Missing Dad by J Ryan

Author:J Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2018-09-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Mind Games

Hoping that the alarms haven’t been set, I start to plod up the stairs to my flat, groping for the rail. A torch suddenly lights my way.

‘You OK, son?’

I can just see the dim figure of the security guard. ‘Yeah…’

‘You look done in.’ He walks behind me, shining his torch all the way up the stairs, and onto the lock of my apartment. The light guides the key in my unsteady hand.

‘Thanks…’

‘Look out for yourself.’ He disappears into the darkness.

Without the energy even to grab a glass of water, let alone take off my sodden uniform, I crash onto my king-size bed. All the rest of the night, dreams blast through my head like bombs going off. I’m driving endlessly in the dark across muddy wastelands; gun fire rattles behind me, and headlights blaze brighter than the sun in my rear view mirror. Someone’s sat beside me, but I can’t tell if it’s Dad or Monsieur. Once, when the car starts to skid towards a huge drop, my passenger grabs the steering wheel and pulls us back on course. And a voice in my head, like Dad’s when I was with the Wilks woman, whispers ‘You must drive faster, Joe.’ So I do, and slowly those relentless headlights start to fade.

When I wake up, I’m parched and starving hungry, and my uniform’s soaked with sweat. The alarm clock says eleven in the morning. I grab my mobile, and punch in DI Wellington’s number. There’s no signal. I roll off the bed and try the landline. It’s dead.

My legs feel so heavy, it’s like I’m waist-deep in water as I stumble down the back stairs to call with my mobile from outside. The door’s locked, and I still don’t have the key that Madame promised me.

Email! I force my legs to take the stairs back up four at a time. The chair wobbles as I crash onto it in front of the computer, and hit the keyboard with my password. No internet, just an error message.

I whack my hand onto the screen and get up, knocking over the chair. My head starts to throb again as I pace the room, and kick the fancy sofa with its stupid cushions. There’s a soft thud on the window behind me. Thinking that a bird’s hit the glass, I spin round, and see just bright blue sky.

Then, a small, twirling pink teddy pops up in front of me just outside the window, and plummets out of sight. I look down at the docks. And stare.

By the waterside, about ten people are grouped around Becks, looking on with interest as she whizzes the teddy round, about to chuck it again. She spots me, and starts jumping up and down, arms waving manically, one hand still clutching this pink teddy. The little gathering is a mixture of pensioners and Japanese tourists, and they look up at me as Becks does her windmill thing. I wave back at her, and point downwards. She runs off towards the side door.

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