Chapter 3 - Under Cover of Darkness

     'You have reached the voice-mail service for 07...'

Grace Burns waited furiously as the automated voice proceeded to read out all eleven digits of her son's mobile phone number.

Finally, after an exasperated sigh, she was put through to the service allowing her to leave yet another message which she already knew would never be listened to.

“Jake, where the hell are you? Answer your phone, I'm worried. Please.”

It didn't help that the first few attempts had failed as her trembling fingers had irritably stabbed at the incorrect numbers who were currently preoccupied being yelled at for being 'bloody-too-small-to-bloody-press'.

Grace wiped a glistening layer of perspiration from her forehead, whilst a tight knot of her insides formed in her stomach in a pathetic attempt to crush the anxiety which was spreading within her like a disease.

How could she have been so stupid?

A 16 year old boy. How naïve must she have been to believe he stayed inside, safe at home, when she was at work.

She'd first called the house phone from work about an hour ago, hoping to enquire after something so small that she couldn't even remember it now. After repeating that process several times with no response, she'd changed tactics and began to instead nag his mobile. Again with no luck, she'd started to panic.

Of course, he was probably just at home with his earphones in. Listening to one of those bands he loved so much. What was that song he liked, Smells like Team Spirit? Something like that.

All the same for her.

She caught her reflection in the glass of the window beside her. This surprised her as, though it was dark making the reflection all the more clear, that window hadn't been washed in an awful long time. What surprised her was how anything could be seen in it in the first place.

She was still young. She'd had Jake when she was still a teen. An ignorant, unaware teen.

You just don't learn, do you, Grace? It's been 16 years and you're none the wiser than you were then.

Without wanting to torture herself any further, she tucked a misbehaving strand of auburn hair behind her ear, and stood up from her desk. She'd promised herself that if he hadn't answered in an hour, she would leave work and go home. This would be tricky, but she reckoned she could do that this once without losing her job, as much as she would love that.

And then, if she arrived home and he wasn't there, she would wait another hour until the time she would usually be home from work by �" that ridiculous time of 2 in the morning �" then call the police if he had still not returned.

But she didn't like thinking that far ahead.

She tapped timidly on the office door of her boss. He was older than her. He was a cheating, lying businessman. Money obsessed. Drunk more often than not. He was big. