For all I knew they were agents from Carrion's weird organisation which, on hearing that I was alive, had sent them to finish the job. The best reassurance I could give myself was to call Nurse Marlin to my bedside and quietly ask her whether she had a mobile phone. She raised her eyebrows at this suggestion. I had to explain that I might need her to call the police and wanted to know she'd be ready. Not surprisingly, this puzzled her.

'Do I need to call security?' she said. I told her it was OK and it probably wouldn't be necessary. It was a precautionary measure in case things went pear shaped with the visitors. I saw her body language change drastically. Her shoulders tensed, as if she wasn't all that comfortable with what might happen. At the door, she cast me a suspicious glance.

'It's fine,' I said, 'don't worry. I've been shot by a lunatic. I'm bound to be a bit paranoid.'

She broke her face with a grin. 'Of course you are,' she said. 'Oh,' she added, remembering something. 'The girl wants you to close your eyes. Are you alright with that?'

'Girl?' I said. 'Yes, OK.' If I was honest with myself, I was a little uncomfortable about the idea.

The trauma of the shooting and loss of blood had left me weak and confused. Hazy thoughts wandered aimlessly around inside my head. It was hard for me to concentrate. This meant that momentarily my guard would be down and I would be vulnerable to attack.

Nurse Marlin opened the door just enough to slip through. I heard voices coming from the corridor, but the muttering was too subdued for me to hear anything clearly. My whole body was sore and uncomfortable. I was painfully aware of each ache and throb as I kept true to my word, and lay suspended in a world of semi darkness, with my eyes closed. The penetrating sunlight tried to force itself through my eyelids and sounds became louder. Until then I would have sworn that the door hinges didn't make a sound, but suddenly they squawked like startled parakeets. Stiletto heels clicked rhythmically on hard flooring. I knew merely by listening that the person heading towards my bed was trying to tread lightly. She was trying to sneak up on me. I could feel her body, fanning the air as she moved. She was unaccompanied. Only one pair of feet, unless the man with her was putting his foot down at exactly the moment that hers hit the ground. That was ridiculous. My head was tired and I was speculating.

'Can I open them yet?' I said, although what I actually wanted to say was, 'Who the hell is this exactly?'

'That would be nice.' I let my eyes snap open as if they had been made of elastic and had the surprise of my life. It was Cally.

'Cally, how did...?'

'I had to come,' she said, her voice shaking. Her hair was exactly the same as it was the day we met. It was tied in a tight plait down her back and she had on the exact same beret. What happened, Leon? How are you feeling?'

It was a long story, which I couldn't have told her there and then, so I told Cally a little about what I remembered of the day I was shot. What I wanted to know was how she had found me.

'It was weird,' she said. 'You know that couple who phoned the ambulance, the old couple? They're only neighbours of mine. I was nipping out for some bread when I saw 'em pulling up with the caravan. I asked 'em where they'd been, and they said "Hospital". I told 'em that was a funny place for a holiday and then they told me about this boy they'd found, a certain Leon Black. So here I am, talking to you.'

'So this hospital is close to where you're living, then?'

'Down the road,' said Cally, and I liked her voice now. I am one of these people who don't like leaving things in a bad place. We'd parted on bad terms. I recalled her saying that she didn't want to see me again and it had left me with a sour feeling in my stomach. For a while I let her do all of the talking, even though I had approximately one million and six questions to ask her. Did you ever manage to get away from all the bad people in your life? Are you living or are you only surviving? Are you with your family? I also wanted to tell her I had a terminal tumour in my head and was a hopeless case, within spitting distance of dying.

For the fear of the answers, she refrained from asking me if I had killed anybody else since we parted. Yes, she was feeling much better these days. She was on a programme to help her kick her drug habit. Yes, she had made a conscious effort to get off her backside and get a proper job. She was a real tax payer now, working on the tills at Tesco's. There was pride in her voice when the words came out. She was in contact with the parents she never used to talk about. They don't see the uncle. He'd been in and out of prison and gone from view. She has a cat now, a stray tabby, which she calls Miss Muffet and it eats her out of house and home and it is very, very shy around strangers.

