The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (12 page)

“Frank?” said Anne. “What’s going on?”

He gnashed his teeth together for a moment before turning his head to her.

An inch long gash ran along the side of his forehead, just above his right eyebrow. Blood had gathered in one thick stream, running vertically down his cheek and onto his jaw. The wound appeared a dry, rusty brown.

“Oh Frank! Your head.”

She instinctively went forwards, wanting to inspect the damage and see what needed to be done. She got as far as two steps before Franks’ hand shot out, pushing her in the middle of the chest between her breasts. She staggered back a few steps more out of surprise than from the force of the shove.

“Not this time,” he fumed. “One of these two,” he jabbed a shaking and crooked finger at the children, “will own up, and God help them…”

“Frank, what happened?” Anne asked, keeping her ground but not daring to approach him again.

“They’ll be sorry. Oh yes…”

“Frank,” she snapped.

Charlie’s bottom lip quivered.

Frank huffed through his gritted teeth.

“You want to know what happened?”

“Please keep your voice down! You’re upsetting the children,” Anne said.

“Fuck them,” he shouted. She jolted. “It’s one of them that caused this whole damn thing!”

Anne clenched her fists at her side.

“Frank, for the last time, tell me what happened!”

“One of these,” the finger of accusation began its jabbing again, “was fooling around in the bathroom. Banging the toilet lid and rushing in and out while I was in the shower.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure? Of course I’m bloody sure! I saw one of them through the curtain watching me. Watching me for God’s sake. That’s when I slipped and cracked my head.” He padded an open palm onto the wound and brought it down his eyes, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped.

“Come here, kids,” said Anne.

Charlie and Bronwyn needed no other invitation and ran out from under their father’s shadow to stand by Anne.

“That’s it, Anne. Take their side again. It’s me with a bleeding head because of them!”

Anne crouched and clutched Bronwyn to her chest, who buried her face into her mother, muffling her sobs. Tears flowed down Charlie’s cheeks, and Anne slid her arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t blame your clumsiness on the children.”

“But I saw one of them!” Frank bellowed. “Aren’t you listening to me, you stupid woman?”

Anne squeezed Charlie’s arm.

“Take your sister upstairs, Charlie,” she whispered. “Right now.”

Bronwyn fought a little as Charlie took her by the hand, wailing and trying her best to hold on to her mother. She had no choice but to let go and be escorted out of the room. Anne stood up.

“Get back here!” Frank yelled after them. “I’m not done with you yet!”

“Yes you are, Frank.”

“Dammit! Why do you always have to undermine me? You always take their side.”

“There are no sides. They didn’t go near the bathroom.”

“But I saw one of them, you dumb bitch!”

“Then why was the door locked, Frank?”

He’d worked up a full head of steam, but her words threw him off course. He frowned. “What?”

“I brought you up some clean towels while you were in the shower, but couldn’t get in.” Anne began to cry. Her adrenaline had all burned out. “So you tell me,” she said, her voice wavering and becoming high-pitched, “how the children could get into the bathroom when you had locked it from the inside?”

Frank’s bare chest rose and fell in gulping breaths. He stood staring at his weeping wife.

“You were probably so angry you didn’t even notice when you unlocked it, too busy wanting to yell at the kids,” she continued. “So much for the new you, eh?”

She looked up just in time to see Frank’s hand whip through the air before it struck her cheek.

Discipline. Overdue.

1.

Jenny always hurried getting ready for work, not that she was often running late or had a lot to do in the morning.

The mirror hated her, and the less she had to do with it, the better.

The thought of staring at her reflection as she dabbed foundation onto her saggy cheeks, or dragged a brush through her knotted hair, knocked her sick. She did just enough to make herself presentable to the outside world. The only heads she’d turned in the last few years had all gone the other way. At least by hiding this horrific visage under an inch of make-up she might get to work unnoticed.

