Jimmy
Coates
Killer
Joe Craig

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE – STRANGE TALENTS

CHAPTER TWO – GREEN STRIPE

CHAPTER THREE – BOY AND A BAG

CHAPTER FOUR – NEVER ALONE

CHAPTER FIVE – FACE OF A FOE

CHAPTER SIX – IN HIDING

CHAPTER SEVEN – RAID

CHAPTER EIGHT – NEVER SAFE

CHAPTER NINE – TIME TO FLY

CHAPTER TEN – DROWNING TWICE

CHAPTER ELEVEN – 38 PERCENT

CHAPTER TWELVE – A LESSON IN FOOTWEAR

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – MIND THE GRP

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – IZGARU

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – SAFFRON WALDEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – BASHED UP BENTLEY

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – BAD CITIZENS

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – INTO THE DARK

CHAPTER NINETEEN – WELCOME BACK

CHAPTER TWENTY – FINAL OFFER

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE – EXILE

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Joe Craig

Copyright

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE – STRANGE TALENTS

JIMMY KNEW WHAT was coming, but he was too late to dodge out of the way. Georgie pounced on him and they both landed with a thump on the bed. She moved quickly, and easily locked her arm round Jimmy’s neck. Then she dug her knuckles into the top of his head, kneeling over him. Not again, Jimmy thought. All these years he had never been able to escape his sister’s hold.

“Looks like I’m still bigger than you!” Georgie jeered. It was true–Jimmy was waiting for a growth spurt. But he never gave in easily.

“I don’t care! Get out my room!” he roared.

“I need your computer.”

She released him and took a seat at Jimmy’s desk. Then she asked as casually as she could, “Is Westminster Bridge actually part of Westminster, or does it just go to Westminster?”

“Find a tramp at Westminster Bridge,” Jimmy suggested, a huge smile on his face. “He’d tell you. And he’d probably smell like you too; you could be really good friends.”

“That’s it–you’re done for.” She was at him again. This time she pinned him down even harder and pulled his hair. Even though he knew she was just messing around, it still hurt.

“Mum!” Jimmy cried.

“I’m not doing anything!” Georgie shouted in response.

Jimmy flapped his arms about and slapped his sister on the back a couple of times, but it didn’t do any good. Then they heard the familiar pounding on the wall from next door, followed by their father shouting up the stairs.

“Keep it down. You’re disturbing Mr Higgins.”

“I hate that old weirdo,” muttered Georgie. It was remarkable how a next-door neighbour who claimed to be nearly deaf could have such sensitive hearing.

Jimmy was still struggling. But then, without knowing why, he stopped moving for a split second. Suddenly, his arm scooped up underneath his sister’s body as fast as it would move. She lost her balance and had to release Jimmy’s head. But his arm kept going. Georgie flipped backwards into the air and landed on the bed with a splat, gawping straight up at the ceiling.

They were both stunned.

Jimmy stared at his hands. Then he laughed and straightened his hair.

Georgie was not impressed. “What was that?” she shouted, but before she could grab him, Jimmy had run out of the room and made it to the stairs. Halfway down, he started walking very sedately and caught his breath. In the living room, his parents were watching the news.

“What’s all the noise about?” his father shouted to no one in particular.

Jimmy bounced on to the sofa feeling very pleased with himself.

“Your sister needs peace and quiet to work on her history project,” his mother said sternly. Before Jimmy could think of the best way of answering, Georgie burst in.

“We were just messing around, but then he started fighting properly.”

“That’s a lie!” Jimmy was ready for action again, dying to have another go at what he’d managed upstairs, but a chocolate wrapper hit him on the side of his head. He spun round to see his father watching the television, grinning. Jimmy knew he’d never be able to return fire without his mother noticing, so he turned back to the television.

“Oh forget it. I’ll be in my room,” announced Georgie, flustered and red in the face.

She wasn’t really upset, was she, Jimmy wondered? Had he hurt her? He hadn’t meant to. It was just satisfying to beat her for once. Jimmy told himself that maybe later he’d apologise. He wouldn’t mind doing that–it might even be fun, apologising because he’d won for the first time.

Jimmy’s parents ignored Georgie flouncing upstairs. They were concentrating on the news. On the screen were pictures of Ares Hollingdale, the Prime Minister, walking around Downing Street, and then another man who looked a bit scruffier, but a lot younger. Jimmy wasn’t paying attention because he was so excited about getting the better of Georgie for once. Slowly, though, he started watching his parents. When this younger, scruffier man appeared on screen, they both shifted uneasily in their seats. Then Jimmy’s father looked straight at Jimmy and spoke quietly, but seriously, back to being a grown-up.

“You should pay attention to this–instead of the rubbish you always watch. Someone might form an opposition to the government again.”

He glared for a second at Jimmy’s mother, who replied, frowning: “Nobody knows what’s going to happen in this country.”

Jimmy considered this for a second, and thought to himself that nobody knows what’s going to happen in any country. It was a stupid thing to say – nobody could predict the future.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Jimmy’s father pushed himself up with a sigh.

“You expecting someone?” asked his wife.

He stood for a long time scratching his ear, then just said, “No,” and strode out to the front door.

Jimmy’s father manufactured bottle tops for loads of different soft drinks and beers. He often saw clients at home, but it always took a long time and sometimes went on late into the night. Sometimes Jimmy heard shouting when he was in bed.

“You don’t think…” started Jimmy’s mother, but her husband had already left the room. She looked at Jimmy. “Go upstairs and get ready for bed,” she said tenderly.

“What?” said Jimmy. “It’s really early. And I’ve decided to watch the news.” His mother didn’t answer. She turned off the television and they both started listening to what was going on at the front door.

“Oh, it’s you,” Jimmy’s father said, “I didn’t expect…”

“Can we come in, Ian?” It was a man’s voice, deep and flat.

“Erm, of course. We weren’t expecting you.” His father sounded nervous, and the other man cut him off.

“Thanks,” he said. There was a creaking of footsteps and then the living-room door was pushed open. The man who walked in was tall and broad, taller even than Jimmy’s father and obviously in much better shape. He was tanned and good-looking, but only smiling with one half of his mouth, a small smile that scanned the room and found Jimmy.

“Hello, young man. You must be James.” Before Jimmy could answer, his mother jumped up between them.

“Please,” she said, with her hand out to distract the man’s attention. “Sit down. Please sit down.”

The man looked at Jimmy’s mother and straightened his tie. It was a long black tie, thinner than the ones Jimmy’s father wore for work, and his suit was the same black. “Helen, how lovely to see you again,” he said, and sat where Jimmy’s father had been sitting.

“Jimmy, go upstairs,” said his father, who walked in and sat down awkwardly.

“No, he can stay, Ian,” said the man in the suit.

“You haven’t—” started Jimmy’s mother, but the man cut her off.

“We’ve come for the boy.”

There was silence.

Jimmy replayed in his mind what the man had just said: “We’ve come for the boy.” What? Did that mean him, Jimmy Coates? Jimmy quickly went through the last few days in his head, or as much as he could manage on the spot, trying to remember if he had done anything wrong. But he was panicking and couldn’t even think of what he’d done that morning, let alone yesterday or the day before. Then Jimmy suddenly noticed another man who was standing in the doorway. He was dressed the same way as the first man, but was not quite as tall or as tanned.

Jimmy’s father turned from one man to the other.

“You’re early,” he said, “We thought—”

“I know,” the man interrupted again. “This is the new arrangement. We’ve come to get him.” The man looked straight ahead, not round at Jimmy and not at either of his parents. He was waiting for something. Finally Jimmy’s mother spoke–and it wasn’t what the man was expecting.

“Run, Jimmy,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She clutched at her throat and then shouted, “JIMMY RUN!”

For a tiny moment Jimmy didn’t move. Everyone’s face was turned towards him. Jimmy looked at his father. He looked sad, but not scared like Jimmy’s mother. The terror in her voice made its way into Jimmy’s belly and connected with the confusion in his head. Then he was finally able to unfreeze his legs and throw himself towards the door.

The man standing there wasn’t expecting such a burst of speed, and when Jimmy’s full weight hit him he was winded. Jimmy pulled open the front door. But what if there were other men in suits waiting for him outside? Leaving the front door open, Jimmy bolted to the stairs instead, sprinting up two at a time. He reached the top out of breath, and dashed into his bedroom.

