Page 16 of The Reaper
I was glad she was home and safe. Despite everything, she was my best friend. But my reason for leaving the house today hadn’t been all selfless. I knew that I had to pass Jodie’s house to get to my real destination. I had no intention of turning around and going home. My subconscious wouldn’t let me. No. I wanted to go to the old Sandland asylum, the building he used ashissanctuary. There was a wall on the street corner opposite that I’d often sit on, waiting and watching. He’d never spotted me there, no one had. It was my special place. A place I often went to if I needed to think, or just to see what he was up to, if I was lucky enough to catch him coming out.
I wrapped my coat tighter around me and pulled the hood up to stay warm. The streets were practically empty, and I liked it that way. A quiet Sunday afternoon. Nothing to see here. As I approached my corner and took my place on the uneven stone wall, I glanced over at the asylum. The gothic, menacingly dark, yet intriguing building was like a beacon of all things forbidden, calling out to me, pulling me in.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them up, cursing myself that I’d forgotten to bring my gloves, and I blew into my cupped hands to help bring some life back into my fingers. But when I saw movement at the side of the building, I froze from something other than the cold air. I froze in anticipation.
Their dog came bounding out of the side door first, swirls of grey air circling as he panted out his breath.
Then I saw him.
Dark clothes, a hoody pulled up over his head, but I’d recognise it was him in any crowd.
Devon Brady.
He picked up a stick from the floor and threw it for the dog to catch. Then he cupped his own hands and blew into them just like I had. I sat on the wall, watching him play with the dog, and I started to daydream about the first time I ever saw him… ten years ago, at a community centre drop-in that my mum had organised through the church.
“The turnout is way better than I thought it would be.” My mum beamed as she looked out across the hall of Brinton Manor community centre at all the people who had come today for her cupcakes and coffee morning. The bunting she’d sewn herself was strung up around the room and it gave the place a homely, welcoming feel. “I was worried they wouldn’t bother on a Saturday. Plus, the whole church thing sometimes puts people off.”
“It’s free cake and coffee, what’s not to like?” I joked, putting a plate of fresh strawberry and vanilla cupcakes onto the china stand my mum had brought from home to display her homemade delicacies. My mum had made all the cupcakes for today. Biscuits too, but that’s what she lived for, making others happy.
There were a lot of families from the manor, sitting around, chatting as they devoured the free cake. Kids ran between the tables chasing each other, and their parents occasionally shot out an arm as they raced past to grab them and slow them down. They’d wipe off a few crumbs and smeared frosting from their children’s faces and curse them out with a smile.
These people weren’t as lucky as we were, but for the most part, they were happy. You could tell from their shabby clothes and worn-out shoes that they appreciated what my mum had done today. They had a warm place to meet friends, somewhere for their kids to let off steam, and my mum always made of point of mingling, listening to their stories, offering a friendly, non-judgmental ear. My mum and dad were like yin and yang. Where he preached, she provided, listened, accepted, and the women of Brinton loved her for it.
“Let’s put some of these on the tables,” Mum said, gesturing to the cake filled plates, and she picked up one in each hand and then she turned and leant into me and in a low voice she whispered, “I might stop to have a chat with Kay Brady over there. She’s had a terrible time of it since her husband left her. Two kids as well. She’s really struggling with the oldest.”
I had no idea who Kay Brady was, but I didn’t pay much attention to the gossip my mum told my dad every night over the dinner table. My mum’s idea of good gossip was different to mine.
We circulated through the tables, placing our plates down as we went, and avoiding the raucous kids. Eventually, we were left with one plate––a plate destined for Kay Brady’s table. She was sitting on her own with a little girl about four years old snuggled in her lap. My mum put the plate down, then took a chocolate chip muffin and placed it in front of Kay.
“Your favourite.” My mum smiled, and Kay sighed and reached forward to take the cake. I knelt down next to them and said hello to the little girl, but she just curled her face into her mum and hid from me. She didn’t want to play; she was quite happy sitting with her mum and cuddling.
“Leah, why don’t you head out to the gardens at the back? A few of the older kids are out there, and Kay’s son, Devon, might be out there too.”
Mum looked hopeful, but Kay blurted out, “He won’t talk to you. He won’t talk to anyone. He doesn’t like making friends. He’s a loner, my boy.”
Nothing would deter my mum though, and she ushered me away from the table so she could have a chat with Kay.
I did as I was told, even though I had no idea who this Devon kid was. If my mum wanted me to make an effort, I would.
So, I wandered to the back of the hall, where the double doors led onto a small garden area. There were a few kids around my age outside. Some of the lads were kicking a can around like a football. The goalposts were marked by two jumpers on the grass. Close by were two girls sitting on the floor, giggling and watching the boys, and then I noticed a boy on his own. A boy who looked a little dirty and unkempt. He wore jeans that didn’t cover his ankles. His jacket looked worn, and his face was ruddy, with specks of mud on his cheeks. But as I crept closer and watched him from behind the fir trees that lined the garden, I could see the determination in his eyes as he stood huddled over, crafting something in his hands. The way he gritted his teeth in concentration was mesmerising. I couldn’t help but watch him. I felt drawn to him.
I took another step closer to get a better look, and I noticed that he had a small knife in his grubby hands. A Stanley knife, I think it was called, and he was using it to sharpen the end of a stick he’d found on the floor. I should’ve been wary of him bringing a knife here today, but I wasn’t. He was using it to create something, and the focus he was giving his task was inspiring. He didn’t see me, and nothing seemed to pull him from his world, not even when a group of three boys came over to him and started to taunt him.
“Oi, Brady. I’m surprised you’ve got the nerve to show your face around here after what you did at school yesterday,” one of the boys said, and when Devon ignored them, he kicked out at him to get his attention.
It didn’t work.
“I heard Simcox’s parents are going to sue yours for damages,” the boy stated, curling his lip in disgust.
“Good luck with that, we’ve got fuck all.” It was the first words I’d heard Devon speak, and I held my breath.
He really didn’t care about these boys; he didn’t even look at them as they started to circle him threateningly.
I didn’t know whether to go back inside and get my mum. I glanced around, hoping someone else was watching too, but the rest of the kids out here were all lost in their bubbles, oblivious to everything. I didn’t want any trouble at my mum’s event, but despite that, I couldn’t seem to move. My legs were stuck firmly in place, fascinated by how this would unfold. Even though things were taking a sinister turn, judging from the way the boys stood with their arms folded, Devon wasn’t fazed. He just kept on sharpening his stick and whistling to himself.
“You do know you almost broke his jaw?” one of the boys piped up. “You’re a fucking psycho.”
“He’s a bully,” Devon spat back. “Maybe I should’ve tried harder and actually broken it. He needed shutting up.” There was no emotion behind his words. He cared more about the stick than what these boys were saying.
