The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (11 page)

From the kitchen beneath them came the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the floor tiles.

“I’ll kill them,” Joe whispered.

Eleanor frowned at him.

“It’s those bloody Dean twins again!”

“Joseph, stay up here.”

“No way. This is long overdue.”

He stood and marched out of the study.

“Joseph,” Eleanor called after him. “Wait!”

3.

Joe silently walked down the stairs, his back pressed against the wall. Shuffling footsteps continued across the kitchen floor.

He inched closer to the bottom of the stairs, already looking around the hall.

“Joseph!”

Eleanor, behind him the whole way, placed a hand on his back.

“Joseph,” she whispered again. “Come back up here.”

Joe shook his head and impatiently waved her off. He descended all the way down and into the hall. Eleanor stayed close.

More noises echoed from the kitchen: bumps and bangs, but tentative, almost hushed.

“Can’t believe they have the nerve to break in here again,” he hissed. “They’ve got this coming.”

“Please,” Eleanor pleaded. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Joe burst into a run down the hall and exploded into the kitchen. His socks skidded on the tiles as he tried to stop himself.

“Joseph!”

Eleanor dashed after him and entered the kitchen.

The kitchen was empty.

Joe scratched the back of his neck and looked around. He crossed the room to the back door and examined the lock.

“What happened?” Eleanor asked.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“But we heard-”

“I know, but I haven’t seen anyone.”

“My lord, look at that…” Eleanor gasped.

“What?”

She pointed up at the window. The highest pane, which ran the entire upper length of the window, had been propped wide open.

“That’s how they got out,” said Joe and squeezed his hands into fists.

“Don’t be silly, Joseph. Look at how narrow it is. I doubt even I could squeeze through that.”

“Then what about it?”

“It was closed when I went upstairs, closed and locked. And smell…”

They both sniffed.

“The eggs and bacon have gone,” she said.

Joe moved away from his grandmother and sat at the dining table, head in hands.

“I’m not buying this hocus-pocus, Grandma. There has got to be a rational explanation for all this.”

Eleanor approached the window and looked up at the open pane, deep in thought.

“Arthur always opened that window when I complained about the smell clogging up the house…”

Joe peered up from the table.

“You still think that this is Granddad trying to make contact? Come on. You have to wake up. The smell has gone because of the open window, that’s easily explained.”

“Then what about the window?”

“Couldn’t you have forgotten that you opened it?”

“Oh, so now you think that I’m senile as well as a crazy mystic?”

Joe shook his head.

“No, Grandma. I-”

“Look, I know that window was closed when I left this room. You yourself came downstairs because you thought there was someone in here. This is not easily explainable, and you know it.”

Frank Harper Takes a Shower

1.

Anne hadn’t slept at all through the night, even after the storm had decided it had beaten Penny Crescent enough and moved on. Following the booming thunder, howling winds and hammering rain, Anne had lain in the silence, waiting for the heavy footfalls of Frank to pound up the stairs.

His mood when he’d left was more turbulent, more frightening than the storm. The manner in which he drove off worried Anne. She had visions of him ploughing into another vehicle at speed; the car launching up in a big ball of fire, all twisted metal and burning flesh. She shook the picture from her head and reminded herself that Frank had returned safely on both of the previous occasions.

At least he didn’t come back when Eleanor’s grandson visited last night
, she thought.
Now there is a situation that would’ve needed some explaining.

She turned to the sink and placed the kids’ used breakfast bowls into hot, soapy water. She nearly dropped them as Bronwyn called out from the living room.

“Dad’s back!”

She grabbed a tea towel and quickly dried her shaking hands. She dragged her fingers through her messy hair, trying to look halfway decent.

Through the noise of the television and Betsy’s excited barking, she heard the key in the front door.

“Dad!” cried Bronwyn.

“Morning, sweetie,” came Frank’s low voice.

Anne swallowed.

“Where have you been?”

