Page 89 of The Player
Zye’s eyes were screwed tightly shut as he took another smack from the whip, then he opened them and mouthed, ‘Please. Go.’
I heard Harold say something about a tight ass, and Zye started to thrash, yanking at the straps on his wrists and begging, “NO, NO, NO!”
I wasn’t helping him, crouched here watching it all play out, so I did what I knew he’d wanted me to do, and I stood up, turned slowly around, and started to climb back up the staircase on legs that were so wobbly I was scared I might topple over or fall back down again. My hands were shaking, my palms sweaty as I tried to grip the railings. And then, I made it back to the top and I walked so fast away from that staircase, striding in the opposite direction like a zombie, unsure what to do next. But I knew I had to do something.
As I turned the corner, I saw Obi standing in the doorway, and when he noticed me, he hissed, “Get in here, quick.”
I went over to him, but I shook my head.
“We have to go back. They’re hurting Zye. They’ve got him on a table and they’re whipping him. We need to stop them.”
“You need to get back in here before they hear you and take you down there too.” Obi snatched my arm, dragging me over the threshold into the room and then shutting the door. He didn’t listen to what I was saying, he just got to work, pushing his bed back in place.
“But we can’t leave him there. They’re hitting him,” I begged.
“Hitting isn’t the worst he’s gonna get tonight, trust me,” Obi said roughly, and I couldn’t stop myself. I punched him, hitting him square in the arm. He didn’t punch me back, just glanced down at where I’d hit him and then shrugged. “I’ll let you have that one. You’ve had a tough night.” He glanced up at me. “Maybe next time you’ll learn to go to the fucking toilet before lights out. Yeah?”
“Why aren’t you helping him?” I growled, itching to land another punch on him.
Obi was tough, he could do something to help. Maybe wake up a few of the older boys. Why wasn’t he helping? I didn’t want to walk away. I couldn’t ignore it, and I didn’t think he should too.
Obi stuck his face right into mine.
“I can’t protect them all. But Icanprotect all of you lot in here. So I suggest you go back to bed and count yourself lucky that you and your little brother found your way in here with us.”
“And what about Zye?” I asked, trying to keep the tears in my eyes and stop them falling down my cheeks.
“He has to make his own way. For now. It’s not ideal, but one day, I’ll help him too. But that day isn’t today. Like I said, I can’t help everyone.”
I swallowed, feeling torn between staying with my brother and doing what I felt was right.
“Kid,” Obi whispered. “Go to bed. Try and forget whatever it was you just saw. Do you think Zye wanted you to see it?” I shook my head because I knew he didn’t. He’d told me himself to go. “So do what he’d want and forget it. Cut it out of your memory. His time will come. He’ll get pay back. They all will.”
I backed away quietly, then turned back and asked, “Is that why you sleep in front of the door, to stop them coming in?”
Obi took a deep breath.
“No one’s being taken. Not on my watch.”
I turned back and went over to where Frankie lay fast asleep. Then, I climbed into Frankie’s bed and put my arms around him.
I always thought Obi was keeping us in, trapping us, but it was the other way around.
He was a guard.
Only he was keeping the wolves from the door. Making sure no monsters came to our room to steal us from our beds.
ChapterThirty-Eight
WILL
The Story of Clivesdon House
Nineteen Years Ago
Ifelt guilty the next morning, going into the games room to find Zye sitting at the window. He didn’t acknowledge me as we walked in, but he glanced at Frankie for a split second before turning his attention back to the world outside.
“That’s why you sit in that window, isn’t it?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. “You’re dreaming about getting away.”
