Page 90 of The Player
He didn’t say yes or no, but he didn’t need to. I knew.
“Why don’t you tell someone?” I urged, walking to stand at his side, but his shoulders sagged, and he hung his head. “You could tell Paul. He’d stop it.”
“Paul knows,” he hissed so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.
“Tell him again,” I pushed. “He might’ve thought you were making it up before.”
“I’ve told him more than once. He doesn’t care. He’s no better than they are.”
Zye sat hunched over, and I went to put my hand on his arm, but he flinched, moving away from me. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Obi knows,” I stated, but Zye didn’t react. “He said he’ll help, one day. He said he’d make them pay.”
Zye shrugged. “Words are pointless.”
I sat down on the carpet at Zye’s feet.
“Do they do that every night?”
“Why does it matter?” he replied.
“There has to be something we can do.” I felt helpless, and I didn’t like it.
“There is,” Zye said. “You switch off, take yourself somewhere else in your mind. They might be able to get to my body, but they can’t reach my brain.”
“Where does your brain go?” I asked.
“To the future, where I’m older and stronger than they are. And then, I make them hurt like they do to me. I watch them suffer and I enjoy it.” He cleared his throat and glanced back at Frankie. “Or I go to the beach and imagine making sandcastles and a little moat around the edge that I can fill with sea water. Either place works for me.” He shrugged.
“One day, we could go for a trip to the seaside, you, me, and Frankie, and we’ll make some sandcastles just like the ones in your head,” I said, to try and make him feel better.
“Maybe,” he replied.
* * *
I didn’t ask Zye again about what happened to him at night-time, not after that night when I’d crept down into the basement. And he didn’t want to share it. I think, with me and Frankie in the games room, he found a different kind of peace, a sort-of-happy, if Zye ever could be happy. We were two friends that he could share his quiet times with; friends to share his space. He was still mostly silent in the mornings, and more willing to open up in the afternoon, but we didn’t mind. Zye was who he was, and we accepted that.
Obi continued to sleep over the doorway every night, but he always made sure I’d been to the bathroom before lights out, and he started to take more interest in Frankie, giving him high-fives and teaching him special ways to kick and punch.
I didn’t like Clivesdon House. I hated it. And I asked every day when my mum was coming to fetch us.
And then, one day, she did.
* * *
I don’t know exactly how long we stayed at Clivesdon House. To me, it felt like months, but maybe it was weeks. All I knew was that day, when I saw my mum standing at the bottom of the stairs as we came down to eat breakfast, I felt happiness like I’d never felt before.
I held Frankie’s hand tight as I raced down the stairs to where she stood, and when we got to her, she grabbed us both in a hug. The kind of hug that hurt, it squeezed so tight, but I didn’t mind.
“It’s time to come home,” Mum said as she kissed us both on our heads. “We have a new apartment. It’s lovely and clean. Close to your school, so when the new term starts, you won’t have to walk as far. I’ve decorated your room too. You’re gonna love it.”
I didn’t care what the room looked like, I just wanted to leave here and go back to be with my mum. She looked different to how she looked before we’d left, and I stared up at her, noticing her hair was fluffy and she had makeup on. Her coat was new too. She looked nice. She smelt good too. Like home.
After hearing Mum gush over our new life, Paul appeared at my side, holding our two bags.
“I packed your things, boys,” he said, looking down at Frankie and me. “I bet you’re excited to go home.”
He started to walk us to the door, telling us how much he’d miss us, and then, before I knew what was happening, we were on the path outside, walking down towards a taxi with the back door open and the engine running.