“Come to gloat?” Georgie grumbled from the computer, but Jimmy didn’t answer. “Who was at the door?” Jimmy could hardly hear her for all the blood rushing through his head. Then the regular beat of a big man pounding up the stairs hit him in the heart.

“Call the police!” Jimmy panted, diving under the bed.

“What?” gasped Georgie. Jimmy heard the door open and saw two sets of shiny black shoes pointing straight at him, like four vultures.

“Hey, who are you?” Georgie yelled. “Get out!”

“Take her downstairs,” ordered one of the men.

“Police! Help!” Georgie’s screams faded as she was carried away.

Then a face appeared next to Jimmy’s, leering down under the bed. It was the taller of the two men. His huge hand grabbed Jimmy’s shoulder and dragged him out. Jimmy stood rubbing his neck as the shorter man returned. There was no noise from downstairs. Why was everyone so quiet?

“Why do you want me?” he asked.

“Why are you running?” countered the taller man immediately.

“I don’t know who you are,” said Jimmy.

“You don’t know who you are.”

At first, Jimmy thought it was a slip of the tongue. Then he wasn’t so sure.

“I’m Jimmy Coates. My name is Jimmy Coates and I’m just a kid.”

“OK, Jimmy, I need you to come with us. You can trust me.”

There is something very untrustworthy about a man who says “Trust me”. This man’s eyes were the colour of steel, and from the way his shirt pulled across his chest, it looked like he was built of the stuff too. Jimmy stared back as hard as he could and tried to look tough, but this wasn’t a game. Jimmy’s throat tightened and something behind his stomach stopped him breathing properly. It looked like he had no choice but to go with these men.

Maybe Jimmy hesitated just a little too long. The taller man dipped his hand into his jacket and Jimmy caught a glimpse of a pale leather holster. When the man’s hand emerged, it was holding a gun.

“I just need you to come with us,” he stated coldly, but Jimmy couldn’t take his eyes off the gun. It was the first he had ever seen and it was pointed straight at him.

All of a sudden, utter fear behind his stomach turned into something else. Jimmy felt a surge of energy, as if some powerful piece of machinery had been turned on. It quickly spread through his whole body. It was something he had never felt before and he didn’t know whether he liked it. In another moment, it bolted up the right side of Jimmy’s neck and wrapped itself around his head. At that moment he stopped thinking. His mind cleared and the feeling inside started acting for him. He dipped his body to one side and sprang forward. He was out of the line of fire now, and before the man could adjust, Jimmy put one hand on the gun and the other on the man’s wrist. With a firm twist, he pushed the barrel up towards the ceiling and leant down on the man’s hand. There was a loud crack. The gun dropped to the floor and the man clasped his trigger finger in pain.

Jimmy had moved so fast that the shorter man hadn’t had time to react, but now he leapt forward. Jimmy darted away from his desperate grasp, then kicked the gun under the bed. He looked towards the door, but both men stood in his way; even though one was hurt, he was still ready to act. His half-smile had turned into a grimace.

Jimmy was acting automatically–by instinct, not by thought. It was like watching someone in a movie. He saw the men move and could predict exactly where they were going to go by the way their weight shifted across the floorboards. As they lumbered towards him, Jimmy took a light step to the side and leapt backwards.

He coiled his body into a ball and shut his eyes tight. The two men were stunned as Jimmy smashed through the window. Glass shattered everywhere and Jimmy felt it falling with him. The air was suddenly cold. He screwed his eyes shut harder and waited to hit the ground.

As he fell like a lump of stone, Jimmy’s brain crept back on. He had enough time for one thought to go through his head–why had he jumped out of the window? There was a paved drive below, and now he was probably going to die, or at least break every bone in his body.

Then he hit the concrete.

CHAPTER TWO – GREEN STRIPE

JIMMY DIDN’T MOVE. He had landed on his shoulder and his eyes were still shut. Glass rained around and on top of him. He could hear it falling on the roof of the car that was asleep next to him, and he felt some hitting the side of his face. He lay there, waiting for the pain. Why hadn’t he blacked out? Then he thought maybe he had blacked out. Maybe he was in hospital and the whole misunderstanding about the men coming to get him had been cleared up.

But Jimmy knew that wasn’t true. He brushed fragments of glass away from his eyes and opened them. He could see the light of a street lamp winking at him. He didn’t understand why there was no pain at all. He wiggled different parts of his body. Everything moved just as he wanted.

He rolled his neck as one last test to make sure he wasn’t actually dead. He looked up to the sky, then saw his house and the broken window. Dad’s going to kill me, he thought. For a second, he thought he saw Mr Higgins’ bony nose peeking through next door’s curtains, but Jimmy’s eyes were still bleary.

Then he picked out two faces looking down at him out of the glass-lined hole. Those two really will kill me, he thought. But he didn’t get a chance to panic. That strange feeling crept up on him again, like a tropical wave filling his insides. It moved faster this time as it swooped up the side of his head. Jimmy tried to keep his mind switched on; he didn’t like surrendering control of his body to whatever this was. It may have saved his life, but next time it tried anything as stupid as throwing him out of a window, the result might not be the same.

He couldn’t stop it, though. Now that he knew he hadn’t been hurt by the fall, Jimmy wanted to spring up and run as fast as he could. But he didn’t move. His body stayed exactly where it was until the two heads moved from the window. They were coming down for him. Run now, please, he thought, but still he didn’t get up from the drive. Instead, he tucked his elbows into his chest and rolled over twice until he was under the car. The ground was cold, and bits of glass stuck into him as he spun over them. He felt around the undercarriage of the car and found a place for his fingers to grip. Then, with just the strength of his forearms, he pulled his whole body off the concrete. He hooked his toes under a fold of metal and waited.

There was dust and grime all over him. He could feel grease crawling down his arms and dripping on to his face. Slowly, he paid attention to his thoughts again: if he had run, the men would have jumped into a car and chased him down. But what instinct had told him to stay put and to roll under the car when the men weren’t looking? Then he noticed the ridiculous position he was in, clutching the underside of the car. Where had this strength come from?

Now the two men came running out of the open front door. Again, Jimmy could only see their shoes.

“No visual,” shouted the shorter man, looking up and down the road.

“You were meant to stop him getting out of the living room.”

“He used his strength against me.”

“That’s rubbish. He doesn’t know yet.”

“Then how did he break your finger and jump out of the window?”

“Put it in the report.”

Jimmy was getting more confused by the second. What didn’t he know yet? Then he heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie.

“The boy’s out. Establish a perimeter. We have no visual,” one of the men said. Jimmy saw one pair of feet run over to the back of a van that was parked in the street outside the house.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t expect me to sniff him out do you?”

“The dogs won’t do any good, you fool,” was the response, but the van was already open. Jimmy heard barking and saw two sets of paws padding around the driveway. Then the dogs dipped their noses to the ground and Jimmy saw their faces, their mouths drooling in the lamplight.

“I brought down a sock,” said one of the men. Then he pulled both the dogs towards him on the long leashes. “There you go, boy. Good boy. Go fetch.”

The animals circled the car, creeping like thieves, every now and again lifting their faces for a second, then snorting back to the ground. Jimmy watched one of them getting closer, walking right along the side of the car. It stopped at the level of Jimmy’s face and sniffed around. He had read that dogs could pick up a scent better when it was wet, and the ground was definitely damp. Jimmy held his breath.

“Get those dogs back in the van. They’ll only cut their paws on the glass.”

Both dogs were pulled quickly away. Jimmy was relieved for the moment, but even more confused. Why hadn’t they picked up his scent? Jimmy sniffed, trying to recognise his own smell, then realised that was silly.

Then came more footsteps and a voice Jimmy knew. “Are the handcuffs really necessary?” It was Jimmy’s father coming out of the house.

“I’m afraid they are, Ian,” said one of the men. Jimmy held on tight to the car, his knuckles going white. He watched the feet of his family marching out to the street. First he watched his father’s, then saw that his mother had been allowed to put on some shoes instead of the slippers she had been wearing. Then came Georgie. She had also changed out of slippers and into trainers. But then there was one more pair of shoes. There must have been another suit that he hadn’t seen, who came in after Jimmy ran upstairs.