All of the time she was speaking, I wasn't conscious at all of words going into my brain. They got there all by themselves. I only heard the music in her voice. I was glad that it was a nice tune and that for the final moments of my life we were going to be friends again. She apologised about us parting on bad terms. She knew now that I was only trying to do the right thing. There had been a post mortem on Roger and the police weren't suspicious about the death of the dealer.

Then, it was time for the bombshell. Another bullet ripped into my chest. Not one of hot steel, but of words. She had met someone. It was the person who had given her a lift to the hospital. She was dying to tell me about him. It was important for me to know about him. I knew she didn't want me to get upset about it. That was why she made sure he waited outside. I attempted to convince myself that I didn't care that she was seeing someone, just as long as he was being nice to her.

'He's called Chris,' she said, flicking her eyes upwards as if to sign his name with an artistic flourish.

'Chris?' I said.

'Yeah, Chris Elton. Cally Ember and Chris Elton, Chris and Cally,' she giggled. 'Of all the people to meet it had to be someone with the same bloody initials. We must sound like a comedy double act.'

'At least he's not a weirdo, eh?'

Cally smiled. 'Do you want to meet him?'

'If I have to,' I said, attempting to hide a sudden bout of selfishness and jealousy.

'Right!' She went to the door, literally dancing. She opened it slightly and beckoned her new beau in through the gap. 'Introducing...'

My heart began to sink. I was about to be introduced to my replacement.

'...Chris!'

My eyes couldn't leave the doorway. I was completely mesmerised. This Chris, whoever he was, whatever he was, had a strong influence on her life. This mystery person appeared to have changed things for the good, so I felt I at least owed it to her to pretend to be pleased. The next few moments were in slow motion, as if someone had pressed the step forward button on the great remote control in the sky. In only half interest my eyes slipped to the floor and I saw the man's feet first. He was wearing trainers, white ones with designer green felt stripes going down the sides and famous name denims. He was also wearing a dark blue hoodie jacket, with the hood up like a cool rapper type. He walked into the room at the rate of a metre per hour. This was the way my head was reading his movement at least, in slow motion playback.

With each foot step he moved from side to side flippantly and rebelliously, as if he was about to produce a defiant single finger up to the world. By then he was at my side. He pulled his hood back with one little flick of his wrist and I saw his face. My heart stopped dead. It was Carl Harper.

FORTY-NINE

Carl winked at me knowingly. 'Hi, Leon,' he said snidely. 'Cally's told me a lot about you.' He held out a hand. I gave it a frown.

I felt a surge of sharp pain in the back of my head. As if the Projector, feeling redundant, was kicking my skull from the inside. 'Ch-ris?'

'That's right,' he said. 'Cally has told me so much about you. In fact, I feel as if I almost know you as well as she does.'

I tried hard to tell her, first with my startled eyes and then with words. 'Car...' They wouldn't come out. They were frozen in my mouth.

Carl pulled Cally around so that she had her back to me and he could glare at me from over her shoulders. As if to rub salt into the wound a little further, he put his arm around her and pecked her on the neck like psycho vampire. He suggested that it would be nice if she went down to the machine and got us all a nice Latte. He was paying. It would give us both a little time to get acquainted.

'No!' I tried to say. With the Projector out of action I was like a gunfighter whose guns had been thrown down a mineshaft or a musketeer whose foil was encased behind six inches of hardened glass. Carl Harper had that look in his eye, the one he had when he revealed the rabbit's head, the same one he had when he taunted me about my mother. I cursed myself, almost hated myself, for not wiping him off the face of the earth then. The power of the Projector was new then, raw, with unharnessed energy, not dying like me. Back then it contained all of the teenage angst of my geeky soul.

Carl leaned over me. 'Now we're alone,' he whispered in my face. 'Go on, do that mind trick! I dare you!'

'You think I don't want to?'

A filthy grin spread across his face. 'You've lost it, haven't you?'

I wasn't going to admit it. 'What do you want, Carl? How did you find Cally?'

'I've always wanted to go to Loncaster, nature boy.' He was almost dripping blood with each word now. 'It's such a big place, you can get lost down here. Nobody has the slightest hope of finding you if nobody knows you, but you know what?'

I humoured him. 'What?'

