The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,14

thought. So, he must’ve come back just moments after the Monk had shot him.

“Didn’t hear anything,” Zac said. “Maybe it was something outside. Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?” Phillip asked, allowing himself to be led back down into the hall. “Because it sounded like a gunshot...”

“Car backfiring, probably,” Zac said with a practised shrug. “Nothing to worry about.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Zac ushered his granddad through into the sitting room. It was a mess of mismatched furniture that had been accumulated over decades, with no attempt made to tie any of it together.

“Sit down, Granddad, I need to talk to you,” Zac said. He took a seat on a red-and-green floral patterned sofa, while Phillip creaked down into a beige armchair.

“What is it, Zac? Is... is something wrong?”

Another voice spoke before Zac could. “Sorry. I had to come down.”

Zac and his grandfather looked over at the door. Angelo stood there, chewing on a fingernail and bouncing uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“I told you to wait,” Zac said.

“I know, but, well... I think I need the toilet.”

“You think you need the toilet?”

Angelo nodded. “Yes. But I’m not sure. I’ve never needed the toilet before. It must be to do with being on Earth.” His hopping became more frantic. “Yep, I’m almost sure I need the toilet.”

“Well go, then!”

There was a pause. Angelo stopped hopping. Zac watched in slowly dawning horror as Angelo’s white shorts turned slightly yellow at the crotch.

“Wow. That helped a lot,” Angelo said. “That’s much more comfortable. Thanks!”

Zac got to his feet. “I didn’t mean go right there! I meant go to...” He saw only puzzlement on Angelo’s face. “I meant go to the bathroom, not wet yourself.”

“Oh.”

Zac sighed. “Jesus.”

“Where?” asked Angelo, his eyes widening with excitement.

“No, not... not...” Zac pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, never mind, just go back upstairs and we’ll find you more clothes.”

“OK,” said Angelo brightly. He moved to leave, then hesitated. “Oh, by the way, your goldfish is going crazy.”

“Yes. It does that.”

“Hello,” said Phillip, who had been trying to follow the conversation that had just taken place, but failing miserably. “Are you Penelope?”

“No. I’m Angelo.”

Phillip looked disappointed. “Oh. I thought you were Penelope. She’s been banging on at me all night, telling me her cat’s sick, but what’s that got to do with me? What do I know about cats? Nothing. Hear that, Penelope?” he said, raising his voice. “I don’t know the first thing about cats.”

“OK, then!” said Angelo, shooting Zac a glance. “I’ll just go and get changed. Nice meeting you, sir.”

“Nice meeting you too, Angelo,” Phillip replied. He waited until the boy had left the room, before adding: “He seems nice. Who is he?”

“No one,” said Zac hurriedly. “He’s just... a friend.”

“I heard that,” came a voice from the hallway. They listened to Angelo beatboxing happily all the way back upstairs.

“A friend, eh? That’s good. I always thought you should have more friends,” said Phillip. “Or, you know, one, at least.”

“Yeah, well. He’s more a colleague, actually,” Zac corrected. “But listen, Granddad, I need to talk to you.”

“You’re going away, aren’t you.”

“How did you...?” Zac began, then he nodded. “Just for a little while.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“What?” He forced a laugh. “No, why would it be—”

“Come on, Zacharias. I’m an old man, not an idiot. I know you didn’t pay for this house working in a hamburger shop. You think I don’t hear you sneak in and out every night? You think I don’t notice your cuts? Your bruises?”

Zac stayed silent. He was used to seeing a fog behind his grandfather’s eyes, but that fog had lifted now. He’d never noticed how blue the old man’s irises were before.

“I don’t know what you do out there, and I don’t ask. You’re young, but you’re a man now, Zac. You make your own decisions, and I don’t pry. I don’t pry, I let you make your own choices, don’t I?”

Zac nodded.

“So, I’m going to ask you again, and I want you to tell me the truth. Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing – is it dangerous?”

A pause... a brief one... then, “Yes.”

Phillip gave a single nod, like the answer had confirmed what he already knew. “And do you have to go?”

“Yes.”

The old man leaned back in his chair and looked towards the corner of the room, as if seeing some Autocue there telling him what to say next. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he said at last. “But you know