Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) (10 page)

But Tom stood his ground. He bared his teeth and scowled. “Come on,” he jeered. “Come on.” He raised the baseball bat and set his mouth in a grim line as the car sped toward him. Every muscle in Tom’s body was pumped, every sinew taut. He was invincible; a mass of pure rage. And still, the Renault came at him. Tom narrowed his eyes and waited. His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the squeal of rubber against tarmac as the driver slammed on the brakes. The Renault ground to a halt, its front bumper less than a metre away from where Tom stood in his T-shirt and boxer shorts. For a split second, the two men stared at each other. Tom took in the man’s pallid face; the crumpled brow lined with fear, the unshaven jowls twitching involuntarily. He fixed every detail of that face in his mind. For some reason, this man had taunted him, thinking himself safe inside his car. He’d thought he could get away with it, but he was wrong. So very wrong. “You’re mine now,” Tom whispered. “Mine.”

Tom took a step forward, raising the baseball bat as high as he could, then he swung the bat down, smashing it into the front of the Renault with all his strength. The metal caved in with a dull boom. Tom grinned and held the baseball bat at shoulder height. He adjusted his stance, staring at the horrified driver, looking him in the eye. The next swing would surely burst the windscreen, showering the man in shattered glass. The driver turned his face away.
That won’t save you
. Nothing could save the man now. But suddenly, the car lurched backward, reversing away, weaving across the road from side to side, its engine whining in protest.

Tom lowered the baseball bat. “No!” he yelled. There was no way the bastard was getting off that lightly. “Come here!” he roared, then he launched himself forward, dashing toward the car. He ran steadily, purposefully, focusing on his target, closing it down. But the road was wider here and the driver finally managed to get the car under control. The Renault accelerated away, still in reverse. But Tom did not slow his pace. He only needed the driver to make one mistake and then he’d catch up with him.

The car reached the T-junction and it swerved around the corner, hurtling tail first into the main road, still travelling too fast. The brakes squealed and for the first time, Tom wished for traffic on the main road. If the man crashed now, he’d never get away. But the driver was lucky. The road was empty and the Renault surged forward, its engine screaming and rattling as the driver put his foot down hard.

“Stop!” Tom yelled. But it was no use. The Renault was already speeding away. Tom stood at the corner and stared in disbelief. He’d been so close.
A second earlier
and I’d have had you right where I wanted you
. He put his hands on his hips and breathed hard, letting his body recover from the sprint. In the distance, the Renault slowed down and at last, its tail lights came on. As Tom watched, the car turned a corner and then it was gone.

Tom glared at the empty road. “I’ll find you,” he said. “And next time, you won’t be so lucky.” He turned his head and spat onto the pavement. Then, with one last look along the empty road, he turned and headed for home.

As he walked, the cool night air chilled the sweat on his body, and he savoured the way it stung his skin.
I haven’t felt this good for a long time
.
Not since…Not for a long time
.

But it seemed to take forever to get back to his house, and as he walked his anger drained away, leaving him cold and exhausted. He walked on. As he neared his home, he saw that a couple of his neighbours were standing next to their damaged cars. A youngish man, maybe four or five years older than Tom, stood in his T-shirt and jeans. He ran his hands through his hair then waved his arms as he moaned about the state of his beloved Audi. The other man was older. He simply stood and stared at the dents is his Ford Focus, his hands buried deep in the pockets of dressing gown. He shook his head sadly as if to say, “This is what happens. What did you expect?” But as Tom approached them, they both stopped what they were doing, and stared.

Suddenly, Tom saw himself as they must be seeing him: the baseball bat, the bare feet, the baggy boxer shorts he slept in and the old white T-shirt that was stuck with sweat to his bony frame. He had no choice but to keep on walking toward them—no choice but to let them stare.
I should just walk straight past them
,
act as if nothing has happened
. But the older man was looking at him thoughtfully. They’d spoken on a few occasions and the man clearly remembered him. His name was Richard or Robert or something. It didn’t matter. They knew each other as neighbours and now Tom would have to speak to him. But what could he say?

