Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (24 page)

Maybe
she will go, then everything will be all right. Gage doesn't know
what he's talking about. Not everything is down to fate. We make our
own fate.

“
I
wish things were different and life was better for you.” That's
all she can manage before she grits her teeth through pain.

Now
he has given her the leaflet, he holds the belief the chance of her
calling the women's refuge is better. He knows it is not that easy,
but it's a start.

A
start to getting us out this mess.

Bobby
considers trying to sell the place to her like an adult trying to get
their parents to move into a care home. He thinks about naming a list
of all his father's betrayals, but it isn't like she isn't already
aware. After all, she has been on the receiving end of most.

He
considers begging, pleading, crying, or forcing her to go and now.
But when he looks at the shell of a once vibrant woman, deep down he
knows it will not make a difference.

She
is in it to the bitter end.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Passing
faces he has grown up with, he drops them a nod, or a coy smile. None
return the pleasantries, but he didn't expect they would.

Bodies
move out his way as though he has the plague. They regard him with
either disinterest or disgust, depending on their manners. It has
always been this way, except with Danny, and he never has inquired
into why.

People
either like you, or they don't.

If
you have done nothing to deserve persecution, people are either
jealous, or have problems beyond your control. However, this feels
different.

He
strides past the art block with little satisfaction as the bodies do
anything to avoid bumping into him.

Maybe
I have wronged them.

Yet,
he cannot have because he knows none of them well enough to have
upset them.

Maybe
someone they know doesn't like me and they are judging me based on
their opinion.

He
knows that isn't fair, but it is the hard truth.

People
are fickle.

He
only has to watch a group of girls from Our Lady's all-girl school
down the road discussing boys to know that. Middle-aged women are the
same when they dismiss any relationship because one quality doesn't
match their interests, or the guy likes dogs instead of cats. Adults
refuse to give him the time of day because of who his father is, so
he knows the world doesn't work without discrimination.

People
like his father are also fickle because he doesn't like the situation
he is in, but will not do the decent thing. Instead, he cheats, lies
and drinks until he hurts everyone around him.

Every
relationship ends the same.

Things
are passionate, new and mysterious in the beginning which makes them
fun. After a while, things settle and become stale. His father either
finds a new woman to keep that initial excitement alive, or is just
projecting his hurt onto others in the hope his pain will dull. He
beats, cheats, lies and drinks because he cannot move on.

No
one ever liked me apart from Danny.

Danny
was quiet, but that didn't prevent him making friends in class.

The
school divides into these four groups: the popular, or athletic guys
who are magnets for both sexes; the council estate guys who smoke
dope, steal and find fame in the papers for stabbing someone; the
gimps who have greasy hair, spots, glasses and hunched backs, making
them fantastic bullying targets; and the geeks who are the brain
boxes others use for homework.

Bobby
fits into none of these groups. He was never into sports, or tall and
built to qualify as a popular. He didn't live in council
accommodation like Toad and his mates. He didn't have any qualities
to link him with the least desirable groups, and he certainly wasn't
a genius. He had asthma when he was six, but it faded out. So
regarding everything, kids ignored him most of the time. Danny was
the same—he fit in nowhere. Yet, unlike Bobby, he spoke to
people from each group, which still puzzles Bobby. Maybe it was the
shyness barrier, but he doubts it.

It
often seemed like kids could sense something on him like he was ill
in the middle ages. He wasn't isolated, but he felt it. That is how
he feels now as he walks over the path.

Recyled
glass shapes and shells chime in the doorway of the Art block. The
timid breeze smacks them against each other to produce hollow thuds.

I
painted my shells in yellow and green.

His
wind chime made whistling and clanking sounds. He can still hear the
noise sometimes from Benji's bedroom if it gets windy, although it is
no longer there.

He
brought it home when the term finished. When Benji saw it, he asked
if he could keep it. It was the best feeling in the world knowing his
big brother wanted something he made. Benji tied it around the
curtain rail to create the peaceful noise whenever the window was
open. It almost broke once while the window was open throughout a
thunderstorm. He put it in the bedside drawer, so why it now hangs in
the doorway with the others is a mystery.

A
girl with a blonde ponytail swinging across her back comes out. The
movement forces the chimes into a tune of chaos as she jumps down the
step and skips back the way he came. Even if girls were in the
school, she would be far too young. He watches as she cuts across the
grass and disappears around the corner.

As
he tilts his head back and darts his tongue over his dry bottom lip,
he listens as the chimes settle back down.

Opposite
the building, the wooden fence is vivid with the white paint cracked
in places. The pond is across the lush stretch of grass that still
glistens with dew. Trees lurch and spill leaves to cast ripples on
the water before they turn into shallow boats that glide between lily
pads. Tiny skippers skim and bounce across the unsteady surface.