'Do you believe in destiny, Leon? I do, because destiny can sometimes wake you up when you're daydreaming and take you in the right direction.'

I said, 'What are you banging on about, Carl?'

'I was talking to this chap.' Carl reached up and flicked my drip bag with his forefinger. 'In the subway. He said he was talking to you. I knew it was you. He described you to a tee. Your scruffy, geeky clothes, your false posh voice, your I-know-better-than-you words. Everything. He gave me one of his cards.'

'Have you been following me?'

'Ah,' he said with a finger in the air. I had been stalling for time. I had figured Cally would be back with the coffees quite soon and she would catch him leaning over me like Jack the Ripper.

'Ah what?'

He told me he had seen me coming out of the zoo with Cally and had been hanging around Matthew and Dorothy's house for the days I was there, listening in on conversations, hearing mention of the latest boy for the religious maniacs and looking for signs of where I was going to go next. He must have been pissing himself with laughter at the thought of me being locked away with the nappy-wearing nutters of Mantoomi. Carl had been intent on destroying the good parts my life with his emotional sledgehammer. I hated the idea of him following me around. He would go to any extent to find something I loved like Cally and dangle her in front of me as his own possession. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had thought about pimping her out like Roger did.

I cast a sneaky glance back to the door.

He told me that he had to find me, because he couldn't let things go after what I had done. What I had done? What about what he did? He was responsible for my mother's cold blooded murder. Carl said there was the matter of the relationship between him and his father. Until mum and I arrived, Carl thought their lives had been complete. They played football together, fished, went to watch motorcycle racing at Silverstone and even went lamping. One dark and dismal afternoon of the soul his father met my mother and then the whole of his life, his future happiness started spiralling down into the abyss. The final insult, the final slap in the face, was the day that my mother turned up with me. Tony then had her on tap 24/7. With her around to cook and clean up after him there was no need to be around the house so much and he took to going to the pub every night after work. Stuff my poor mother, who never had any time for herself after my dad's death. We had to go. First my mother, who was never going to leave of her own free will, and then me. Carl decided to kill my mother to get her off the scene and take away the need for me to be there. He'd had the damned cheek to blame his evil ways on the lack of attention from his own dad.

Cally was taking ages. I wondered if the machine had depleted its supplies and she had gone to find the canteen instead. I tried to shut his words out. They didn't mean anything after all. They were nothing more than dead notes that somehow pleased his ears. I tried instead to picture that fearful globule in my skull, as if to attempt to free it. There were times in the past where it acted free of my thoughts. Carl droned on and on like a wasp trapped in a jar for ages. He'd left while we were at mum's funeral, but told me he had gone back to see his dad and to start things over afresh, only to find he wasn't wanted. There was a blazing row and fists flew. Tony came off worse. Carl stopped talking. I looked up to see why. He was holding a revolver.

'This. I shut him up with this,' he said. I shuffled back in the bed. 'I got this in Loncaster. Cost bugger all. Like it?'

I laughed nervously at the irony. There I was inches away from death's door and there he was waving a gun in my face.

'The Projector is dying,' I said, 'and when it dies, it's going to kill me, too. It's a tumour Carl. It's been killing me for ages now and I never even knew it. Putting another bullet in me isn't going to make any difference. You've won, Carl. I'm finished.'

Carl's face dropped. 'You're shitting me!' There was a degree of disappointment in his words. I could tell why. It was because my natural illness was about to deprive him of the pleasure of doing the job himself. 'No,' he added, 'not yet it's not.'

That was when Cally finally returned. 'I thought that was going to take forever,' she said. 'The one at the end of the corridor was down so...' She stared at us, frozen, and the polystyrene cups dropped to the floor. Hot brown liquid, was vomited over the lino. Cally was an ice statue, the colour drained from her face.

'Your boyfriend has been lying to you,' I told her. 'He's not called Chris. His name is Carl Harper.'

It took a few seconds for her face to register recognition. 'Carl Harper?' she squealed. 'The one you were telling me about?'

'Been talking about me have you, Leon?' said Carl, waving the barrel towards my nose. 'I am flattered.' He turned to Cally. 'I bet the freak hasn't told you about himself, though, has he? Leon has an interesting party piece. Did you know he can put things in your head?'

