Revenge (4 page)

As I walked away from Flood Street, I held Cal's phone in my hand, steeling myself to lie to his mum once more.

hi mum, just me again. so sorry I haven't been home. was caught up at the library with boges. i'm at his house now, helping him with a new project. ok if i stay here tonight? I think it will be a late one …

Again a reply came back with supersonic speed, making me feel worse.

ok love … but please come home for dinner tomorrow night. gab is dying to see you. we both are. maybe we could ask ryan over too. i'll call him in the morning. mum xx

Cal had given Repro enough money to set
himself
up in a tall, narrow terrace house near City Hall. The place had a front door, just like
anywhere
else, but Repro was still trying to get used to the idea of using it. We'd helped him paint the place and tidy it up. We'd even built a loft on the top floor, which he'd started to fill with what remained of his collection. The rest of the place was clean and tidy and spacious—far from what Repro was used to!

I pulled a face under the front sensor light when I felt Repro peering at me through the peephole.

‘The filing cabinet entrance sounded cooler,' I said, when he opened the door.

‘I think so too,' said Repro with a laugh. He moved aside and let me through.

I took a few steps and stopped, staring around in disbelief.

Repro came up beside me and rocked back
and forth proudly. ‘Once a collector, always a collector!' he proclaimed.

I didn't recognise the place. We could have been in a hideout in the complex underground rail network, or in a dank lair only accessible by canoe. Repro's mountains of stuff had returned.

‘But where's the furniture we bought? The lounge, the coffee table? The bookshelves? I can't see anything but … stuff!' There were books on astronomy, boxes of old film reels, shipping magazines, wooden owl statues. And jars of … jars of— ‘Repro, what
are
these things?'

‘Eyeballs,' Repro replied. ‘Well, glass eyes. Everything else is still here, don't worry,' he said, tugging back a tartan picnic rug like a magician. ‘See?'

Papers fluttered to the floor and reels of
cotton
in a rainbow of colours rolled away as he revealed part of the new lounge.

‘Cuppa?' he asked, tiptoeing over the junk to where the kitchen once was.

‘Um, no thanks,' I said. I picked up a handful of mail that was scattered on the floor at my feet and flicked through the envelopes aimlessly.

‘So, what seems to be the trouble? Or is this just a social visit?' Repro asked as he gestured towards an old-fashioned printing press,
wanting
me to help him move it.

‘It's Cal,' I replied. ‘He's not buried in here somewhere, is he?'

‘Afraid not. Why? What's happened?'

I explained the missing Cal situation as we inched the press over to its new resting spot near a window, kicking stuff out of the way in the process.

Repro listened intently. He brushed the dust from his hands as he stood there, nodding solemnly, in his fluffy yellow dressing gown.

‘Well, if I hear anything, I'll send one of my pigeons out with the message,' he said.

I eyed him suspiciously. Nothing would
surprise
me with this guy.

‘Just messing with you. I don't have a pigeon coop … yet,' Repro said. ‘But I will let you know if I hear from young Cal. You'll let me know too, when he shows up? I hope he hasn't met with foul play,' he added.

‘So, have you tracked down your mum yet?' I asked, changing the subject. Cal had told me just the other day that Repro was afraid his mum wouldn't want to know him, after all the years that had passed, and all his run-ins with the law.

Repro shook his head. ‘No, no, no. Hasn't been time for that.'

‘Maybe soon,' I said, getting ready to leave.
‘By the way,' I added, ‘who's Albert? I saw the name on those letters over there. Is he the guy who lived here before you moved in?'

‘Ah, no,' he replied bashfully. ‘Er, Albert is me.'

DAY 3

28 days to go …

‘Bodhan, wake up. Bodhan!'

‘What? What is it, Mama?' I asked, pulling my blanket over my head to block out the light. ‘I'm sleeping!'

‘Winifred Ormond is here to see you,' she said, shaking my shoulder firmly.