These shoes were an anonymous black, and shiny just like the shoes of the other two men, but something about them made Jimmy look twice. There was a pattern on the toe that he recognised from somewhere; he just couldn’t work out where. He watched them walk slowly away from the house. He was sure he had seen those shoes before. Then again, maybe the fall had given him strange ideas instead of bruises and broken bones.

Jimmy watched everyone stepping through the puddles. One of the pieces of glass on the ground offered him a strange, distorted reflection of the people walking about. Everything was upside down and he couldn’t make out their faces, but he could see their outlines. He wondered if any minute somebody could catch a glimpse of him reflected in the same glass, or even see his whole face if there was a puddle that caught the light.

Then Georgie unknowingly provided the perfect distraction. She picked up her foot and kicked out at one of the men, nearly hitting him. “You’re not taking me,” she shouted. Jimmy felt a jolt of excitement. “Help! Police!”

If anybody can fight, Georgie can, he thought, remembering all the times he’d been pinned on the bed with his head under her arm. He willed her to keep screaming; surely someone would hear and get help.

But then his father’s voice cut in. “It’s OK Georgie, we don’t want to cause trouble. Quiet now.”

“No, I’m not letting them take me!” She was shouting louder, and then she kicked out again, this time landing a sharp blow in the middle of the man’s shin.

“Hey,” said the man, grabbing his leg and rubbing.

“I’m not going with you!” And she ran. Jimmy watched her feet disappear from view and thought he could hear her shouting something. It sounded like, “I’m going to help Jimmy”.

They had a chance now. Maybe someone had heard Georgie shouting and would call the police. Maybe even Mr Higgins would decide not to be so deaf just when it was important, and get them some help.

“Let her go. We don’t need her,” said the man who had been kicked.

“Your leg OK?”

“Stupid kid. You take these two in the van, I’ll follow in the car.”

“And how’s your finger?”

“Shut up and put them in the van. The boy won’t get far.”

Jimmy wondered why the men didn’t seem to want Georgie. And why were they taking his parents? This was clearly no ordinary kidnapping. One suspicion had taken hold and wouldn’t let go: that something about Jimmy made him the target of men in suits with guns, and that this something was connected to his sudden ability to jump out of windows without getting hurt.

Two engines started up. He had to get a look at the van. It was his only way of finding out who was taking his parents away.

He eased himself on to the ground and rolled out, just in time to see the back of a car pulling away. There was no number plate. It was a long black car with blacked out windows. A large black van was in front of it. They prowled like cats, agonisingly slow.

As they turned at the bottom of the street, he saw the driver of the van in silhouette, with one front-seat passenger. That must be the third man, he thought. The one I didn’t meet.

The light of the street lamps glinted off the windows and something caught Jimmy’s eye. It was the only thing about the vehicles that wasn’t completely black. On the side of the van, towards the back, was a fine, vertical, green stripe. It was just thick enough for Jimmy to make out and no more than ten centimetres long. In the same place on the car was an identical green stripe. He saw it for just a snatch of time, so short that as soon as he had seen it he doubted himself. The van and the car turned the corner, disappearing as if they had never been there.

Jimmy walked back to his house and for the first time noticed that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He picked his way through the broken glass, which wasn’t easy in the dark. The front door was locked. Of course it was. They all thought Jimmy was on the run somewhere, loose in the suburbs of London.

Everything seemed very quiet. There was no traffic, just the low hum of the city and the sound of lonely cars somewhere in the distance. One of them had Jimmy’s parents in it. Then he thought about Georgie. Where had she run off to? Did she think she was going to be able to find him? Jimmy shivered and wondered whether his sister was as cold as he was. At least she had shoes on.

He hauled himself up the wall at the side of the house and stretched over the gate to lift the latch. It swung open with a creak. He took another glance over his shoulder at the street, but couldn’t see anything. Then he turned to the path that ran down the side of the house. It was darker than he had ever seen it.

Jimmy told himself not to be so scared. It was his own house and he knew there was nobody there. Any noise, he told himself, was just a stray cat. He started repeating it in a whisper. “Any noise, it’s just a cat.”

As he made his way round to the back of the house, he started singing it quietly to the brightest tune he could think up. Barefoot, and singing about cats, Jimmy felt like an incompetent burglar. Car grease blackened his cheeks. When he caught his reflection in a side window he thought it was almost funny.

Knowing it would be locked, he tried the back door. Then he looked for an open window, but there wasn’t one. He considered climbing the front of the house to get back into his bedroom, but it would have left him too visible from the street. Instead, he picked up a large stone from his mother’s rock garden and slammed it through the kitchen window.

As much as there is any right way to break a window, Jimmy did it the wrong way. Afterwards, he remembered that people in TV shows always used their elbows, and put a blanket or something in the way. Jimmy had just pushed his hand straight through. Now there was more glass all over his clothes and falling on his feet. Some had hit him in the face. Fortunately none went in his eyes. What had happened to his ability to do things right? If he did have some strange power to escape dangerous situations it would be much better if it didn’t just disappear when he needed it.

Jimmy reached in, undid the latch and opened the window. When he had scrambled inside, the first thing he did was pick up the phone. There was no dialling tone. All he could hear was the blood surging through his head and his short breaths. He found his father’s mobile, but the casing was smashed. Jimmy quickly realised too that there wasn’t any power in the house. He wasn’t planning on staying anyway. He couldn’t just wait at home while his sister was in the streets on her own and his parents were being taken away in a van.

Jimmy tried to think quickly of all the things he might possibly need, but his heart wouldn’t slow down enough to let him. He didn’t even know where he was going or who he was running away from. He went upstairs for his school bag and threw the books on the floor, replacing them with a change of clothes and an extra jumper. Then he picked out some food from the fridge–as much as would fit in the bag. There were some chocolate bars as well, and he grabbed an apple, in case he really got desperate. He opened the freezer and reached around at the back until he found the wad of cash that his mother kept there for emergencies and pizza. Finally, he jammed his feet into some shoes, still wearing his wet socks with glass trapped in the fibres.

As a last-minute thought, he went looking for a torch. He knew there was one in the house somewhere. He ended up on all fours searching in the bottom of a kitchen cupboard. It was then that he caught sight of his wrist. There was a huge piece of glass sticking out from the base of his left hand. But it didn’t hurt. He hadn’t even noticed it until now: a lethal shard of glass.

He carefully pulled it out. It had gone deep into his flesh–more than a centimetre–but there was no blood. Jimmy wiggled his fingers. He clenched his fist. It seemed fine. There was a cut in his skin where the glass had been, but instead of being red, there was just a deeper layer of skin which looked sort of greyish. That had never been there before. He should have been bleeding to death by now. He considered putting a plaster over the cut, and even prodded it a few times, but decided that as it didn’t hurt, it would be a waste of time to administer first aid in the dark. He spotted the torch and calmly popped it in the top of his bag, then went to sit at the kitchen table.

The house was completely quiet. Jimmy had never realised how lonely silence could be. He stared at the door and couldn’t help imagining his parents walking in, all smiles and jokes. Two mugs waited by the kettle for someone to pour tea. But nobody was coming back. He had never felt so alone.

It’s all so strange, he thought, but the strangest thing of all was him. He went up to his bedroom and looked down at the fall he had made.

The glass shimmered like broken stars and a black tear dripped down Jimmy’s cheek. He wiped his face, smudging grease on to the back of his sleeve, then looked again at his wrist. What was this inside him? What had made him jump out of the window? He thought about why he hadn’t been hurt in the fall, and why he wasn’t bleeding now. A second later he heard his mother’s terror in his head. Why had his father let those men into the house? Why had his parents walked away with them so calmly? And why had Jimmy’s father not wanted Georgie to shout for help?

Jimmy picked up his bag, ran downstairs and out of the front door. If he was going to help his family he would have to get away from the house. And he needed the police. When the men in suits came looking for him, there would be more of them. Maybe he should learn to fight like he had in his bedroom, whenever he wanted. Otherwise he was just an eleven-year-old boy with a dirty face.

