Read Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope Online
Authors: Anne Plichota and Cendrine Wolf
P
IERRE
B
ELLANGER’S CAR SKIDDED TO A HALT IN FRONT
of the school gates just as the two friends emerged from the building, but the heavy front gate was locked and there was no way out.
“Oksa, you’re going to have to make one last effort—we’ll have to climb over the wall, we’re trapped!” stuttered Gus.
The main thing Oksa had to do was try and ignore the dreadful pain and unbelievable terror caused by her injury so that she could concentrate on Vertiflying—she had to succeed at all costs.
“Gus, stand in front of me and hold me tightly.”
Gus obeyed and clung to Oksa, putting his arms around her waist. They immediately took off, rising first by a couple of inches, then climbing unsteadily to the top of the wall, which was almost ten feet high. On the other side, Pierre had magically turned off the street lights—a very timely power cut—which meant that the two youngsters could escape under cover of darkness. It would be awkward to say the least if anyone were to see them, and this really wasn’t the time to be disturbed by busybodies.
“Well done you,” Gus said to Oksa, who was precariously balanced against him on top of the wall. “Just one last push, hang in there!”
Clinging to each other, the two friends came down as unsteadily as they’d gone up. When they landed on the ground, Oksa felt completely drained of strength and would have collapsed on the pavement if Gus
hadn’t been holding her up. Pierre rushed over, took the injured girl in his arms and laid her on the car’s back seat.
“Lie still, Oksa, there’s nothing to be afraid of, you’re safe now.”
Gus sat down in the front, next to his father, who immediately started the car.
“Look, over there! It’s Mr Bontempi!”
“We can’t warn him, Gus, we have to get away from here. Oksa needs treatment fast.”
In the back of the car, the injured girl gritted her teeth to stop herself screaming. She was in terrible pain. An unbearable, terrifying pain that was spreading relentlessly through her body and mind like poison. She ventured a glance at her knee and groaned: the skin was puffy and had turned an awful brown colour. It also smelt disgusting—the stench of decaying flesh, combined with the reek of blood and clothes impregnated with chemical fumes. The Curbita-Flatulo redoubled its efforts, undulating constantly to calm down its panic-stricken mistress.
“Hang on, Oksa, we’re there!”
Cradling her in his arms, Pierre dashed up the front steps to the Pollocks’ house. Gus, white as a sheet, hammered on the door.
“Children!” cried Dragomira, seeing the dreadful state of her granddaughter. “Good Lord! What happened?”
“Dragomira, go and get some Dermi-Cleaners quickly, I think Oksa has been hit by a Putrefactio,” interrupted Pierre.
While Dragomira rushed upstairs, he laid Oksa on one of the living-room sofas with Pavel’s help.
“This is all my fault,” muttered the latter, his face contorted in anguish. “I’ll never forgive myself…”
“Stop it, Pavel!” said Pierre.
“Please, Pavel,” broke in Dragomira, coming back into the sitting room, holding a small phial. “This is neither the time nor the place!”
Then, turning to Oksa:
“Oksa, I’m going to put this on your knee…”
Baba Pollock’s forehead was creased with worry and she was trembling as she uncorked the bottle. She poured a large blob of an orange substance onto her fingertips and carefully massaged it into Oksa’s knee.
“It’s burning, Baba!” groaned the injured girl, writhing with pain.
Her mother took her hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Gus, would you stay with Oksa?” asked Dragomira, covering the bad knee with the viscous substance, which looked a little as if it was crawling. “I’ll be back soon.”
The three Pollocks and Pierre Bellanger went out into the hall. But although they were talking in hushed voices, Oksa could hear every single detail. The Volumiplus power was incredible…
“Marie, I must tell you that this is the first time since the Great Chaos that we’ve come across a Putrefactio,” murmured Dragomira. “We’ve never had to treat it. The Dermi-Cleaners are excellent at healing wounds and infections, even gangrene. This therapy is starting to be used on the Outside with maggots—you may already have heard of it—but when it comes to Putrefactios, there are no precedents. I can’t promise that the Dermi-Cleaners will be able to cure Oksa.”
“I understand,” replied Marie, trembling. “And I know that you’ll do everything in your power.”
Gathered around Oksa again, they all anxiously watched the progress of the injury to her knee.
“You put worms on me, Baba,” said Oksa in a weak voice with an undertone of reproach.