'Chris, put the gun down, mate, we'll have a talk.'

Carl was agitated now. I wondered if all the horrible things he had done in the past had come back to haunt him and somehow he blamed me for it all. It was what I was getting. That was the kind of person he was. Nothing was ever his fault, no matter what he did. The sweat on him was all down to me and I was going to pay for it. Not that it mattered anymore.

Carl told Cally to close the curtains, not to do anything stupid and to drag something against the door. We watched her struggling with the wood effect bedside cabinet. A vase wobbled and spilt, spitting out a flower and some water before regaining its posture with dignity. Impatiently, Carl dragged a visitor's chair from beside my bed and placed it expertly under the door handle.

I thought about Projector lost in the darkest corners of my cerebellum and attempted to call it with thoughts. It was stirring like a drunken Kraken, boiling with anger, but without the strength to fight.

It called my name weakly, distantly. It was not the creature of hate that I had come to know. I wondered how it was going to die and how it was going to kill me. Was it going to explode? Was it going to take my head with it? Was it going to take Carl's head with it, which would at least be amusing if not ironic? It gave me little pleasure to remind Carl I was dying and to remind him that it wouldn't be his doing. I knew that that would get to him.

He grabbed my chin with his spare hand. I felt a spurt of pain in my chest. 'You're lying!'

'No, I'm not,' I said. 'The Projector has beaten you to it. I'm already beginning to feel cold. Look at my skin. It's getting pale. I'm dying, so shooting me will only get you into more trouble. Why don't you get away while you still can?'

Carl shook his head frantically. 'Oh, no,' he ranted. 'Your death WILL be my doing.' Then he foolishly told me to get out of bed. Outside the room things were stirring. You can't make all this noise in a small room without being found out sooner or later.

Knuckles rapped the door, and another hand tried the handle. 'What's going on in there? Open the door or I will inform security!' The voice was Nurse Marlin's.

'Right!' said Carl. 'There's no going back now. Get out of that bed!'

His idea was this. St. Jerome's was one of those between-the-wars, buildings with wrought iron fire escapes running down the outside. Carl was never the brightest star in the galaxy. His eyesight was good, though. He had spotted that behind my bed, hidden by faded curtains, was a narrow set of glass doors leading out onto one.

'You can't be serious, Chris!' said Cally. 'Leon can't go anywhere. He's on a drip.'

'I'm the one with the gun,' Carl reminded us, 'so I say you pull that thing out.'

'Carl,' I pleaded pathetically, breathlessly, 'if you're going to kill me, kill me. I don't care anymore. I haven't got long and it's going to get painful.'

Right on cue I had a sharp pain in my head. Whatever I'd been given for my painful wounds, obviously wasn't working for my head. Carl wasn't the slightest bit remorseful when he ripped the plaster from my arm, and yanked the cannula out. Blood trickled down my arm. Cally asked if she could put something against it. There was care in her eyes still and that warmed me a little in my discomfort.

There was hammering at the door now and voices. Carl grunted back, telling them he was armed. That was stupid. Now there were going to be police all over the place.

'All right!' said Nurse Marlin. 'We get it. Keep calm and tell us what you want.'

With the gun pointed at Cally's cheek, Carl opened the fire escape door and stood back. 'Get him off the bed and out there!' he yelled at her. He didn't try to keep the noise down. It didn't matter now. They knew he was there.

It wasn't really the time or the place to admit it to myself, but I actually found the breeze coming into the room quite refreshing. A blanket was placed around my shoulders and I was guided outside with Cally's assistance. She began to descend into the car park, where the hospital security guards had gathered with dogs.

'No!' cried Carl. 'Go up!'

The boy didn't know what he was doing. By his actions I would have gathered that he had learned them from American cop shows on TV. Those programmes aren't that realistic. Anyone else would have put a bullet in my head and made a run for it. In the perfect situation, I would have made him die a million times the way I had always envisaged.

I could hear the sea. As we climbed the metal steps I asked Cally if the coast was anywhere near. She whispered in my ear, cautiously reminding me, that we were in Loncaster, and even if it had been the river I had bloody good hearing. It was the sea in my head. Cally was having a hard time carrying me. I was a dead weight now and although I tried to do my bit, ascending the steps was extremely difficult.

