Authors: Graham Marks
Payback (2 page)
No matter how much he wanted to believe that if he pinched himself everything would be back to normal, in his jacket Greg could feel the weight (the phrase “dead weight” sprang into his mind) of the device in his pocket. It was there, and he knew that what had happened might be completely bizarro, but it was real.
“It’s not a bad job, Greg. You’ll get used to it, and one day we’ll get to meet.”
“We will?”
“Of course!” said Mike. “One day you’ll look in the mirror, and I’ll know your time has come…”
For half an hour or so Greg stayed in the park, avoiding people as much as possible. He’d started to think that just looking at someone might make them die. It took him a while before he convinced himself that he was being stupid.
He had a life to lead! He had a home to go to! He had friends he should try and link up with so he could forget what had happened. Because he knew what he really had to do was put all this behind him, and carry on as if nothing had happened. Otherwise… otherwise his life wouldn’t be worth living, and he was not going to let that happen.
With his hands stuck in his jeans, Greg left the park and trudged his way back towards the centre of town. He didn’t touch what was in his jacket, he kept his mouth shut and he ignored Mike.
It was not an easy or a pleasant journey.
On the one hand he tried to keep an eye out for any of his mates (he really could do with seeing a friendly face), but then he kept on seeing people who didn’t look at all well. And not just old folks who you might expect to be about to “pop their clogs”, as his dad liked to say.
There was the pale, bald man sitting at the bus stop, his head in his hands, quietly mumbling “No, no, no…” to himself. The very thin woman outside a doctor’s surgery who looked like she was about to cry. The small child with the hacking cough…
By the time Greg reached the High Street he was as twitchy and nervous as a kitten in a kennel. And then to his relief he heard his name being called. It was Andy and Tim. They weren’t his best mates but they would more than do, under the circumstances.
Greg waved, and instead of stopping, Andy and Tim carried on walking, beckoning him to cross over and join them. Greg was looking for a space in the traffic so he could cross the road. That’s when he noticed the bloke who’d come and stood right next to him. He was waiting to cross as well.
There was something odd about the man. Greg couldn’t work out what it was, except he made him feel sad when he looked at him.
“Well spotted, Greg! You’re a natural.”
Before Greg could react to what he’d just heard in his head, the man clutched his chest and crumpled forward like he was diving into the road. Greg instinctively reached out and caught the man’s arm as he fell, pulling him on to the pavement. Greg knelt down, and stared at the man’s face. The man stared back.
“Tell him it’s going to be OK,” said Mike.
Before Greg had a chance to think, the words were out of his mouth. As the man closed his eyes Greg thought he saw a wisp of something lift off him.
“You OK?”
Greg looked up to see Tim standing next to him.
“What happened?” said Tim. “You look like you’ve seen, you know, a ghost or something.”
Someone must have dialled 999, as the next thing Greg knew there were police and ambulance people arriving from every direction. A ring of bystanders watched and whispered to each other.
Greg couldn’t remember Tim and Andy going, but he was on his own, still kneeling next to the body when a policewoman came and moved him away gently. She asked him some questions, he answered them; she took his name and address and then he was on his own again.
Greg felt empty, but not hungry in any way; empty and shocked by what had happened, and all too aware that it was not going to be the last time he went through this. As he stood, trying to think straight, he remembered the jokey fridge magnet his dad had bought when they were away on some holiday or other. “Remember!” it said in happy, cartoon-style lettering. “Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life!” He’d never be able to look at it again.
“Cheer up.” Mike sounded like he was smiling again. “You did a good job there.”
“Terrific. Did I choose that man…” Greg muttered under his breath. “Did I kill him?”
“No, you just saw him. You recognised an end was coming, that’s all. Remember, you’re a Watcher, I’m the shepherd; we’re a team.”
“Oh really?” Greg sneered. “Where I come from you join teams. You have a choice.”
“And you chose to pick up the device…”
With no money for his bus fare, Greg had to walk back home. He didn’t care. He needed the time to sort out his head, to get used to the idea that he was going to be a Watcher for the rest of his life, and that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Would his family notice anything different about him? Surely someone was eventually going to notice that when he was around people tended to die? Mike told him not to worry, which was OK for him.
Later, thinking back, Greg would realise it was because he was worrying and fretting about the rest of his life, that for the second time that day he didn’t see Barry Telford coming. Not until Bazz loomed in front of Greg and grabbed his arm.
“’Allo, Greg, mate,” said Bazz.
“Um, hi, Bazz…”
“I’m a little short again. Need some bus fare, right?” Bazz held out his free hand, making his trademark “gimme, or else” gesture with his fingers.
“You’ve had all my money, Bazz,” Greg said as he tried to work out what to do next; putting up a fight was not an option with the likes of Bazz.
“I’ll have your phone then, me battery’s flat…”
Before Greg could do or say anything Bazz had made a lunge for his jacket pocket. And then there Bazz was, looking at the shiny black device he now had in his hand.
“Very nice,” he said, a big grin on his face. “How d’you make it work?”
As Greg stared at Bazz, Mike’s words came back to him: “The job is yours,” he’d said, “unless, of course, someone else chooses to take it from you.” He could not believe his luck. Time for some payback.
“You press it,” Greg said, watching as Bazz stabbed a sausage finger at the dip in the polished black surface.
“Hello,” said Mike’s voice. “Good to meet you, Barry…”
I like to take myself off to exotic places on adventures, and often do so for the stories I write, like
Tokyo
(Japan, obviously),
Zoo
(California) and
I Spy
(Istanbul), but I also love the idea that the unknown, the dangerous and the weird can be found right where you live. You just have to be curious and look for it. To find out more about what happens in my head go to:
If you enjoyed reading
PAYBACK
, you might also like
DEATHMIRE
, by Jon Mayhew.
Tom Striker is a mudlark, earning a crust foraging on the banks of the Thames for anything worth selling.
When his friend Billy goes missing, and he saves a man claiming to be Old Father Thames, Tom and his friends are caught up in a battle between powerful spirits.
Buy online at
978 1 4451 1466 8 paperback
978 1 4451 1469 9 eBook
Turn over to read an extract from
DEATHMIRE
:
Tom stood, as helpless as Wilf, staring at the couple in the water.
Herbert was up to his waist in the filthy Thames, wrestling with Billy!
Only it wasn’t Billy.
It looked like him but the skin was grey and dead. Billy’s eyes glowed bulbous and black, much too big for his face. And his mouth curved in an upside-down grin full of green, needle teeth. He looked more fish than human, more dead than alive.
Herbert sobbed with terror, desperately trying to wade to shore and push Billy away at the same time.
“Help me,” Herbert panted. Then with a gargling cry, he fell back into the water. The creature plunged after him with a hiss. The water frothed and bubbled as the two sank from sight, then all was still.
Tom looked at Wilf. The sound of someone scurrying across the muddy shoreline made them turn. It was Ophelia. She was pale and panting.
“Did you see?” she gasped. “Did you see it?”
“Where were you?” Tom snarled, turning his anger and sorrow on the girl, rather than trying to understand what he’d just seen. “You could’ve saved him!”
“I was just further up the shore,” Ophelia said, frowning. “It weren’t my fault. What could I have done? That…that thing was hideous!”
“He didn’t stand a chance,” Wilf whispered, his face drawn and white.
Tom looked down at his own trembling hands as he remembered the parting words of the old man.
“Old Jenny Greenteeth stole my crown. She’ll fill the river with her minions,” he’d said.
Billy’s teeth had been green, like rusty copper nails.
“I reckon we look for this old man I saw,” Tom said, gently pulling at Wilf’s sleeve. “He said he was Old Father Thames…”
“That old fool?” Ophelia spat. She glowered at Tom. “What will he know? He’s barmy!”
“Well, what do you suggest?” Tom felt his anger rising. “I’ve never seen nothing like that before. It ain’t natural. You can sit an’ wait for Billy to come back, but I’m going to find the old man. Come on, Wilf.”
Tom dragged Wilf away and headed off to find Old Father Thames. Ophelia stood, arms folded, on the cold shore.
To find out what happened to Billy, and whether Old Father Thames can help, get hold of a copy of Deathmire today!