“Yes, Dushka. The Dermi-Cleaners can work miracles with this kind of wound,” said Dragomira comfortingly, even though she wasn’t sure how effective they would be for such a serious injury. “The worms eat away diseased flesh and regenerate it. Your knee will soon be good as new.”
Oksa couldn’t help grimacing with pain and disgust at the sight of the hundred or so worms, which could be seen very clearly now and which were lethargically wriggling about on the suppurating skin.
“Do you feel strong enough to tell us what happened?”
Pavel, his eyes wild with worry, had just tensely asked the question on everyone’s lips. Oksa took a deep breath and gave them a detailed account of everything that had happened since McGraw had ordered her to help him tidy up the lab. As soon as she’d finished, it was Gus’s turn.
“When Merlin gave me the note and I saw that Oksa’s phone was out of battery, I ran to the exit to find you, Pavel,” he said, looking at Oksa’s father. “But you weren’t there. Then I tried to phone but there was no answer, either at the house or on your mobile.”
“We received a call from the hospital in the early afternoon—Marie’s doctor wanted to see us urgently,” explained Pavel, looking crushed. “When we got there, we had to turn off our mobiles. We waited two hours before being told that none of the doctors had called us! We thought it was a mistake. But now, it’s obvious the call was a set-up, intended as a diversion. There was still enough time for me to come and meet you from school. But when we went back to the car, it wouldn’t start. We caught a taxi to go home. The taxi rank was nearby, but the traffic was terrible and it took ages to get back. I didn’t think to turn on my mobile until quite late and I tried to call you, Oksa, to tell you to wait for me. But the call went straight through to voicemail. I called Gus, who told me everything, and then I called Pierre, who came to get you as fast as he could. I’m so angry with myself; I was careless.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” said Pierre. “This was just an unfortunate set of coincidences.”
“More like a series of set-ups!” retorted Dragomira. “What happened after that, Gus?”
“I wanted to stay as close as I could to Oksa, but there was no way of getting back into the school; the porter had gone, locking the porch gate behind him. I called you at home again, but no one was there and now
I understand why. I got your call, Pavel, and I phoned the restaurant to tell you to get here as fast as possible, Dad. You already knew, because Pavel had just called you. I stayed outside the front of the school—I was worried to death. Suddenly I saw Miss Heartbreak arriving, so I slipped inside behind her when she opened the porch gate and I dashed upstairs. You’d just got out of the lab, Oksa, and then suddenly McGraw appeared, shouting. That’s what brought Miss Heartbreak running. I’m so sorry, Oksa, I should never have left you alone and I knew it! I’m such a waste of space…”
“Gus, what happened isn’t your fault!” exclaimed Marie. “You did exactly the right thing by warning us. And if you’d stayed, McGraw wouldn’t have taken much notice of you. You have to know that all you are to him is a potential bargaining counter.”
“I know,” replied Gus, hanging his head.
“All the same, without you I’d never have been able to get away, I could barely stand. It’s because of you that I escaped McGraw’s clutches. You saved my life!” exclaimed Oksa.
Gus blushed with embarrassment.
“What worries me is Miss Heartbreak,” he added. “She saw everything and we left her alone with McGraw. He can’t allow her to spill the beans. Either he disappears off the scene or she does, don’t you think?”
“I’m very much afraid so,” agreed Pierre gravely.
“You saw Mr Bontempi arriving just as you were leaving, didn’t you? Do you think he saw you?” asked Dragomira.
“No, it was too dark. Fortunately for us all…”
I
T HAD ACTUALLY BEEN TOO DARK FOR
M
R
B
ONTEMPI TO
see anything when he arrived at the school car park that Thursday evening. A power cut had apparently knocked out the street lighting and he parked next to Miss Heartbreak’s car in the light from his headlamps, all the while noticing a third vehicle. “
Well, well! Dr McGraw is still here
,” he thought, noticing the teacher’s car. He slammed his car door, annoyed he’d been made so late by that stupid phone call telling him that there’d been a burglary at his home. He’d had to drive all the way to the other side of the city to find out that someone had been playing a hoax. His apartment hadn’t been burgled at all. That was certainly good news, but what a waste of time! And just when he’d thought he was going to spend a long, romantic evening with Benedicta Heartbreak… From the courtyard, he noticed there were still lights on in the first-floor corridor. So, before heading for his office to wait for the history and geography teacher, he decided to go upstairs and switch off the lights.