“I went to see Uncle Bill. Why? You miss me?”

“There was a storm!”

“Yeah,” said Charlie, “and she woke us all up!”

Frank laughed. “Didn’t you like the thunder, hon?”

“No,” Bronwyn replied. “It was scary.”

“What about that lightning? Wasn’t it spectacular?”

Both children started to talk at once, competing for their father’s attention.

“Whoa! Quieten down, you two. I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll go and say hello to your mum, and then we can have a good talk about the storm.”

The children murmured their reluctant agreement. The sound cut off as Frank closed the living room door. Anne’s hands tightened around the tea towel, making her fingers turn white.

Frank walked into the kitchen, still wearing the black trousers, white shirt and blue tie from yesterday. He smiled.

“Morning,” he said in an unusually cheery tone.

“M-Morning…” she answered, looking down at the tea towel that she wrought between her hands.

Frank stayed in the doorway, keeping his distance, hands on his hips. He sighed.

“There’s no point putting this off. The longer we leave it, the worse it’ll get, I suppose…”

Anne stayed still, her back pressed up against the sink.

“I’m sorry.”

Anne dared to glance up.

Frank studied the floor, face tilted down.

“You’re…sorry?”

“Yes,” he said, voice hushed, probably to avoid the children from hearing. “I’m sorry I went off like that, and sorry I was stubborn enough to stay out all night.”

“Where did you go?”

Frank, for the first time, looked up and met her eyes.

“William’s.”

“Your brother?”

He nodded.

“But that’s an hour’s drive away! Why did you go so far?”

“I…I had nowhere else to go.”

“You didn’t have to go anywhere!”

She quickly shut up and swallowed as Frank regarded her in silence. She knew she’d crossed the line by snapping.

To her surprise, he nodded and let his head hang back down, chin nearly touching his chest.

“I was worried, Frank. The kids were scared last night through all the thunder and lightning. They were asking for you, and I didn’t know what to say!”

“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to them, I promise.”

Anne huffed and turned her back on him, continuing with the washing up as a cover for her action.

“Look,” he continued, “I know I was in the wrong. I was bang out of order and I truly am sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

“You said that last time.”

Frank sighed again and rubbed his temples.

“This time is different, I swear. Driving through that storm and then coming back through this wonderful sunshine, it’s like…it’s like it represents the change in me.”

“It’s going to take a bit more than a spot of nice weather to convince me that things are different,” Anne said, placing a cleaned bowl in the drainer.

“You want proof then, eh? Well, I’ll show you. I’m going to take the time off that Quackenbush offered.”

Anne turned around, away from the sink. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s all been getting a little too much recently. If I take a break now, it might mean avoiding a burn out later.”

“Oh Frank, I’m so pleased.”

“Me too. There’s been an atmosphere between us recently and it all changes right now.”

An atmosphere?
Anne thought bitterly.
He calls beating me black and blue an atmosphere?

She gazed at Frank, and his sincere eyes seemed to make all her negative thoughts drift away. He appeared genuinely sorry for his actions.

Maybe it is a new start after all.

“So…are we…okay now?” he ventured.

Anne nodded.

“Thank you,” Frank said. “Thank you so much. You’re going to see a new me.”

I hope so.

“By the way, this came for you this morning.” Anne threw down the tea towel and walked over to the fridge. A pile of post sat on top. She pulled out a glossy magazine from between the various white and brown envelopes.

“Ah, this month’s
Physics World
! Leave it on the table, dear. I’ll read it later.”

Anne frowned.

“Are you sure? You usually can’t wait to sit down and flick through.”

“I really need a shower. Didn’t get a chance to have one this morning, what with leaving so early. I smell appalling, so don’t get too close!”

Anne shrugged and tossed the magazine onto the dining table between them.

“We’ll, it’s there when you want it. You need anything else before you head upstairs?”

Frank smiled.

“A coffee would be nice.”

2.