When he was near enough to speak without raising his voice, Tom tilted his head to indicate the road behind him. “I chased them off.”

“Who?” the younger man said.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Kids. Joyriders I expect.”

“Typical,” the older man said. “Just typical.” He sighed and shook his head.

And Tom remembered. Yes, his name was Richard. He worked at the discount furniture place. He’d told Tom he should come over sometime and he’d get him a good deal. “Sorry about your car, Richard.”

“Ah well,” Richard said. “It’s a company car anyway.” He gave Tom a tired smile.

But the younger man looked Tom in the eye. “Joyriders? They stole a car? Whose?” He looked over Tom’s shoulder. “Your car’s there isn’t it?”

Tom returned the man’s gaze. “I don’t know. I heard them. Saw them out the window. They were up to no good at this time in the morning.”

The older man chipped in, “And you came out and saw them off, eh? Well good for you. You’re a braver man than me.”

Tom shrugged. “They were just kids. I scared them off, that’s all.”

The younger man folded his arms. “But I don’t get it. Did they steal a car or not? Because, if they went off in the car they came in, then how did you know to chase them?”

Tom forced a smile. “Well I’m not stood out here in my boxers for the good of my health.”

Richard chuckled.

“I heard them,” Tom said. “I’m a light sleeper. They were hanging around the cars. Looking for something to nick. I came out and scared them off.”

“Yeah and you did a good job of it,” the younger man said. “They must’ve been pretty scared to have done all this damage.” He waved toward his Audi saloon. The Audi had been badly hit. Apart from the tail light, the glossy red plastic bumper was shattered, and the rear panel was dented and crumpled beyond repair.

Tom tutted. “Looks bad.”

The younger man stared at Tom. “Perhaps, if you hadn’t—”

But Richard butted in. “Right, I don’t know about you two but I’m too old to be standing in the street at four o’clock in the morning. I’m going to go in, call the police, have a swift shot of scotch and get back to bed before the wife sends out a search party.” He smiled at them both. “Goodnight,” he said as he turned away.

“Police?” Tom asked, louder than he’d meant to.

Richard stopped and turned back to face him. “Yes. I’ll need a crime reference. For the insurance and all that.”

The younger man narrowed his eyes. “Why shouldn’t he call the cops? I’ll need to talk to them, too. They’ll probably want to ask you a few questions.”

Tom nodded, trying to make the gesture look casual. “Oh yeah. It’s just…it’s dark and they drove away pretty fast. I didn’t really see much.”

“Never mind,” Richard said. “I don’t expect they’ll send anyone. But you’ve got to go through the motions haven’t you?” He gave a heavy sigh and headed back for his front door.

Tom watched him leave.
Going through the motions—that’s all I ever do
. He looked at the Audi owner. The arrogant idiot was still staring at him. The guy knew something was wrong, but he didn’t have the courage to come out and say it. For a moment, Tom gripped the baseball bat harder. He pictured himself swinging the bat into the man’s face, imagined the cocky bastard’s look of sheer horror as he realised what was about to happen to him. A cold shiver ran along Tom’s spine.
Oh my god
,
what’s happening to me?
He blinked and looked away. He had to get a grip. He couldn’t afford to think like this. Not now, not ever.
I’m not a violent man
.
Not anymore
. He drew a breath and blew it out. He turned back to the man and nodded. “Well, goodnight. Hope you get your car sorted out.”

And then he walked away. If the man responded, Tom didn’t hear him. He didn’t care what the stuck-up idiot had to say and he didn’t care what he thought. The man was suspicious, but he couldn’t prove anything. If the police came knocking on his door, he’d give them the same story. They’d warn him not to try and be a hero in future and they might even have something to say about the baseball bat. But so what? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really.

