Mad About the Boy? by Dolores Gordon-Smith

Author:Dolores Gordon-Smith [Gordon-Smith Dolores]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2012-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Arthur Stanton stared at his hands. They didn’t seem like his hands. They were slimy with blood. Lots of blood. Blood from that . . . that thing on the rug.

‘Back against the wall!’

The voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. He didn’t know who said it. It was imperious, commanding. It reminded him of a voice in hospital. His stomach knotted in fear. He thrust his arms out in front of him, fending off that voice, that harsh hospital voice. He instinctively shrank backwards, caught his foot and fell, fell over that thing on the rug. He was on his knees beside the thing.

He tried hard not to scream. Someone was laughing. Why were they laughing? He was laughing. He’d tried not to scream because officers and gentlemen are never frightened and have to set a good example and don’t scream, but he’d laughed instead. He had to stop laughing, he knew that. He tried hard to look away from the thing. Still on his knees, he saw a cigarette case. It seemed massive, as if it covered the whole floor. He picked it up, watching it shrink back into focus. He blinked. Even the cigarette case was covered in blood. ‘Look. He wanted a cigarette.’

The cigarette case was slimy. He thrust it away, into his pocket. Instinct, that. He covered his face with his hands, trying to catch his breath so he could explain what he’d done, but all he could do was laugh.

‘Stop it, Arthur! Stop it!’

And that, too, was a hospital voice. Worse, even. He’d known that voice in hospital.

He had to get control of himself. He managed to stop laughing, took a deep breath and tried to explain. ‘I know . . .’ I shouldn’t have laughed. ‘I know . . .’ I really didn’t mean to laugh. ‘It’s not funny.’ I know it’s not funny. I was trying so hard and it came out wrong. ‘It’s just that . . .’

And then that other voice came again, stopping him. A hospital voice. He had to get off his knees. He had to get away from that thing. Isabelle? Isabelle would understand. Isabelle wouldn’t blame him.

He’d never seen her look like that. She was afraid. Afraid of him.

They were all afraid of him but that was stupid because they had the gun and they were talking to him in hospital voices and they were going to take him away and lock him up in a hospital and he couldn’t let them do that because it would be dark and he would be frightened and officers and gentlemen are never frightened and he had to get away.

The window, the french window, was the only way out. Run, Arthur, run! Cover your face and run!

The glass splintered and hurt, but he was outside. The gun roared, a terrifying noise. Then he was on the grass, running for the shelter of the shrubbery. The gun cracked out again and a searing pain shot through his head.

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