He
recognises the guy coming from the football pitch up ahead as Jack
Watson. His team mates trail behind him in good humour. Corey
Faulkner is one, with his perfect blonde hair flailing over his
flushed forehead. After he wipes the hair away, he reveals glistening
beads of sweat as he laughs.

As
the boy turns in slow motion, he grins at Scott Freeman and taps his
fist against the other's bicep. Everyone can see Scott's infatuation
with Corey as his cheeks heat and his eyes drop into soothed
contentment at the touch. He listens to whatever joke, or remark the
burly defender is making with rapt attention. Yet, his eyes drift to
his toned abdomen which a sleek shine coats from the game they have
played within this heat.

Losing
interest, Bobby looks past them through a strange tunnel vision. A
dark vignetting frames the vivid summer hues on this lazy afternoon,
causing tension at his temples. As he stares into the sapphire sky,
something strange draws his eye.

A
dozen blackbirds soar through the cloudless blue in the shape of an
F-117
Nighthawk
.
As they pass, they smear the blue with the tainted hue he sees in his
dreams.

Am
I dreaming now?

Bobby
glances around at the teachers as they pass with stacks of paper in
their arms. As they greet students, genuine smiles drift between them
with no sign of disproportionate heads and limbs. Often that's a dead
giveaway he is lucid dreaming. Along with scenes flipping from one to
the next to make no logical sense.

Mr
Clarke waltzes out the English block and onto the path with his bald
head gleaming. For a second, he turns and regards Bobby with a toothy
grin across his chops. The normality creates a strange bubbling sense
within Bobby's gut before the man strides past Jack, Corey and his
lap dog, then disappears behind the Maths block.

Tenseness
grips Bobby as he reverts his attention to Jack. The smirk on his
face makes Bobby believe he is in for another verbal, or physical
bout of abuse. Only, when he passes without nudging his shoulder like
usual, Bobby doesn't receive so much as a glance. Instead, the three
boys move away from the pack and veer left into the Art block. Scott
even gets to the door first to hold it open for them, only to receive
a smirk from both boys.

I
must be dreaming.

“
Bobby!
Bobby!”

As
Bobby spins around to the voice, he is aware there's a gentle shift
in perception.

A
darkening gloom familiar with the winter months replaces the sun
light in the window's reflection. Only, the colour resembles blood.

The
air itself feels loose. Thin. And the lucidity now is undeniable.

Before
he gets to see the boy, a warm pressure spins him around by his upper
arm.

“
Why
are you not dressed, dude?”

Looking
from Danny's grinning face, to his Sparrow's blazer, confusion slips
over him. When Bobby glances down at his own attire, he realises he
isn't dressed for school. Instead of his creased shirt and tie, he
finds a polo shirt.

The
black collar sticks up to touch his neck. Down his chest are vertical
stripes of lime green, yellow and black with the number 103 on the
breast.

103?

The
number rings a bell in the back of his mind, but he doesn't know why.

“
I
don't—”

His
curls slap against his forehead as he shakes his head, glances at
Danny and shrugs. Yet, Danny dismisses it as though his attire is no
longer relevant. He throws an arm over his shoulder. then pulls Bobby
along with him.

“
Come
on, we'll be late for class.”

“
I
t
hought
it was lunch time.”

Bobby
stares into the closest window at a plastic clock on the wall. It
reads three minutes to one, but appears too visible given the
distance he is from it.

“
We
just had afternoon registration.” Danny scrunches his face into
a humorous, confused expression.

“
What
did I have?”

“
Jacket
potato with cheese and beans. You spilled beans down your shirt.”
Danny smiles again as though he has told a joke Bobby doesn't get the
punch line to. “Come on, Mrs Keller will be fuming if we're
late again.”

“
Again?”

I'm
not late. I was never late for anything.

Bobby
is unsure which class he is referring to, but allows Danny to drag
him along. He chats about something—food, video games, or maybe
subject matter. Yet, Bobby's attention falls to the figure across the
grass.

He
comes to an abrupt halt, then nudges the arm from his shoulder. He
doesn't register the questioning glare as he cannot remove his eyes
from the figure as it comes to a stop on the grassy mound and turns
to face Bobby.

“
I'll
see you there.”

“
We've
got business with Mr Keller. Any lates will stay behind after school,
remember?”

The
figure is tall and stick thin with it's cloak draped to the floor.
The longer Bobby stares at it the more its height appears to stretch
higher into the sky. The soft breeze ruffles the vivid patchwork
cloak, yet the figure looks like a mirage. Underneath the hood is
contrasting dull white flesh with hazy and undefined features.