Jenny had no problem once she arrived at the office. On a Saturday, none of the usual high class arseholes would be in. They’d be spending the weekend in Monaco or taking the yacht for a spin, she presumed. At least it would leave her free to do the cleaning in peace.

She had permission to go into work at any time at the weekend, as long as the cleaning got done ready for Monday morning. A typical Saturday would involve going in at around dinnertime. Jenny liked her lazy mornings in bed, so put off going to work until later.

After last night’s events, she wanted to spend as little time as possible in the house with the boys.

She yawned and peered at her dull reflection. The boys had turned in at around five in the morning. They had made such a din coming upstairs and crawling into bed, but at least the music had stopped, and Jenny finally sank into turbulent sleep.

She reached down, picked up a small cube of sponge and dabbed it in a pot of foundation powder. She had horrendous bags under her eyes, the skin having a slight bluish hue.

Lucky I haven’t got two black eyes. The rage that Jake was in last night… I never thought he had it in him.

She instinctively went to grab the ring hanging from her necklace, but the thin chain dangled empty between her fingers.

Jenny dropped the sponge and padded her nightgown, hoping the ring had slipped off and become hidden in the folds of fabric. After her quick search revealed nothing, she stood, expecting to hear the ring fall from whatever fleshy nook it had found.

Nothing.

She collapsed back into the chair in front of the dresser, already feeling the tears starting to well up along her lower eyelids. The ring had been her constant reminder of her past life, of a loving husband, two cheeky young boys and a happy household. She hated herself. She had lost it, her only true keepsake.

She held her face in her hands and wept. Her skin quickly slicked with tears that tasted salty as they ran down her skin and to the edges of her mouth. Her ample frame shook with each wave of sobbing.

She considered not going into work and instead calling in sick. But her boss, Mr Evans, had already given her enough warnings about taking time off work. At least the ring gave her the strength to get through the day.

And now it’s gone.

Parting her fingers, she looked at herself in the mirror. Through some sick kind of perversion, she wanted to see how she looked here, at the very bottom.

Her skin appeared a messy collage of coloured patches. The skin beneath one eye still had a dark tinge, while the other had a stripe of light brown foundation running below it. Her cheeks burned deep red, making her forehead and chin look white in comparison.

Sniffing up the mucus pouring out of her nose, she wiped her eyes with the ball of each hand.

The small golden ring on her finger glistened in the strong morning light.

How the hell did it end up there?

She touched it, reassured by its presence.

That ring hasn’t been on my finger for years! I must have put it on in my sleep…

But part of her refused this simple explanation.

She swallowed as another idea crept into her head. Could one of the boys have snuck in and made a grab for it? Removed it from the necklace, but had a last minute change of heart and bottled out? Instead of risking waking her by having to mess around with the necklace again, just stuck it on her finger, knowing she would find it in the morning. She thought about this for a moment before dismissing it. If one of them had the nerve to try and steal the ring, it would probably be long gone by now.

She picked up a tissue from a box on the dresser and ran it across her face, soaking up most of the wet streaks. She rolled it into a ball, wiped her hands and let it drop. She strained as she pulled the ring from her thick finger, feeling the skin ride up with her effort, forming a painful barrier to the band’s motion. Gritting her teeth and pulling so hard she thought her finger joint would snap, she slid the ring free. She studied it for a moment, holding it up to her eyes and turning it between her thumb and forefinger.

“My precious…” she whispered with a small chuckle, her mood lightening.

Removing her necklace, she returned the ring halfway along the gold chain and replaced the whole thing around her neck.

It still plagued her how the ring had ended up on her finger. Sleep had been known to affect the Dean family in strange and mysterious ways. On one particular night after a cousin’s wedding, Harold had got out of bed in the middle of the night completely naked. He’d managed to sleepwalk out of the secure house and attempt to climb over the fence out back saying
fire engines
over and over again. Harold had then come back inside and gone back to a soundless sleep on the sofa. Adam had once spoken fluent French in his sleep as a child. Thinking back to the weird things her family had done while asleep, Jenny realised that taking off her ring herself might not be such a farfetched idea.