Tom let himself in through his front door. He paused in the doorway and glanced back into the street. Good—it was empty. There was no sign of the Audi owner. He must’ve given up and gone back inside. Tom smiled and closed the door, checking both the lock and the security bolt were securely fastened. He dropped the baseball bat down by the pile of shoes and padded through to the kitchen. He’d have a glass of water then get back to bed for a couple of hours.

As he filled the glass, he wondered whether he’d be the talk of the neighbourhood. There was bound to be some gossip, but only for a few days. It would all blow over soon enough and then his night-time exploits would be forgotten. He’d go back to being the bloke along the street who kept himself to himself, and lived a quiet life, on his own. He closed his eyes as he drank the cold water, draining the glass in one go, savouring each swallow. And counting each gulp. He put his empty glass in the sink and felt much better. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

But what about the bloke who’d been watching him? Well, from the way he’d taken off, Tom guessed he must’ve had the living daylights scared out of him. He wouldn’t be showing his face any time soon. Tom chuckled, remembering the man’s frantic attempts to get away, picturing the Renault as it reversed down the road, veering wildly from side to side. It was a shame he didn’t have anyone to share the story with. Hell, it was a shame he didn’t have the whole thing on video.

Tom yawned and headed for the stairs. He almost left a couple of downstairs lights on as a deterrent. But that was ridiculous. “He won’t be coming back,” he murmured. Back in his bedroom, he sat on the edge of his bed, pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. And that was when he remembered he’d been barefoot in the street. “Oh for god’s sake,” he muttered. He checked the soles of his feet. They were filthy. Should he go and have a shower? He pulled a face. No. He was absolutely shattered. He’d have a shower in the morning and put clean sheets on the bed after work.
It’ll be fine
.
I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep
. He yawned and lay down, pulling the quilt over his body. He shivered as the cool cotton touched his skin.
What a day
.
What a bloody day
. He reached out and turned off his lamp.
One,
he began,
two, three…
But that was as far as he got before he fell fast asleep.

Half an hour later, a small, rectangular light suddenly appeared on Tom’s bedside table. It glowed brightly for a moment, and then the mobile phone began to ring.

Chapter 9

3650 BC

AS THE SCOUTING PARTY snaked through the dark forest, Hafoc quickly lost his sense of direction, but Tostig clearly knew where they were going. Their leader stalked ahead, scanning the ground, turning his head this way and that to study the low branches at the side of the trail, pausing only rarely to peer at the ferns that parted almost silently as they passed through. Hafoc stayed close. If he delayed, even for a moment, Tostig and the others would vanish into the darkness.
I wonder if he’s found any clues
, Hafoc thought. But he daren’t speak. You didn’t talk when you were tracking. Even on a normal deer hunt, it wouldn’t be right. Here, it would be a terrible thing to do. Hafoc sighed as quietly as he could. Sceort turned his head, and despite the darkness, Hafoc knew the older man was glaring at him. Hafoc winced. Could he do
nothing
right?

Think only of the forest
, he told himself.
Become one with the shadows, like the wolf
. He crept forward, one gentle step at a time, transferring his weight as smoothly as he could. But it was no use. His feet found every crackling dry leaf, every fragile dead branch. And yet the other men moved soundlessly without even trying. No wonder they lost patience with him.

Hafoc glanced to his side. Nelda was still there. At least, he had her to keep him company and she gave him some comfort as she trotted alongside. He could just make out her dark shape as she slipped through the night. But he mustn’t be distracted. He needed to keep his eyes on Tostig and the others, and to step in their footsteps—if he could.

As if to prove the point, Tostig suddenly stopped walking and held up his right hand. Instantly, Flyta and Sceort stood as still as rocks. Hafoc did his best to copy them, but he couldn’t help himself. His stomach muscles tightened and he took a sudden sharp breath—a gasp that was loud, even to his ears. Had Tostig found something? Had he discovered some clue that would take them to Brond?