The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,72
and let it fall on to his bed, then he stood up, opened his bedroom door and went downstairs.
“Ah, Zac, you’re back!” said Phillip as Zac shuffled into the kitchen. The old man smiled and gave his grandson a hug. “How was the trip?”
“Trip?”
“Yes, you know,” said his granddad. “Your trip. You... you went on a trip.”
Zac shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
Phillip hesitated. His fingers pressed his stress ball against the palm of his hand. “Oh,” he mumbled, his eyes glazing over, “didn’t you? I’m... I’m sure you said something about a trip.”
“No,” replied Zac. “I don’t think so.”
His head felt full of fog, as if he’d just been woken from a deep sleep. His memory of the last few days was sketchy, but he’d have remembered going away. Wouldn’t he?
“Sit down, Granddad, and I’ll make you a cup of tea,” he said, crossing to the kettle.
“Coffee would be nice,” Phillip replied. “I was up half the night. I thought you’d come back. I was sure I heard that Albert’s voice.”
Zac flicked the kettle’s switch. “Albert?”
“That is his name, isn’t it?” Phillip said. “I forget sometimes.”
A spoon of instant coffee went into a mug. “I don’t know any Albert.”
“Oh, maybe not Albert, then,” fretted Phillip. “Angus? Adam?”
“Not ringing any bells.”
Phillip squeezed his stress ball. “No, but... Oh, I wish I could remember. Kept hearing him all night. Sounded in a right panic. Scared too, very scared.”
Zac smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Granddad. It was just a dream or something, I wouldn’t—”
“Angelo!”
Zac felt his legs turn to lead, but he didn’t know why.
“Angelo, that was it,” Phillip beamed. “I knew I’d remember.”
“I... I don’t know any Angelo,” Zac said. A breeze blew around inside his head, swirling the fog that filled it.
His granddad tutted. “Course you do. Angelo. You had him here last night. Or was it the night before?”
Zac poured hot water into his grandfather’s mug, and gave it a stir. “I’m telling you, I don’t know anyone called Angelo.”
“You do!”
“I don’t,” Zac insisted, picking up the mug.
“Don’t be silly, Zac,” Phillip sighed. “Stop trying to confuse me, I’m bad enough as it is. You remember. Angelo. Your friend.”
Zac’s lips moved instinctively. “He’s not my friend, he’s my colleague,” he said.
The mug slipped from his hand and smashed on the kitchen floor. The fog in his head thinned, offering glimpses of the memories that lay beyond.
He charged out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time. He tore at the zip of the backpack, then thrust his hand inside until he found the velvet bag. Cupping a hand, he tipped a few of the marble-sized balls out into his palm. He stared down at them, and they all stared right back.
“Eyes,” he whispered. “Argus.”
He looked down at the carpet and saw an inky black stain. He searched his bookcase until he spotted a slim, battered volume on the fourth shelf down. The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson.
He remembered.
He remembered Heaven and Hell and everything else in between.
He remembered Angelo.
And he remembered leaving him down there, all alone with the demons and the monsters and who knew what else? He had told him he’d go back. He had promised.
He poured the eyes back in the bag, put the bag back in the backpack, pulled the backpack over his shoulders.
He’s not my friend, he’s my colleague.
Yeah, right. Who was he trying to kid?
Zac rummaged in his wastepaper bin and pulled out two small torn pieces of card. Then, with a final look around the room, he left, pulling the door firmly closed behind him.
AC HURRIED DOWN the stairs, along the hallway, where the goldfish was still splashing furiously in its bowl, and into the kitchen once more. His grandfather was mopping up the spilled coffee and looked up as Zac entered.
“Listen, Granddad, I have to go away again.”
Phillip stopped mopping. He leaned on the handle and gave his grandson a withering look. “Again? I thought you said you hadn’t been anywhere?”
“I know that’s what I said,” Zac admitted. “But I... forgot that I had.”
The old man thought about this, then nodded. “Happens to the best of us,” he said. “Will you be long?”
Zac nodded, and as he did he felt tears pricking the back of his eyes.
Phillip straightened up. “But... you’re coming back.”
It took all Zac’s strength to shake his head.
“Oh,” said his granddad. He rested the mop handle against the table. “What, never?”
“I... I don’t know. I’m not sure, but