“Good heavens! What on earth has been going on here?”
The lab was in the same state of destruction as when Oksa had left it. Mr Bontempi walked carefully over the thick layer of broken glass on the floor with his hand over his nose and mouth to filter out the acrid stench which grew stronger as he approached the gaping door of the lab. The furniture and equipment had been overturned and were dripping with water. It looked like a raging tornado had left behind a trail of
devastation. Mr Bontempi turned off the light and, perplexed, made for his office. On the landing of the main staircase, he almost tripped over a handbag that looked familiar. The Headmaster rummaged around inside and recognized the small purse and a tube of lipstick—it was definitely Miss Heartbreak’s bag.
“Benedicta? Are you there?”
The office was empty, and so were the staffroom and school corridors. After exhausting all possibilities, Mr Bontempi flopped down in his armchair and phoned the young woman’s home. The phone rang, but no one picked up. He tried her mobile, but heard the ringtone coming from the handbag on the table. “
What would her car be doing in the car park if she weren’t here? And why was her handbag in the corridor? I hope nothing has happened to her
,” he thought, picturing the ransacked lab in his mind’s eye.
He went to stand in the middle of the courtyard and, cupping his hands round his mouth, he yelled:
“BE-NE-DIC-TA! Where are you?”
But a deafening silence reigned in the building, interrupted only by the echo of his anxious shouts.
“Hello? Police please. This is the Headmaster of St Proximus College. I want to report an act of vandalism—and a missing person.”
Benedicta Heartbreak couldn’t hear him, although she wasn’t far away—just a few yards. When she’d arrived in the courtyard a little before 6 p.m., her attention had been drawn by the first-floor lights and the sound of shouting. She’d hastily gone upstairs and what she’d seen in the corridor wouldn’t have been out of place in one of the nail-biting thrillers she loved: two of her best Year 8 students, Oksa Pollock and Gustave Bellanger, were being pursued by Dr McGraw, who was soaked from head to foot and covered in pieces of thick yellow string! Her strange colleague was
yelling threats and young Oksa was in a terrible state, covered in blood with her uniform ripped and a nasty wound on her leg. Gus, looking as terrified as she was, was holding her up and helping her escape.
“Run, Miss Heartbreak!” he’d shouted.
At that moment, Oksa had stretched out her hand and McGraw had been thrown some sixty feet backwards, as if he’d just been punched hard by some monstrous force. The teacher had hit the wall with a dull thud and had fallen heavily to the ground, unconscious. Without thinking, Benedicta Heartbreak had gone over to him to help. She’d wanted to question the two children, but they’d already disappeared. She was alone. When she’d got close to McGraw, he’d suddenly opened his eyes and had grabbed her wrists. She’d given a piercing scream and, seeing McGraw’s nasty smile, her mounting panic had turned to real terror.
“Dr McGraw, what did you do to Oksa Pollock?”
“Oh, Benedicta, Benedicta,” sighed McGraw wearily, tightening his hold on her. “Charming Benedicta Heartbreak, everybody’s darling, you’ve just ruined everything… Oksa is my key, my way in! The one I’ve waited fifty-seven years for.”
“Fifty-seven years? What nonsense is this? You’re insane! Have you been drinking?”
McGraw had sighed again, looking at the young woman witheringly.
“How could you possibly understand?”
“All I understand is that you’ve attacked a student from this school and that’s inexcusable, whatever your reasons. That’s not the way to sort things out.”
McGraw had sniggered as Benedicta Heartbreak struggled to break free. When he’d let go of one her hands, she had a brief hope of freeing herself—a hope which had quickly turned to crushing defeat when McGraw had aimed his Granok-Shooter straight at her and had blown into it… Kind Benedicta Heartbreak had crumpled slowly onto the stone floor. Putting his hands under her arms, her assailant had dragged her somewhere dusty and entirely disused. There, he’d propped the poor
woman against a stone pedestal and had carefully closed the creaking door behind him, not forgetting to put back the plank barring the entrance. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he’d left the school via the narrow service corridor and had got as far as the car park.
“Blast! There’s that fool Bontempi. What’s he doing here?” he’d grimaced, seeing the Headmaster shut his car door. “Hmm… he must have come looking for his beloved Benedicta.” Diving behind a low wall, he’d watched him: Mr Bontempi was peering over at his car parked some distance away in the car park. McGraw had waited a few more minutes, then he’d discreetly crept back to his own car in the dark and, reaching underneath, had ripped out a cable. Finally, casually, he’d stood up and walked resolutely and smugly towards the centre of the city.