Jimmy started walking in the direction the van had gone. The suburbs of London swallowed him up; one semi-detached family house after another in a groaning mess. Thousands of people were asleep in their beds and Jimmy walked past their front doors trying to remember where the police station was. After a time he walked almost without direction. The streetlights just seemed to make the shadows darker, so that’s where he walked, wary of anything that looked like a black car with a green stripe.

He let out a yawn the size of the city and didn’t notice the thin, dark figure of the only other person in the shadows that night.

It had started following him.

CHAPTER THREE – BOY AND A BAG

MITCHELL HAD HAD quite a day. Twice he’d nearly been caught lifting a purse from someone’s bag, and both times he had been forced to drop whatever he had his hands on and run. So yesterday he had come out into a part of the suburbs he knew, to work the commuters as they left the tube station. But they were always in such thick bunches that it was hard to get among them without arousing suspicion.

Now the streets were really quiet and he was beginning to abandon hope of stealing anything for the day. He thought about the smell in his brother’s flat and didn’t feel the urge to rush back there. Besides, he knew how hilarious his brother would find it if he went home empty-handed again. Mitchell didn’t like being a thief, and he didn’t much like his brother either. He especially didn’t like living with him, but it was the only place he could go until he was old enough to get his own place. And his brother only let him stay on condition that Mitchell would steal for him.

At first he’d been good at it–beginner’s luck maybe. He was certainly fast when he needed to get away, and being a kid had its advantages; it meant he stood with his head at about the height of most people’s shoulder bags. The last few days, though, had been really tough. He was tired and miserable. He didn’t want to go home, but there wasn’t much point roaming the empty streets and getting cold.

Then Mitchell heard the soft squeak of someone’s trainers behind him and turned to look. In the dim light he made out a single hunched up shadow with a bag over its shoulder. Looks like a kid, he thought. He started to move closer, but realised that this person was shuffling straight towards him. Mitchell jumped over the low wall of a front garden and ducked down. Just a few seconds later, he watched a young boy with black grease all over his face walk past, not even a metre away. Mitchell could easily have reached out and tripped him up, grabbed the boy’s bag and run off. That’s what his brother would have done, but there was too much risk that he’d wake up the people in the houses. Mitchell was smart–a lot smarter than his brother. He decided to be patient. He so badly wanted to end the day with a big catch. He couldn’t mess this up. He would wait until this easy target was somewhere a little more open. Maybe this kid will be stupid enough to cut through the park, he thought.

Softly skipping back over the wall, Mitchell crept along the streets, keeping step with his prey.

Jimmy knew he had to get to the police station quickly. If those men were still looking for him, being out on the street was too dangerous. But every time he thought he had remembered the way, he turned a corner and everything became unfamiliar. It was eerily quiet, which made his steps seem horribly loud.

He wondered whether to knock on someone’s door, waking someone up to ask for directions, but all the houses looked so sinister. Outside one, he even thought he saw a green stripe on the gatepost. He looked again, but it was just a brass number one that had rusted. It can’t be far, he thought. I’ll recognise one of these streets soon. But all the streets were mixed up in Jimmy’s head and he was really tired now. Each time he tried to pick them up, his feet felt like they had been stapled to the pavement.

“Pull yourself together,” he whispered, and stopped outside the next house. He looked it up and down, then took a step through the front gate.

Just as he did, a flash of movement at the end of the street caught the corner of his eye. Jimmy turned his head ever so slightly. Was it a glint of light bouncing off a car window–or did it come from inside the car? He told himself it didn’t matter–that tiredness and shock were making him paranoid.

Jimmy stepped slowly back through the gate and into the street. He squinted at the car. He could see something reflected in its wing mirror: the faint orange dot of the end of a cigarette, muted by its own smoke. In the dark it shone out like a torch. It doesn’t mean anything, Jimmy thought. It’s just someone sitting in their car, smoking–I’m safe. But then the click of a car door opening jammed through his body. He froze. The cigarette light danced around rapidly. A man pulled himself up out of the car, and suddenly the silence splintered into a patter of noise: the car door slamming shut, the other door opening, the crackle of a walkie-talkie, two men walking towards Jimmy.

The driver flicked his cigarette into the gutter and picked up his pace. He was running straight at Jimmy, but Jimmy wasn’t scared any more. All the fear and tiredness drained out of his body, pushed away by that bundle of strength that grew from behind his stomach. It swept through his body and shot up his neck. Jimmy still didn’t have any idea what was happening to him, but he recognised the feeling and knew this time that it was going to protect him. His feet leapt off the pavement and he broke into a sprint.

Jimmy’s legs were possessed, carrying him and his bag as if they were no weight at all. His whole body was contorted into a running machine–arms pumping hard, head leaning intently forward. He had never moved so fast. He dashed up the street for a few metres before darting into a side alley between the houses.

For half an hour Mitchell had followed Jimmy, completely unnoticed. When Jimmy stopped, Mitchell stopped. As Jimmy stood in front of that house, wondering whether to knock on the door, Mitchell crouched in the shadows watching, wondering whether this was the moment to strike. Just as he decided to go for it, he saw two big men running at Jimmy from the other direction. Mitchell abruptly stood upright, shocked–his one chance to salvage the week was being ruined because two other guys had decided to mug the same person. He watched, bemused.

But then he saw that these two men were wearing suits and carrying walkie-talkies. Not even gangs dressed like that, or had such fancy equipment. The thought crossed Mitchell’s mind that maybe this boy was in danger. Then Mitchell saw Jimmy explode into a run. Wow! he thought. That boy is quick.

The men seemed startled when Jimmy took off so smartly, and were slower to get going, but Mitchell could tell they were used to running. He waited until both men had made it to the top of the alley, then followed as fast as he could. If the men didn’t catch this boy, then maybe he would.

Jimmy couldn’t believe how fast he was running. His breathing was hard, but regular. Even with the bag over his shoulder he could feel his muscles moving together, blood surging through them. Something in his head was telling him where to run, too. It kept him darting in and out of back streets, knocking over dustbins, leaping in and out of front gardens. A few moments ago he had been lost, exhausted and ready to give up, but now he was exhilarated. His feet tapped lightly on the paving stones, never stopping. Behind him there was the noise of heavier feet. Jimmy didn’t look back. Still not out of breath, he began to enjoy the thrill of running, even though he felt like he wasn’t in control.

The two men were slowing down now. Jimmy could hear them dropping back. He smiled and the wind cut into his teeth. At the next corner he found himself on a main road, and then he realised why the men had stopped running so hard. Two black cars zoomed towards him, headlights blasting him in the face. He hesitated for an instant, then ran again.

In a few seconds the cars were level with him. Jimmy ducked into a side street. The cars turned with him. He longed for his legs to do something more for him. Then they did–but it wasn’t the extra burst of speed that Jimmy was hoping for. Instead, he hurdled over a front gate and down the side of a house. In two leaps he was up on to the wall and over the gate into someone’s back garden. He took a hefty kick at the football lying on the lawn and saw that the back of the garden was surrounded by a high fence. It must have been twice as tall as he was. Behind him the garden gate was rattling.

Jimmy didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He sprinted forward and with three huge steps he left the ground. He reached up for the top of the fence and grabbed it with both hands. Then before he could process what was happening, he had pulled himself over. His knees buckled as he landed. He staggered for a couple of metres before regaining his balance, then looked around, wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve. In front of him lay the dark oasis of the park.

Mitchell was still running. He saw the two men give up the chase and thought all the complications were over. Now he could catch the boy himself and take his bag. No problem. He zipped past the two men. They were bent double and completely out of breath. He hit the main road. It was only then that he realised how long he had been running, and how far.

He saw the two cars steaming after Jimmy. This boy doesn’t have a chance now, Mitchell thought. He stood still for a second and watched Jimmy running away from the cars, amazed and a little impressed too. As soon as Jimmy turned, Mitchell started running again. The desire to steal Jimmy’s bag was matched now by curiosity. He didn’t feel tired and was hardly short of breath, but he stopped at the top of the road that Jimmy had turned down, astounded at what he saw.

The cars screeched up to the kerb and four men jumped silently out of each. All eight were in dark suits. Mitchell watched them burst through into the back garden, then return moments later. They didn’t have the boy. One of the men started babbling into a walkie-talkie, his face red from running in the cold.

