Chapter 11 - Strangers in the Night

With a groan, Gary levered himself from his wingchair and stretched his stiff muscles. There was nothing he could do for Ike. He had his own midnight visitor to deal with. He reached for his crutches and hobbled towards the glass front that blocked the living room from the great outdoors, often failing in its job.

Gary made sure to stay to one side until he realised sneaking around in the shadows fooled nobody. With the lamp spotlighting the chair, whoever kept skulking around in the garden would no doubt notice his disappearance and be on full alert. He slipped towards the right end of the window front, turned the key and yanked at the handle until the floor-length panel swung inwards. With it came a rush of fresh night air that blasted him wide awake. His heartbeat hammering in his chest he scanned the dark hole that was his garden.

With a soft plop, an apple landed on the lawn. Somewhere, in the background, traffic rushed along on the motorway, going places, witching hour or not. Otherwise, silence reigned supreme among the rows of starter homes on the development. Lined up like toy houses, the buildings squatted along bands of tarmac that already crumbled at the edges.

Emma had called the buildings bunny hatches. Hamster boxes would have been more accurate.

But somewhere in this double mortgage suburbia lurked a predator. Gary could even sense him. Fresh sweat mixed in with damp clothes.

He gathered his courage. "Anybody out there?" he called into the darkness.

Apart from a feather-light rustle among the fallen leaves, he drew no response.

At least not immediately.

Then it came. A crackle on the gravel. Footsteps whispering towards him.

His heartbeat shifting gears into a full gallop. What a stupid idea to confront a mugger or whoever was out there when incapacitated.

Too late.

Gary grabbed the frame of the French door for support and raised his crutch. He squinted into the gloom until he saw bright blobs dancing before his eyes. Swore to himself to next time switch off the light first and get his ageing eyes adjusted before opening doors. Decided to beat a tactical retreat the moment he sensed a presence close to him.

He aimed the crutch at the movement stirring the shadows.

A lithe figure stepped into the light. It squinted. "Dad?"

###

"Another mug of cocoa?"

"Na, it's fine." Jon slouched in his seat, one elbow on the kitchen table, the other arm petting the cat who had installed herself on the lap of the prodigal son.

Usually, Gary would have called him to order. Not today. He lowered himself onto the kitchen chair then drank in the sight of his slightly grimy offspring whose presence all at once had filled an empty box with life, turning it into a home.

"Tell me how I'm going to break the news to your grandmother. She'll be devastated when she finds out you're gone."

Jon slurped the last of his drink and Gary winced.

"Gran will be all right. I left her a note. With lots of little hearts on. She likes that sort of thing. Couldn't there any longer. Not when granddad makes funny phone calls and locks up my stuff."

Gary wondered what had been the more significant offence. His money was on Bill confiscating Jon's favourite toys. "How did you get hold of your computer and phone, then?"

In Jon, blond and slim, Emma's genes had triumphed, as if they knew the boy would become her legacy way before her time. But the eyes were pure Sands. Light grey, with a ring around the pupil they winked at him from under their fringe. Gary's fingers itched to push it out of the boy's face, but those days were gone.

"Heh. I made a big fuss and talked Gran into letting me have them. Reminded her it was Friday evening before the autumn break."

"You realise Sandie will pay for her kindness now you have scarpered?"

Jon's gaze dropped to the inside of his mug. "No," he said in a small voice.

"Why couldn't you wait until tomorrow—later today, I mean?"

Jon looked up, mutiny creeping back into his face. "I had enough. Granddad is, like, niggling all the time? Hands on the table, feet under it. Do this, don't do that. Drives me nuts. And I didn't trust him not to lock me up or something. He thinks you're a useless dad and I need discipline. The old geezer can shove his discipline up his skinny backside!"

"Language! I might not be the best of parents, but there are limits."

A grin broke out on the grimy face opposite him, and the chocolate moustache widened. "You're not that bad."

Touched, Gary tightened his slipping poker face. "Thanks for this vote of confidence. I still have to tell you I don't approve of your running away like that. Letter or not. Many things might have happened on that bus. And the walk is even worse."

Smugness surfaced in Jon's features. "Thought you wanted me to travel to school by bus? And I didn't walk, Mrs Llewellyn from Number Four spotted me and took me home in her car."

"There's a difference between travelling during the day and in the middle of the night. Why didn't you ring?"

The smugness got more pronounced. "I wanted to surprise you tomorrow morning. Er, I mean today. I nicked some of the old geezer's orange marmalade. For the toast, see?"

Gary sighed. Apart from playing truant and running away, the boy had added petty theft to his growing list of felonies. But somehow, he could not whip himself into anger. Instead, he felt touched. Jon had wanted to contribute to breakfast. That was almost unheard of.

"You'll call them tomorrow and apologise. I appreciate the thought, but I prefer you to ask if you want to have something. It's just not cricket to steal."

"Da-ad! They're rolling in marmalade."

"That's beside the point. I'm really not looking forward to that conversation with Bill tomorrow. Today, I mean. Which reminds me: high time we called it a night."

For once, Jon went to bed with only a token protest and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Gladys, who had been waiting at the foot of the bed, hopped in and softly padded her way towards the spot where Jon's chest lay hidden under the duvet. There, she sank onto her belly and tucked her paws under herself.

"You watch over him," Gary addressed the feline with a smile and retreated into the corridor.

His head swam with tiredness (the alcohol didn't help) while concern for Ike warred with worry over the repercussions of Jon's latest antics. Still, he couldn't shut out the fizzing excitement over the discovery.

The long-lost Sibylline scrolls found in the tomb of a doomed Vestal.

The voice of reason told him the scrolls hadn't been found yet. Gary slammed closed his ears to the voice of reason.

The manuscripts might be down there. In the catacombs. So were Ike and Brigitte.

And a killer?

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.

Image is by Annie Spratt from Unsplash