We finally made it to the top and in an odd way I was very proud of her for finding the strength that I didn't have. Carl smashed a window on the top floor, pulled the latch down and fed us into the room. He kept reminding us that he had something in his hand that could cause severe damage to our heads. The room was an empty office. Once inside Carl began looking up at the ceiling. I understood his plan now. He was heading for the roof. I realised that he was going to kill Cally, too. I knew the way Carl's mind worked. When he had his prey in his grasp he was like a cat. He liked to toy with it and torment it until its death. He was going to get us away from all of the fuss. My guess was that he was going to shoot her in front of me for the sake of watching me suffer even more.

Carl looked around warily, making sure he had found a place where he would have some undisturbed minutes with us. Cally groaned under my weight. I was making a poor effort at putting some of it onto my feet. Now I felt colder, my head was wracked with pain and so was my chest. I cried out.

'Shut it, freako!' Carl growled.

'He can't help it,' said Cally. 'He needs more pain killers. There's nothing stopping him from feeling it now.'

'Good!' said Carl. He had two reasons for saying this. One was because I had nothing to hold back the pain and the second reason was because he had found the stairs leading to the roof. 'In there!' He jabbed Cally hard in the shoulder with the revolver and pushed her through another door onto a landing and more flights of stairs.

Slowly and without interference we made our way to the top of the hospital and out onto the flat roof. To our right dirty grey slates ascended a few more feet. This was much too steep to even try to climb. To our left was a narrow ridge with a low hand rail and behind that the guttering.

'What now?' Cally asked him. 'We can't go anywhere. There's nowhere to go.' She was shaking. I was so close I could feel how much. I whispered in her ear. I told her that she must put me down so that she wouldn't injure herself. Reluctantly and helplessly she obliged.

Carl held his arm outright, so that the gun was directly in line with Cally's heart.

'W-w-what are you... going...?' I murmured under my ailing breath.

'To do?' said Carl. 'Guess.'

Now there was a real crowd gathered below us. I was losing strength fast. My arm dropped over the side, my weight shifted and for a moment I thought I was going to join them down in the car park.

God, did Carl like the sound of his own voice and I was in no state to register his poisonous words. All I could think about, through the effects of the atomic bomb that had now gone off inside my head, was Cally. I could have easily acquiesced and let that monster do anything to me now. I hadn't the energy to fight for myself, but seeing the look on Cally's face, watching her shiver in fear, listening to her pleading for her life was all that I could focus on.

My dying eyes followed the barrel of the revolver, shutting out absolutely everything else in the world. I followed it to her quivering breast and then her anxious throat and then to her eyes. Her eyes were completely tear-washed. I could never stand to see her cry. This was much too painful, even more painful than my own suffering.

I somehow managed to roll onto my side. 'Carl,' I said, 'you always were a coward, weren't you?'

'Piss off, weirdo,' he said. 'You're dead anyway. What do I care what you think?'

I surprised myself again. I thought about the Projector, only this time I could see it more clearly.

'Leon!' It was calling out to me. 'Kill.'

Carl turned to me, grinning inanely, as he very slowly squeezed the trigger, sending me a message of hate.

Leon. Kill.

My head was going to explode, or at least it felt as if it was going to, and it was hard to comprehend the meaning of even my own thoughts. I tried.

'Hey, Leon,' said Carl, 'I'm going to waste your girlfriend. Now let's see your party piece.'

I tried to conjure up something in my head, but there was nothing, just nothing, just me, just Carl, just Cally, and this madness. Just the real world and I could have done without that right now.

I collapsed with the stress of it all. This satisfied Carl greatly. I heard the sirens below, the screeching tyres and slamming doors. None of this did anything to sway Carl from what he wanted to do. I felt different now, peaceful. The sound of the sea was stronger and I was beginning to warm up a little. I was beginning to feel as if I wasn't quite in the same place. My mind was lighter and stress free. I felt I was about to leave this life.

I could see the Projector much more clearly. I had been given the parting gift of the ability to imagine things again. There was the sound of broken glass inside my head and the Projector was free.

I smiled. 'Hey, Carl!' I said.

'What?'

'Look behind you!'

Carl did, though not taking the gun off Cally for a second.

When Carl turned around the sky was on fire. The cirrus clouds that had been there a moment ago were now aflame.

'Is that supposed to scare me, freakazoid?'

'No,' I said. 'Just wait!'

I concentrated again and each of the clouds split into several parts. Each one transformed itself into a humanoid shape and drifted down from the sky until Carl was surrounded by fiery figures with horns, tails and wings.

'Meet the fire demons,' I said.

'What the hell is going on?' cried Cally. 'I can't see anything!'

But Carl could and that was all that mattered.

'They're not here,' he cried. 'This is not happening!'

Yet his skin was blistering with the heat they were giving off and there was deadly panic in his eyes. 'Make them go away!' he begged. 'Please!'

'I can't', I said weakly. 'It's too late now. I haven't got the strength to imagine them away.'

Then I watched my newly created fire demons as they grabbed Carl by his arms, his legs and his throat and in his mind flew his pathetic body up into the sky. In reality, gravity got the better of him and he lost his footing. I watched him scream with the agony of a mixture of emotions as he plummeted to his impending violent death.

Cally got herself into a crouched position. She grabbed my hand. She knew I was slipping away. The last thing I ever heard on earth was her voice and I was very happy with that. I slipped into the warmth and compassion of the voice with a smile on my face.

Suddenly my head hit something hard and everything went black.

FIFTY

Now I wait on the beach for my father to take me with him, to wherever it is I am supposed to go. The sparkling blue sea creeps along the beach softly, so not to cause any offence to the sand. Everything is quiet. The sound has been turned down on the remote, and there is no other creature there apart from me. The calming sun soothes my skin, melting away any tension. My head forbids me from having bad thoughts and there is a complete sense of cleansing. There is freedom from pain and tension and blackness and struggle. My body is fixed, and there is no sign that I have ever been broken. I know that the Projector has gone. It is paradise and I am free of everything. It isn't forever, though. This is only temporary. It is a waiting room for a great calling. Now it all makes sense somehow. This was the place where my father met me in my head and now I know why. This is a death place and there were times in my life where, because of the tumour, life and death touched.

I step cautiously into the water, to feel the tingling sensation for one last time before I am erased forever. There is no guarantee I will exist in any shape or form. A ghostly figure in white appears on the horizon. I am going to be taken for judgement. As it nears I see that it isn't a man at all. A woman? An angel?

The angel waves at me, and I wave back with the widest of smiles. Angels don't have wings in this place. They are little more than ghosts. My heart smiles, too. It isn't an angel at all. It is my mother and she is happy to see me. It is her, yet it isn't her. It is her face, her body, only she is perfect. She was never this happy in life.

'I'm glad it's you,' I say. She ruffles my hair and runs her finger down my cheek to wipe a tear that appeared without me noticing. 'Dad is always cross when I see him here.'

'I know,' she replies. 'It is easier to change here and still he refuses to try.'

We sit on the beach together, arms linked together like we did when I was small. I tell her I've missed her and then I apologise for letting her down, taking the dark road and not following my dream to become a naturalist. Rubbing her eyes, she tells me its fine, but I know it isn't. I can tell by the notes in her voice that I have ruined everything. Quite possibly I will never see her or father again.

Fearing answers from questions we stay there, staring out to sea for a whole hour. There is nothing to see but water, sky and clouds. It is human instinct to look anyway.

I dare a question. I am a naturalist and instinctively have to ask. 'What is going to happen to me now, mum?'

She turns my attention to the end of the beach and there it is. The Projector. I hadn't realised that I still had a choice. Suddenly I am there, balancing tentatively on the cusp of life and death and I am stuck in a paradox.

I stand up and see mum walking away. To my right there is an uncontrollable ability to cause death. To my left there is my mother. I know if I go with her it is all over. If I return, then what?

My mother strolls away without a backward glance. Her arms swing lazily as she walks. I know she is happy. She unleashes words at me from her personal arsenal and fires it in my direction as if it is a missile made entirely of flowers.

'It's time!'