Mitchell was confused. How could they not have caught him? He hung back, so as not to be seen. Then Mitchell realised how the boy had managed to escape–the park was behind that row of houses. Once you were in the park at night, there were no lights. That’s why it was one of Mitchell’s favourite places to snatch bags.

He jogged back round the corner and headed for the entrance to the park. If he was quick enough, he might catch up with the boy as he ran out. It looked like the others had had the same idea, because they had climbed back into their cars and were heading that way themselves. They were driving slowly, though, as if they weren’t sure where they were going, or even as if they wanted to give the boy a chance to get away.

Mitchell hunched his shoulders as they drove past, half from the cold and half out of an instinct not to be noticed. Then he realised they were looking at him. A torch shone right into his eyes. He flinched and put his hand up to block the beam. It lingered for a moment, then the cars moved stealthily on like a funeral procession. A streetlight caught a small green stripe at the back of each as it drove away.

Mitchell turned the corner and checked that the cars had gone. He was about to give up and go home, but he couldn’t get the boy out of his head. There must be something in the bag really worth having.

The park gate was locked, of course, so he shinned up the side and swung his body over. He had caught his jeans on the spikes at the top so many times now that it didn’t bother him. On the other side he let himself drop into the dust, and brushed a twig from his hair. It needed the clippers again. Now his blood was pumping again, warming him up. He searched the park, picturing the riches he refused to miss out on.

Jimmy sprinted on for a minute, then slumped to the ground and held his breath. He listened, to find out whether the men had followed him over the fence, but they hadn’t. Then all his tiredness hit him again. The ground was cold and wet so he put his bag underneath him.

He knew the park, and while it was a relief to find a familiar place, it looked very different at night. He was afraid. It wasn’t just two men who were after him. There were loads of them. In his memory, the sound of the group chasing him was magnified into a whole army. How could he possibly escape? In fact, how had he escaped? He had never run like that before.

Now he had cooled down from the chase he was shivering. Those men in the car had been waiting for him. But how had they known he was going to be walking down that particular street? Jimmy hadn’t even known it himself. Then he had a sudden flash of being under the car in his driveway at home, and hearing the hiss of a walkie-talkie for the first time that night. “Set up a perimeter,” one of them had said. There must have been men waiting for him in all the streets around where he lived. But why?

Jimmy stood up and tugged the extra jumper out of his bag. He took off his jacket and pulled the jumper over the one he was already wearing. Then he squeezed his jacket over the top and sat down on his bag, against a tree. He shoved his hands into his pockets, but couldn’t bring himself to shut his eyes.

Instead, he dug some food out of his bag and tried putting some of it together. His hands were too cold, though, and his attempt at a sandwich quickly fell apart. He munched on the debris. Then, suddenly, there was a shadow in front of him. The figure rested for a second with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

“Give me your bag!” he hissed.

CHAPTER FOUR – NEVER ALONE

JIMMY COULDN’T BELIEVE what he had just heard. He stood up and dropped the sad remains of his food. His mind was blank. He opened his mouth slightly, but nothing came out.

“Give me your bag,” Mitchell repeated. Then shouted. “Did you hear me? Give me your bag!”

Jimmy looked down at his bag, dumbstruck. He had no idea what to do. He was even too surprised to be scared.

Mitchell was fed up. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. It was actually making him a little nervous that Jimmy seemed to be considering his question, assessing whether it was worth giving up the bag. Mitchell pulled himself up to his full height, which wasn’t a great deal taller than Jimmy. His eyes flicked between the boy and his bag. Should he ask one more time? What if the boy didn’t speak English? There was only one way to sort this out, he thought.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he strode forward. Jimmy didn’t move. So Mitchell stuck out the palm of his hand and pushed Jimmy out of the way. Jimmy lurched back and felt a pain in his chest where Mitchell had made contact. As Mitchell reached down for the bag, Jimmy came straight back.

At the split second that Mitchell bent over to pick up the bag, Jimmy jammed his foot into the back of Mitchell’s knee and dug it in. Mitchell collapsed forward, then looked round, furious. Pulling the bag up with him, he swung it at Jimmy’s head, but Jimmy was too fast. He ducked with ease and caught Mitchell’s arm as it swung past, pulling it down and towards him. Mitchell didn’t have the balance to stay upright and reeled forward. His face hit the ground this time, and it wasn’t kind. Jimmy planted his foot firmly on the back of Mitchell’s neck.

“Let go of my bag,” he said. He sounded calm, but inside Jimmy was amazed at his own speed, strength and reactions. He had watched himself moving and seen someone who really knew how to win a fight. There was no fuss, just efficient and devastating moves. The violence in him had sprung from nowhere, telling him what to do, or doing it for him.

Mitchell had never stood a chance. His face was squished against the cold dust. He couldn’t feel anything except the pressure against his neck that was so close to cutting off his breathing. That and shame. The physical discomfort was matched by the pain of injured pride. He opened his fingers slowly, letting the strap of the bag fall.

Jimmy kicked it away but kept his eyes fixed on the back of Mitchell’s head. In the dim light he could make out the glistening of a tear on Mitchell’s eye as it rapidly blinked, trying to throw off the soil of the park. Then, with a rush of awareness, Jimmy felt terrified by what he had done. Until tonight it had been completely alien to him to act in such a violent way. Now he stood there, with power over another boy. He had it in him to do terrible things when hardly provoked. He could have given up his bag and then found his way to the police station. But he hadn’t.

Jimmy’s first instinct was to step back and apologise, to help the boy up off the ground even. But there was nothing to stop the fight continuing if Jimmy released his opponent now.

“Leh we go!” Mitchell cried from the ground, his words obscured by grass and fear.

“OK,” Jimmy said, thinking desperately, “but you have to help me.”

“Whaa?”

“Help me.”

“Jush gid your fuh off why nick!”

“What did you say?” Jimmy lifted his foot and stepped back. Mitchell rolled over to look up at him.

“I said ‘get your foot off my neck’.”

“Oh.” For the first time, Jimmy could look squarely into this other boy’s face. Mitchell stood up carefully, not taking his eyes off Jimmy, and reluctantly rubbed his neck. Jimmy was surprised to see that the person who had tried to mug him was so young. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” said Mitchell.

“You’re not sixteen. You’re shorter than my sister, and she’s thirteen.” Jimmy felt a new confidence. He didn’t think this boy would be too keen to have a foot in his neck again.

“So? I might be short for my age.”

“You’re no way sixteen, that’s all.” Jimmy looked at him harder, as if to check.

“All right, I’m thirteen,” mumbled Mitchell, his humiliation complete. He looked away.

“There’s nothing in my bag,” Jimmy remarked. “Just food and clothes.”

“Then why were all those men after you?”

Jimmy tried to think of an answer, but nothing came. He knew it wasn’t for the bag, though.

“They’re after me,” he stuttered at last. The shock of hearing it said aloud for the first time was dreadful. “They’re after me,” he said again. His throat tightened, and his stomach turned over. This wasn’t any mysterious inner strength, though–it was fear.

“What’s your name?” said Mitchell.

“Jimmy.”

“I’m Mitchell. Hi.”

“I don’t want to fight.” Jimmy suddenly felt close to crying.

Mitchell let out a huge laugh, throwing his head back and feeling his neck some more. Jimmy was taken aback.

“What’s funny?”

“You idiot. You just beat me up. You could have killed me,” scoffed Mitchell. “I’m not going to try hitting you again, am I? Idiot.”

“Shut up!” said Jimmy, but a small part of him glowed at this coming from an older boy. “Just go away.”

“I’m not running away. What if you chase me?”

“I won’t chase you.”

“I’m staying here. If you want to go, then go. I’d never catch you.” Mitchell stepped slightly to the side, almost inviting Jimmy to run past him. But something Mitchell had said made Jimmy stay.

“You saw them chasing me?” Jimmy asked.

“What? Yeah. I saw those men get out of the car and come at you.”

“You watched the whole thing? And you could keep up?”

“Well, yeah. Sure.” Mitchell shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, I’m a fast runner too, I guess. Faster than those men, anyway.”

“Oh.” Jimmy wondered how come two kids had been able to run faster and further than any of the men.

