Page 59 of The Taskmaster
In my room, I had curtains to match my bed linen, and stuff on my bedside table and my drawers; make-up, perfume, things I’d collected over the years. Here, there was none of that. It looked like no one slept here. Or if they did, they didn’t plan on staying long.
“This one’s my bed,” Stacey said, throwing her school bag onto a bed by the window. I put my bag on the floor and sat down on the edge of her bed.
“Do you play music in here?” I asked, looking around to see if I could spot a CD player.
“We don’t have stuff like that in our rooms. Sometimes, they let us bring a book up here to read if it’s something we’re studying for school.”
I was always being told I played my music too loud, or had my TV blaring, as Mum so eloquently put it. I had bookshelves full of books that were not school approved, and my dad had said he’d buy me a PlayStation for my birthday. I’d told Dad I wanted a puppy instead, but he said no. They both did. I thought my parents were the worst in the world for saying no to me. But I bet Stacey wasn’t offered a PlayStation for her birthday. I bet they didn’t even buy her anything, and that made me feel bad.
“Do you like living here?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“It’s the only children’s home I’ve ever lived in. I have nothing to compare it to, so I guess it’s all right.” She paused then added, “Millie says her last home was way better. But I don’t know. At least we aren’t out on the streets.”
That wasn’t the best answer, saying she’s just glad she has a roof over her head. And as I looked at her, I could tell she felt on edge. Was that because I was here?
“What part of your maths are you struggling with?” she asked, changing the subject, and then there was a knock at the door and she froze, her eyes going wide as she stared at the door like it’d turn into a monster at any minute.
She put her finger against her lips to tell me to be quiet. Then, she stood up and walked slowly and hesitantly over to the door. She took a breath as she gripped the handle, then she opened it. Her bed was behind the door. I couldn’t see who was there, but Stacey said, “I don’t have chores until four-thirty today. I was doing my homework in my room.”
The look of guilt spread like a cherry bloom on her cheeks and neck.
Why was she guilty about doing her homework?
“Did I say you could do that?” a shrill voice hissed. A voice that sounded like they were rehearsing for Halloween with how evil it sounded, and I imagined a witch behind the door, with warts on her nose and green skin, a black hat, and the smell of rotten food circling around her. Maybe that’s why the house smelt so bad?
“No, Angela.” Stacey hung her head in shame. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“You’ll be down in two minutes, or you know what’ll happen,” the witch replied.
Stacey started panting as she stared at the floor, and a bony arm shot out from behind the door, grabbing Stacey around the throat, making her head snap up and her eyes bulge as she gasped for air. She clawed at the hand that was cutting off her breathing, and I stood up, ready to fight her too.
“Pl.. plea... please,” Stacey gasped, and just as I was about to intervene, the witch let her go, and Stacey doubledover, gasping for air as she rubbed her neck. Then the hand reappeared and smacked her hard across the face, making her fall to the floor.
“You ever disobey me again and you’ll live to regret it,” the witch hissed.
“Hold up.” Isaiah held his hand up to stop me. “I’m really invested in the story, and I can see where you’re going here. But I have to stop you.”
The way he looked at me like he was trying to access some inner chamber of secrets inside my mind made me stand tall, throw my shoulders back and fake confidence I didn’t feel right now.
“So, what you’re saying is, your friend was treated in a really shit way in her home, so years later, you decided to get revenge on those people by breaking into their houses and cutting their throats?”
“I didn’t cut her throat.”
“Stabbed, cut, it’s all the same shit. But you know what? I don’t buy it.”
He sat back, shaking his head at me, and I clenched my jaw.
“What part of it don’t you buy?” I snapped, irritation burning inside, making me feel jumpy and agitated.
“It’s noble of you to want to do something for your friend who was hurt. I get that. I see it all the time. But I know you’re lying.”
“My friendwashurt; I’m not lying about that.” I could feel the burn in my face as I argued with him.
“Okay. Maybe lying is a bit harsh.” He grinned at me, throwing me off and turning my irritation to confusion. “But you aren’t giving me the whole truth. We both know that.”
I wasn’t giving him the whole truth.
That would go with me to the grave.