‘What?'

‘Quick, Bodhan, get up!'

I launched myself out of bed and pulled on the grey trackies that were slung over my desk chair. I got one leg stuck and, hopping off-balance, crushed some audio equipment on the floor and almost slammed into my fish tank.

‘Please,' I heard Mrs Ormond's muffled
pleading
from down the hall. ‘I need to know where
my son is! I need to speak to Boges, now! Boges! I want the truth!'

‘Tell her I'm not here!' I hissed to my mum.

‘What do you mean, Bodhan? What's going on?'

‘Please, Mama, I'll explain later. I have to go. I'm really, really sorry.' My mum stared at me, shocked and confused, as I threw some stuff in my bag, kicked the flyscreen out of my
bedroom
window frame, then jumped out into the backyard.

I fell hard on the dewy grass—it had been a while since I'd had to sneak out my window. I crawled to my feet and looked up at Mum again. She was staring down, her eyes wide. I held my hands up to calm her, then held a finger to my lips. ‘I'll be back soon,' I mouthed, ‘I promise!'

When I finally stopped running and slowed down at the local shops to grab a breather, I regretted my decision to bolt out of the house. I wasn't ready to face Mrs Ormond, but now I'd upset my mum, too. I'd seriously betrayed her trust last year when I snuck out of the country to Ireland, and I swore I'd never lie to her
ever
again …

And then I spotted the newspaper headlines.

I didn't need to see any more than that. Damn that Ben Willoughby! Why couldn't he leave Cal alone? My mind reeled. No wonder Mrs Ormond had come after me, wanting answers.

I wanted answers, too. I'd tried everything I could think of. But I hadn't found a trace of Cal anywhere.

Where could he be?

Winter and I sat on her couches, staring off into
space. Neither of us knew what to do about Cal and we felt absolutely useless. I was meant to be preparing for my NASA interview, but I couldn't concentrate on that when the only problem I wanted to solve was finding out what had
happened
to my best friend.

We were clutching onto the idea that Cal had taken time out, but neither of us really believed it. I looked over at Winter, still in her pyjamas. She was practically strangling a cushion, her brow furrowed.

She'd moved back into the Frey house months ago, but so far only had the basics organised. The place was well over ten times the size of her old rooftop flat in Lesley Street, and I don't know if it was the emptiness, but Winter looked small and pale. I offered her some of my ham and cheese roll, but she refused it with the
tiniest
shake of her head.

We both jumped when her mobile phone rang from the coffee table.

‘Who is it?' I said, as she looked at the screen.

‘Don't know. No caller ID.'

Tentatively, she pressed the ‘answer' button.

‘Hello?'

Winter's face instantly transformed from worried to horrified. Her shoulders tensed up around her ears and her mouth fell open.

‘What's wrong? Who is it?' I asked, rushing to her side.

‘Who is this?' she said, her voice trembling.

‘Put it on loudspeaker,' I whispered.

With shaking hands, Winter held her phone out and activated the speaker.

‘You do not need to know that right now,' answered a distorted, robotic voice. ‘All you need to know is that I have Cal.'

Hearing the caller speak Cal's name was like being punched in the guts. I leaned on the coffee table, forcing myself to focus and listen to what they had to say.

‘Look in your letterbox,' the distorted voice ordered. ‘Take what you find and give it to his mother. Tell her he gave it to you—it should keep her quiet for a while. Do as I say and I will show your friend to you.'

‘Why? What's in there?' Winter cried. ‘Is Cal OK?'

‘Breathe a word of this to the authorities and something very bad will happen to your friend,' the sinister voice continued.

‘Where is Cal? What have you done to him?'

‘Once you've made the delivery, go straight to the clock tower. There, you'll be given further instructions. Do it now!'

The call ended.

I was stunned by the words. Frozen. Winter grabbed her coat, her bag and her boots and ran for the door. ‘Come on!' she shouted, glaring back at me.