“So, are you going?” Mitchell jerked his head to one side, indicating the park.

“I need your help.”

“Yeah right. What for?”

“I just need you to take me to the police station.”

“What?” Mitchell laughed again, but it was more nervous this time. “You want me to go with you to the police station so you can tell them to arrest me? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, not so they can arrest you. You don’t have to come in with me, but I need to get away from those men.”

“Why should I help you? I already saved you from them.”

“What?”

“I saved you from those men. They were going to catch you but I stopped them.”

“You didn’t stop them. I escaped.”

“Yeah, I did. You don’t know. You couldn’t see.” Mitchell jumped from foot to foot, half from cold and half from restlessness. Jimmy knew he was lying. It was pretty obvious. He didn’t want to argue, though. He wanted to get moving before the men found him again.

“OK, whatever. Thanks,” Jimmy sighed. “So because you saved me, I won’t tell them you tried to steal my bag. But you still have to take me to the police station. Unless you want my foot in your neck again.” He had never threatened anyone like that before, and he didn’t like how it felt, though he could see from Mitchell’s expression it was going to work.

“Why don’t you phone them? Get out your mobile.” Mitchell thought he was being clever. His brother would be impressed if he snatched a mobile.

“I don’t have one. What about a phone box?” said Jimmy, completely unaware that the truth had saved him from another attempt at robbery.

“Whatever. Come on, then. Let’s go.”

Mitchell and Jimmy walked through the park in awkward silence. Mitchell stayed a couple of steps ahead of Jimmy. He was used to walking alone and didn’t like the feeling of accompanying someone. He dug his hands in his pockets and ignored the boy next to him.

Jimmy dragged along behind. It had been a very long night and it wasn’t over yet. He longed to shut his eyes and find himself back in his bed, waking up from a bad dream. His parents would be there, so would Georgie, and everything would be fine–perhaps better than before. No arguments, and definitely no men in suits.

As they climbed through some bent railings in the park fence, Jimmy shot out a question just to break the silence. “What school do you go to?”

Mitchell grimaced. “Leave me alone.”

“Oh.” Jimmy waited a second then tried again. “Hey, thanks.”

“What?” This time Mitchell turned to look at Jimmy.

“Thanks for showing me the way. I was lost. What’s your name again?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Mitchell sneered. “I should have beaten your head in.”

“You didn’t though, did you?” Jimmy felt braver now. Compared to suited men in black cars, Mitchell was a lot less scary than he might have been. “I’ve forgotten your name,” Jimmy said.

“It’s Mitchell. But we’re not friends, so you can forget it again.”

“I’m Jimmy.”

“I know. Jimmy the idiot.”

Jimmy just smiled. Being called an idiot didn’t seem to matter any more. He didn’t mind that Mitchell didn’t want to talk; he was just relieved to have someone taking him in the right direction. And he might have been wrong, but he thought for a second that he saw a smile creep on to Mitchell’s face.

They stopped on a corner.

“It’s down here on the right,” Mitchell muttered.

“Wait there,” ordered Jimmy, straining to see if the police station was there. He kept Mitchell in the corner of his eye, just in case. “How do I know I can trust you?” he said at last.

“You don’t.” Mitchell shook his head in exasperation. “Look, it’s down there, OK? I’m not taking you any closer. I’m not your mum. So believe me or don’t, I don’t care. I’m going home.” He turned his back on Jimmy and started walking away. He was braced for a fight, expecting Jimmy to pounce on his back. He tried to walk casually.

All Jimmy could see were the shadows. He scoured the scene for anything that looked suspicious. But everything looked suspicious. Any parked car could be concealing more men in suits, lying in wait for Jimmy. He didn’t want Mitchell to leave. The company was comforting.

“Thanks again,” Jimmy whispered.

Mitchell didn’t look round. Instead, he stuck his hand up in the air and held it there for a moment, then he broke into a jog and was gone. Jimmy’s heart sank. He was alone again.

CHAPTER FIVE – FACE OF A FOE

THERE IT WAS. Hardly a hundred metres from where Jimmy had been hesitating, the police station sat like a comforting smile washed in blue light. It was set back from the road slightly, which is why he hadn’t seen it from the corner. Now he ran through the door like it was home.

He rushed through the brightly-lit lobby up to the desk. There was no one else in there except for the officer behind the desk, and another sitting on a bench by the door, nursing a bloody nose and holding an ice-pack to his forehead. Jimmy threw a glance at him, but the officer looked away hurriedly and pretended to read the notice boards.

“Hello, son. Can I help you?” said the officer behind the desk. He spoke in a deep voice that sounded friendly to Jimmy, but at the same time a little scary. Maybe that was because it was coming from a man who was well over six feet tall. Jimmy had never actually spoken to a policeman before. His words troubled over each other, confusing his tongue. He didn’t know where to begin.

“My parents…I was in my house…these men came…they chased me, but that was later…I don’t know…and my sister, but…” Then Jimmy stopped because he realised he was crying. He let the tears come like warm comfort on his chilled face. The fluorescent lights blurred in his eyes and the huge policeman came round to Jimmy’s side of the desk.

“That’s all right, Jimmy. Come and sit down.” At the sound of his name, Jimmy immediately tensed up again and stopped crying. He felt the officer’s huge hand on the top of his head. It guided him gently but firmly to the bench.

“I’m Sergeant Atkinson,” said the policeman. He was limping, but trying not to show it. Jimmy had to step over a fire extinguisher that was lying on the floor, and push past a small table. “That shouldn’t be there, sorry,” said the sergeant as he bent down. With one strong arm he snatched up the fire extinguisher, setting it upright next to the door.

The policeman with the blood all over his face stood up as soon as Jimmy sat down. He went past the desk and pushed through the doors, out of sight.

“How do you know my name?” Jimmy’s voice was meek, quiet.

“Your neighbours called and told us everything that happened.”

“Mr Higgins?”

“No, Mr and Mrs Bourne.”

Jimmy didn’t know the neighbours on the other side. He had never even seen them. There was usually a car in the driveway, like there was in every driveway, but he had never seen anybody coming or going.

“Why didn’t you go round to them for help when it all happened?” said Sergeant Atkinson.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of it, I suppose.” Jimmy considered whether he should have just gone next door, but it didn’t feel right. It was too close to home. Surely by now his house was crawling with men in suits waiting for him to come back. They would have found him easily if he had just been next door.

“They would have helped you, Jimmy. They were waiting for you to come round.”

“What do you mean, they were waiting? Why didn’t they call the police? Call you, I mean?”

“They did, of course,” explained the sergeant. “That’s how we know what happened.” Jimmy was starting to feel silly now, but he was sure he hadn’t acted stupidly. It had all felt so dangerous–like he had to get away from the house as soon as he could.

“But…if they called the police,” Jimmy stammered, “why didn’t you come?”

“We did. But you had run off.” Sergeant Atkinson patted Jimmy on the head as if to comfort him. But Jimmy was thinking. He was trying to push away the tiredness and the fear, forcing his thoughts and memories into some kind of order.

“But I didn’t. I was at my house,” Jimmy said, almost to himself.

The policeman stood up to welcome one of his colleagues coming through the swing doors behind the desk. It was a young policewoman, beaming at Jimmy.

“I was at my house,” Jimmy said again.

Sergeant Atkinson turned round and gave him a questioning frown.

“No, you jumped out the window and ran off,” he said.

“No I—How did you know I jumped out the window?”

“The Bournes told us. They saw the whole thing. Your neighbours.” The policewoman was speaking now. She was in uniform just like the others, but seemed a lot shinier. Maybe it was the smile. “There have been a lot of police officers looking for you all night,” she said, in a way that made Jimmy feel like it was his fault.

“But, I was just…” Jimmy stopped himself. If so many people were looking for him, why hadn’t he seen a single policeman? Or any police cars?

Jimmy stood up and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Who’s after me? Why are they chasing me?” Jimmy was glad he’d had a chance to cry, to let out some of the confusion. Now his head was clearing. The lights in the station had woken him up a little, too. He picked up his bag and shifted from foot to foot. The police officers looked at each other. It was the woman that spoke first.