Frank turned the shower dial and an icy blast of water shot onto the white porcelain of the bathtub. He held his hand under the torrent, flexing his fingers and feeling the water gradually heat up. When the shower had grown a little too hot, Frank adjusted the dial.

He stepped back, arranging the shower curtain around the inside of the bath to stop any water from escaping. The curtain was semi-opaque and already looked like a steam-filled plastic tent.

He unfastened his tie and let it drop to the floor near to where his shoes and socks lay. After unbuttoning his shirt, he took it off, held it over his face and inhaled deeply through his nose.

Thank God, the smell’s going. Anne probably didn’t notice after all.

In fact, all that Frank could smell from the fabric was his own stale sweat, a result of wearing it over two hot days. He tossed the shirt onto the growing pile of discarded clothing.

His trousers and boxer shorts were pulled down together, and his bare feet slapped the linoleum as he stepped from them. After a quick check that all his grooming implements were in the holder by the bath – shower gel, razor, shampoo and conditioner – he stepped into the tub and under the pleasantly hot torrent of water. Remembering the shower curtain, Frank pulled it shut behind him.

The powerful spray hit him in the chest and then ran in streaming rivers down his front. He edged forwards, forcing his face into the water. The heat soothed his tight muscles and smoothed out his knotted brow.

The water did a good job of washing away the guilt.

He ran his hands over his face, briefly cupping them over his mouth to snatch a breath.

A loud crash sounded beyond the curtain.

He jumped back, nearly losing his footing in the slippery bathtub. The noise had sounded like the toilet seat slamming down.

He turned away from the steaming jet of water and poked his head through the gap in the shower curtain.

The toilet seat was indeed down.

Did I leave it up?

He checked that the bathroom door remained shut and he was sure no one had come in.

It must have been one of the kids. Or the dog, out on the landing. Christ, I hope that nothing’s been broken.

Happy with his deduction, Frank pulled the curtain closed again and stepped back under the shower.

We’ll need to have words after this. I’m not having the kids run riot. I’ll not allow them to do as they please all the time. Anne’s too soft on them.

He failed to hear them playing outside the bathroom, or the idiot dog barking, which it did too often in his opinion. Only the hiss of the shower nozzle and the echoing splatter of the water as it hit the tub accompanied his breaths.

Frank reached into the toiletry holder and withdrew a black plastic bottle of shower gel. He squirted a small amount of the clear green liquid into the palm of his hand and rubbed it into his chest, creating a thick lather.

BANG! BANG!

He froze as the noise thundered around the small bathroom.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Frank turned off the shower, reducing the heavy jet to a weak trickle.

“Bloody kids!” he hissed.

He turned to his side, intending to step out.

A small figure in white stood inches away on the other side of the curtain, watching him.

Frank jerked back, his feet losing their grip on the slippery bath. His legs slid forwards and his arms flailed out, desperate for anything to hold him up.

The wet curtain slid through his lubricated fingers, the movement distorting the face of his silent observer.

It was the last thing he saw as his head connected with the raised side of the bath.

3.

“Who was it?”

Anne had half loaded the washing machine, and dropped the rest of the clothes on the kitchen floor. Frank’s voice had boomed from the lounge.

“I’ll not ask again,” he yelled. “Tell me!”

Bronwyn began to bawl, which started Betsy barking again.

Anne rushed out of the kitchen and knocked the living room door open.

Charlie and Bronwyn stood in front of the television which still played Saturday morning cartoons. Frank towered over them in a pair of red boxer shorts. They had turned a shade darker due to the moisture clinging to his body. His hair dripped as he shook his head, the droplets falling onto his glistening shoulders.

“You’re as thick as thieves, you two. Thick as bloody thieves!”

Charlie stared up at his father, flinching at every word spat at him. His eyes shimmered, ready to flow.

Bronwyn was a step beyond, looking at the floor. Her face had turned a deep red as she cried.