After walking around all the school classrooms and offices, the two policemen were standing in the middle of the wrecked lab, taking notes.
“Who were the last people to leave the school?” one of the men asked Mr Bontempi.
“Dr McGraw. He’s the teacher who has a lesson with Year 8 Hydrogen until 5.30 on Thursday evenings. Every week, a student helps him to put everything away in the lab. That doesn’t usually take more than ten minutes.”
“Who helped him this evening?”
“I don’t know. As I told you, I wasn’t there. I’d received a call about a burglary. I had to rush home—which proved to be a totally pointless exercise since there hadn’t been a break-in at all. A bad joke, at a guess. So I came back to school and got here a few minutes after six. I was supposed to meet Benedicta; her car was in the car park and I saw Dr McGraw’s car was there too, which intrigued me because no one stays as late as that. The rest, you know.”
“Does everyone have access to the school?”
“No. During the daytime you can only get in by ringing the doorbell. Then the porter checks your identity, ascertains the reason for your visit and lets you in. Other than that, a close watch is kept on the students coming in and out.”
“Even this evening?”
“A porter is always there until 5.30. After that time, no student has any business being inside the school. Except those who have to help a teacher, like Dr McGraw on Thursday evenings. In that case, he’ll accompany the student in question to the exit. All the teachers have a swipe card allowing them to lock or unlock the porch gate.”
“So you need that swipe card to get in or out after 5.30 p.m., is that correct?”
“Exactly,” nodded Mr Bontempi. “Having said that, I didn’t notice anything unusual and no one has reported losing their swipe card. But you can never rule out a break-in. I’m very worried about Benedicta, gentlemen, very worried.”
“Do you have any idea what could have taken place in this room? Someone’s gone completely crazy in here, everything was destroyed!”
“No idea at all,” replied the Headmaster despondently.
The three men looked around the vandalized lab. The reek of chemicals, which was still very strong, pricked their eyes and nostrils. The two policemen conscientiously inspected every nook and cranny, carefully threading their way between the overturned pieces of furniture. Fragments of glass from the broken windows and shattered bottles cracked beneath their feet. Not even the ceramic worktops had survived.
“One last question, Mr Bontempi: do you have an address for Dr McGraw?” asked one of the two policemen.
“Dr McGraw? Police. We’re carrying out a routine inquiry and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Come in, please,” said McGraw pleasantly. “What’s this about? Nothing serious, I hope.”
The two policemen ignored the question and sat down on the chairs he’d offered them.
“What time did you leave school this evening?”
“At about 5.40 I tidied up the lab with the help of Oksa Pollock, a student in Year 8 Hydrogen. Then I accompanied her out and unlocked the porch gate for her. I wanted to take my car, but it wouldn’t start, so I left it in the car park. I didn’t feel like phoning the breakdown company—it had been a tiring day so I decided I’d rather take a taxi home.”
“You did say ‘Oksa Pollock’, didn’t you?” noted one of the two policemen, scribbling in his notebook.
“That’s right,” replied McGraw, frowning suddenly in concern.
“Did you see anyone before leaving the school?”
“No, no one.”
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
“No, nothing. The corridors were deserted like they are on every Thursday evening. I didn’t notice anything strange,” replied McGraw casually.
“When did you last see Miss Heartbreak, your colleague who teaches history and geography?”
“Miss Heartbreak? Let me think… it must have been after lunch in the staffroom. I may have bumped into her in the corridor, just after lessons started again, at two—I really don’t remember. But why do you ask? Has something happened to her?”
“How did you do that?” asked one of the policemen, pointing to the scratches on McGraw’s face and hands.
“My cat,” replied the man, without batting an eyelid. “Lately the damn thing has been a real handful!”
At that very moment Mortimer McGraw burst into the living room, holding a cat which was struggling furiously.
“Calm down, Leo. Dad, this cat is bonkers! Oh, sorry,” he said, suddenly breaking off. “I didn’t know you had company.”
He turned round and headed back out into the hall. Then he unceremoniously pinched the cat, which wailed and struggled to get free.
“Ouch! Horrible creature, you scratched me!” he yelled, loud enough to be heard clearly from the living room.
And if they hadn’t had their backs turned, the policemen would have seen the satisfied grin on his face…