“Don’t think about that now. Let’s get—”

“Who’s after me? If you know, tell me.” Jimmy had been through too much already to have secrets kept from him. But his question was only greeted with silence. “Why aren’t you telling me?” Jimmy was getting more and more impatient, but it was hard to raise his voice at police officers. He waited a second, then he let go and shouted: “Why aren’t you telling me?”

More policemen emerged at the back of the room. They were all big, and none of them was smiling.

“What are they all doing here if they’re meant to be out looking for me?” Something was wrong. It was obvious. There was no way that any neighbours could have seen him jump out of the window. And if anybody had been watching, they would have seen him hide under the car then go back to the house.

The sergeant spoke at last, but it wasn’t good enough for Jimmy.

“Sit down, Jimmy. You’re tired and overexcited. We’re here to help,” he blathered.

“I’m leaving now,” said Jimmy, edging towards the door. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be OK, though.” There were half a dozen policemen now. One of them strode over to the front door. One of them crossed his arms and stayed by the swing doors at the back. Another one slipped in behind the desk and put his hand on the receiver of the phone. Jimmy could feel that dark ball welling up inside him.

“I’m going to stay with my cousins, so I’ll be fine.” He tried to stop it, to push it back down, but it was fuelled by anger now. Jimmy could feel it growing darker and larger than it had before. Please, he said to himself, don’t try and fight all these policemen. Perhaps they’re on my side. But in his heart, he was just uncertain enough.

“There’s no need to go, Jimmy. We can sort this out.”

“Goodbye.” Jimmy leapt in the air, his trainers squeaking on the lino, and dashed under the flailing arms of Sergeant Atkinson.

“Stop him!” someone shouted. The room erupted into chaos and hullabaloo. Jimmy felt himself moving, but couldn’t influence his actions. Once again the animal instinct that had helped him survive that night had taken control of his limbs. He knocked over the table with his shin, but didn’t feel any pain. Leaflets flew everywhere. Jimmy grabbed a notice board, shoving it in the way of a huge policeman as he dived. The policeman hit the floor and Jimmy stepped on his back to springboard off it and slam his feet into Sergeant Atkinson’s chest. Jimmy rolled under the desperate lunges of the other police, then bounded to his feet and rushed to the door. It was a big, heavy wooden door, but Jimmy crashed through it into the street. And ran.

The lobby of the police station was devastated. The policeman with the bloody nose reappeared through the swing doors and laughed, glad he wasn’t the only one to have suffered that night.

Sergeant Atkinson picked himself up and dusted off his uniform. His huge jaw cracked as he ground his teeth. There was an impressed smile behind his eyes as he looked out through the door, broken off its hinges, into the early morning.

“Let him go, it’s OK. We’ll pick him up at his cousins,” he said. “Where do they live?”

The policewoman next to him looked down at her boots. Then she spat out the words: “He doesn’t have any cousins.”

Jimmy ran just like he had already that night, but this time he couldn’t hear anybody following him. He ran longer than he needed to, just in case, until finally he started to feel weakness seeping into his knees. It was the strain that would normally have come ages ago. He slipped into a doorway and looked behind him. The street was empty. If anybody had been following him, they hadn’t kept up.

Jimmy’s legs twitched with fatigue. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, feeling the strength in him fade away. It didn’t get any easier to understand. What was this strange urge in him to fight or to run? And how did he suddenly have the ability to do both? Jimmy wasn’t sure he liked it. However wonderful this power was, the very fact of its presence was terrifying. Before tonight he’d been like every other normal boy.

What’s more, he didn’t like having a violent side. It wasn’t just self-defence. Jimmy had been too keen to fight Mitchell, when he could have just handed over his bag and avoided anybody getting hurt. He imagined himself really injuring someone, or worse…but it made him wince and he shook his head hard.

Jimmy had to get off the streets. Everyone was after him. Everywhere was dangerous.

Jimmy caught sight of his fingers. They were purple with cold. He wished he had brought gloves. Even after he had been running so hard, sweating and red-faced, his fingers were bitten by the wind. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to be stranded out on his own when the sun came up. The police would pick him up in no time. He hitched his bag higher on his back and started walking. This time he wasn’t lost; from the High Street he knew his way. Jimmy was heading to the place he considered his second home–the house of his best friend, Felix Muzbeke.

Jimmy trudged past the neatly trimmed hedges of the suburbs, consumed by his thoughts. He told himself over and over that he wasn’t a criminal, but it did no good–he still felt like one. It was worse than that, though–this feeling was coupled with the indignation of innocence. He imagined himself back at the police station shouting into Sergeant Atkinson’s leathery face: “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Only one realisation brought a smile to his face: he had busted out of the police station when at least six enormous officers had wanted to keep him there. First he had seen through their lies, then he had slipped through their fingers.

He shuffled towards Felix’s road munching on the last of his food: a chocolate bar and an apple. At the corner, he was shocked out of his reverie by a twitching curtain. And was that a green stripe on the gatepost? No–just a tired illusion. He kept his head down and walked on.

The Muzbekes’ house was bigger than his, and a little smarter. Jimmy had no hesitation in ringing the bell, despite it being so early in the morning. When Felix’s parents heard what had happened they would have to understand.

He rang twice before he heard movement inside. There were faint voices, the clunk of two bolts, and then a look of utter bewilderment when Felix’s father pulled open the door. His eyes were red and only open a tiny crack. He pulled his wife’s flowery dressing gown round him with one hand to guard against the freezing cold.

Jimmy looked himself up and down as Neil Muzbeke did the same. He was a wreck: covered in grime, his shoes filthy from the park. He had torn his jacket too, probably going over a fence, or maybe in the fight at the police station, or…It could have happened any time that night. No wonder it took the man a couple of seconds to recognise him. Felix’s father shook his head and blinked.

“Jimmy?” he spluttered.

The house was warm, and washing the dirt off his face felt wonderful–not to mention the chance to sit down. Felix’s parents were both up now, and his mother was fixing cups of tea. Felix himself hadn’t stirred. Outside, the birds had started singing and a gentle light was pushing through the windows. Jimmy sat at the kitchen table, unsure of what else to say. He had explained everything as calmly as he could, trying to be sensible and detached. At first, of course, they hadn’t believed anything he said, but when they phoned Jimmy’s house and there was no answer, they listened more closely.

“I’m going to call the police,” fussed Olivia Muzbeke for about the tenth time.

“I told you, you can’t. If you call the police, they’ll come and take me away.”

Felix’s father cleared his throat and brushed his wild hair back from his face. “If you’ve done something wrong, Jimmy,” he said, “it’s OK to tell us, whatever it is. We won’t be angry.” His bulbous cheeks wobbled as he shook his head rapidly.

“I told you, I swear. I haven’t done anything. They must be after me because of what I can do. I think maybe they want to experiment on me.” Jimmy meant this sincerely, but when he heard the words come out of his mouth, he knew they wouldn’t be taken seriously.

“Jimmy, dear,” said Felix’s mother, “if you have superpowers, you should show us.”

“I can’t show you. It just happened. I told you. It was this thing inside me that took over when I was in danger.”

Mr and Mrs Muzbeke looked at each other. The ping of the kettle broke the silence.

“You can sleep in the spare room,” sighed Felix’s mother. “I’ll fetch you some of Felix’s pyjamas. We’ll get this whole thing sorted out in the morning.”

Jimmy stood up from the table. He was exhausted. In the morning, when they found out his parents really were missing, they would have to believe him.

Then Jimmy remembered his sister.

“What about Georgie?” he said. “Call her school at nine o’clock and I bet you she won’t be there. I don’t think they’re after her too, but she ran off, and she’s going to try and help me.”

“Jimmy, go to bed,” said Felix’s mother. “Now.”

Felix’s father glanced up at the clock and groaned.

“I may as well get ready for work,” he said. “What a start to the day.”

Jimmy was upset. He knew he wasn’t exaggerating, or imagining it all. He just had to prove it. He stopped at the door and turned around. Suddenly he started opening all the kitchen drawers.

“What are you doing?” shrieked Felix’s mother. “Stop that. What are you looking for?”

It was too late. Jimmy had found a knife.