She glanced in the mirror at the reflection of her bed, the thick duvet thrown to one side revealing the dent in the tired mattress that her body had formed over time.

At least I woke up where I was supposed to be.

With another relieved sigh from recovering her ring, Jenny continued the task of applying the day’s make up. She rushed the foundation, resulting in a haphazard and uneven coverage. Her cheeks received a daubing of bright red blusher. The only part she took time over was her mascara; she refused to be ugly
and
blind.

Ordeal finally over, she headed over to her wardrobe to select the day’s attire. She decided on a pair of faded blue jeans she could still fit into, a souvenir T-shirt from their ‘92 holiday to Benidorm and a baggy white jumper over the top. She closed the door to the large wardrobe, leaving a small gap. The only way to close the wardrobe fully was to lock it, but Harold had lost the key years ago. Jenny slipped on her shoes and picked up her handbag from the bedside table. After a quick check inside for her purse and keys, she left the sanctuary of her bedroom.

The boys’ rooms stood facing each other on either side of the landing. Adam’s door was open, and his snores drifted out. Jake had closed his door.

Just a quick check to know that they are safe, and I’m gone. Despite what they did.

She strode towards Jake’s door, but her stomach lurched, images of him standing over her shouting abuse passing in front of her eyes.

Maybe I’ll check on Adam first.

His room smelled of men’s deodorant with a musty undertone from the unwashed piles of clothes around his bed. He slept on top of the covers, still in yesterday’s clothes, minus the cap. This sat on the carpet near to him, by a small pile of discarded heavy gold chains and sovereign rings. Adam released another rippling snore and rolled over.

Jenny gently closed the door.

With a growing sense of unease, she crossed the landing and took hold of the door handle to Jake’s bedroom.

Just in and out. He’ll be asleep…

With a loud click that made her wince, she pushed the handle down and opened the door.

The room was darker than Adam’s, being on the west side of the house. Jenny barely saw the moody looking men with guitars on the posters on the walls. Jake’s messy black hair poked out of the top of the duvet, spread out on the pillow. The shape of the duvet rose and fell slightly with his breathing.

He’s fine, they’re both fine. Right, I can get myself to work.

Something caught her eye. A thin line of weak light from a small gap in the curtains ran the length of the room. It passed over the bed, across the desk and up the wall at an odd angle. An object within this beam glistened on the desk. She stared at Jake to be sure he stayed asleep. He hadn’t shifted position. She tiptoed over to the desk, quiet as possible, and studied the item.

Grinning, she snatched up the key and marched out of the room.

She smiled to herself as she walked downstairs
. And I thought there was nothing more I could do.

2.

Adam’s eyes flickered open, and he raised his head from the pillow, gazing around the room. The late morning sun glimmered bright from underneath the bottom of the curtains. He slumped back down, intending to go straight back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for a few minutes he reluctantly decided it was time to get up.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Yawning, he reached down for a can of deodorant from the floor and generously sprayed his body. He threw it back down on the carpet, selected a baseball cap from a pile in the corner and replaced his gold jewellery on his fingers and around his wrists and neck. Slipping on a pair of trainers, which were blazoned with the
New World Design
, he grunted and slunk into Jake’s room.

His brother lay fast asleep. He’d always been the heavier sleeper, and with the amount they’d smoked the night before, Adam expected him to sleep through to the afternoon. He prodded the mound of duvet with his foot.

“Oi. Get up, you lazy bastard.” Following no response, he leaned in and shook his brother. “Hey!”

Jake rolled over. His hair hung in a mess around his ears, and his fringe had fallen into his eyes. He swept it aside with one hand and yawned.

“What?”

“You getting up yet?”

“Am I fuck. It’s early, so piss off!”

Adam grabbed the corner of the duvet and with a quick tug, pulled it from the bed. He started to laugh as Jake, in a black T-shirt and boxer shorts, made a weak attempt to grab it in time.