CHAPTER SIX – IN HIDING

FELIX MUZBEKE HATED getting up in the morning. In fact, there was only one thing that he hated more: waking up five minutes before the alarm went off. Those five valuable minutes of sleep were lost to him for ever, and not having those five minutes was going to make him tired all day. He knew trying to get back to sleep was pointless, so he thumped his hand down on the button that would stop the alarm going off and trudged to the bathroom as if going to his execution.

It was when he reached the bathroom that he heard the noise from downstairs again and realised it must have been what woke him up. Felix looked across at his parents’ bedroom door. It was ajar, which meant they were both up. He was ready to brush it off as a lively breakfast, but then he heard his mother shriek.

Felix knew that if there was something seriously wrong he probably couldn’t do anything to help, but nobody was ever more curious. A scream on a school morning was an unusual event. It would at least give him something to talk about at school. He trotted down the stairs and pushed open the kitchen door, then thought he must still be dreaming. “Oh, my God! Hi, Jimmy.”

His mother was sitting at the table with her face in her hands, quivering slightly. Felix’s father was just staring back at him with his mouth half open and his eyebrows frowning. But it was Jimmy who had surprised Felix. First of all, he wasn’t meant to be there. He also wasn’t meant to have a huge kitchen knife sticking out of his arm.

“Hi, Felix,” said Jimmy, happiness in his voice. He was genuinely delighted to see his friend. His left arm was stretched out on the kitchen table, his hand turned upwards. At his wrist, the knife stood up on its own, with about a centimetre of the blade sunk into Jimmy’s flesh. It rose like Excalibur and flashed in the grey morning light.

Felix’s mother emerged from behind her hands. “Stop that at once! Put that thing down!” she squealed. But Jimmy just smiled as calmly as he could.

“No, it’s OK, look,” he said. “It’s like I was saying…” and he curled the fingers of his right hand round the handle of the knife. Slowly he pulled the blade out of his wrist. “No blood. Told you.”

Felix came right up close.

“That is so cool. Can I have a go?” Felix reached out for the knife, but his mother pulled him away.

“No! That is very dangerous and you shouldn’t do it. Nor should you, Jimmy. Put the knife away.” Jimmy didn’t answer. He just held out his hand to Felix’s father.

“Jimmy,” said Mr Muzbeke, “is this a trick?”

“No.”

“And it did the same thing when you got glass in your wrist?”

“It was a big bit of glass from the window, and at first I didn’t even notice it was there. It didn’t hurt or anything.”

Just like before, there was no blood, no mess, and Jimmy didn’t feel any pain. Any normal person would be bleeding to death by now, but Jimmy just had a flap of skin. He could squeeze his little finger in and touch a deeper layer, which was slightly grey under the pink skin.

“What are you doing here, Jimmy? Are you coming to school with me?” Felix was a little disappointed about there not being an intruder or a major disaster for him to report on.

“Erm, I can’t come to school Felix, and you can’t tell anybody I’m here.”

“Can I tell them about your arm? Does it hurt?”

“No you can’t tell them, and no it doesn’t hurt.”

“How come you look so terrible?”

While Felix bolted his breakfast, Jimmy tried as best he could to explain everything that had happened to him. Felix’s parents kept interrupting, telling Felix to hurry up and telling Jimmy not to exaggerate. But even so, he began to feel that Mr and Mrs Muzbeke were starting to believe him. Felix was riveted.

“OK, listen, I won’t tell anybody you’re here, but when I get home from school we’re going to check out your superpowers,” said Felix. In a flash he was dressed and out of the door, sprinting up the road – very late.

“It doesn’t feel like having superpowers,” said Jimmy as the front door clicked shut. Felix’s mother put her hand on the back of Jimmy’s neck.

“Go and get some sleep. And don’t worry about your family. I’m sure they’re fine, wherever they are.”

Jimmy dropped his head and yawned. He was so tired he had stopped thinking straight a long time ago. He pictured the faces of his parents and his sister as he crawled up the stairs and into the unfamiliar bed. The spare room was too tidy, too clinical to be homely. It was obvious nobody stayed in there much.

The fact that it was light outside didn’t matter. Jimmy closed his eyes and let his body curl into a ball. He didn’t feel as excited about any of this as Felix obviously did. He certainly didn’t feel like a superhero. He felt awful.

“He makes bottle tops, for God’s sake. Who could possibly want to kidnap Ian Coates?” Felix’s mother was pacing the kitchen, trying hard to keep her voice down so as not to wake Jimmy.

“Jimmy thinks they’re after him. Have you phoned the house again?”

“Still no answer. But that doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“I don’t know.” Felix’s father rubbed his face with his hand, trying to banish the shock of a strange morning. He allowed himself a moment of self-pity. He worked so hard as it was, he didn’t need to be woken up extra early by a runaway child. He put the kettle on again and shook his head. His dark jowls jiggled as if they had just woken up. “What should we do?” he asked, finally.

“I’m phoning the police.” Olivia Muzbeke walked over to the phone on the wall and picked up the receiver. Her husband was there in a flash.

“You can’t do that,” he said, and put his hand across the phone.

“Leave me alone, I’m calling the police. If Jimmy is telling the truth and something has happened to the Coates, then the police need to know.”

“If Jimmy is telling the truth, then the police are also trying to catch him.” Felix’s mother knew her husband was right. She put down the phone.

“What if he’s done something wrong?” she said as she poured yet more tea.

“You know him better than I do. Has he ever been in trouble before?”

“No.”

“Has he ever done anything he shouldn’t have?”

“He stuck my meat knife in his arm.”

Mr Muzbeke sighed. He looked up at the clock and thought about going to work. “We can let him stay for a couple of days. Until we know what’s going on. But don’t tell anybody he’s here, and don’t call the police. Not yet.”

“That’s so silly. It’s all so ridiculous, Neil…”

“Just in case. The state this country’s in, I wouldn’t be surprised if the police decided to abduct an innocent family. Would you?”

“OK. A couple of days.”

Jimmy slept a long time, but still didn’t feel rested when he woke up. It had been happening quite a lot recently. He would wake up with the impression that he’d had a nightmare, but couldn’t remember what it was. And he hardly ever felt properly rested. He opened his eyes and wondered what the time was. There was no clock in the room. All he could think about when he looked at the light coming through the curtains was that he’d jumped out of a similar window the night before. Suddenly he was filled with anxiety. What if the Muzbekes had told someone he was there? What if Felix had blabbed at school? He was a good friend and he’d never put Jimmy in danger deliberately, but he was always giving secrets away by accident.

An image jumped into Jimmy’s mind that was too real for comfort. It was the picture of the Muzbekes’ house surrounded by men in black suits, with their thin black ties oozing down their fronts. Then he pictured them in the kitchen, being served tea by Olivia Muzbeke, just waiting for Jimmy to come downstairs.

He shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but all the tension from the night before had rushed back into his body. He slipped down below the duvet, wishing he could stay there for ever, but quickly got too hot.

Downstairs, Felix was guzzling toast in front of the TV. There was toast waiting for Jimmy too. Felix’s mother must have heard him getting up.

“Hiya, Jimmy, how’s your arm?” Felix almost shouted this, and bounded over to punch Jimmy on the shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Lemme see.” Jimmy showed Felix his wrist and kept it held out while he sat down and started eating his toast. He let the images from the TV go into his brain without paying attention and felt Felix prodding around his cut.

“That’s so cool.”

“All right, get off it now.” Jimmy pulled his arm back.

“Can I cut off your hand?” said Felix.

“What?” Jimmy glared at Felix, before he realised he was joking. Felix laughed, and after a second Jimmy did too. “How was school?”

“OK, I suppose.” Felix shrugged, “Miss Bennett nearly didn’t even notice you were missing when she took the register.”

The more they chatted, the more ridiculous the events of the night before seemed. The danger started fading in Jimmy’s mind; he didn’t know why anybody was after him, so there didn’t appear to be much point being afraid. But as the fear dwindled, in its place came a long, slow ache. The memory of his parents being driven away tore at his mind. Suddenly he knew what it meant to miss somebody.

“We should go and find them,” Felix said brightly, with toast crumbs all over his face. “Your parents, I mean.”

“What?”

“Well, you said we can’t call the police, and they’ve disappeared, right? Taken by these strange men in suits.” He said it like it was the name of an alien race, and waved his hands in front of him, trying to look spooky.

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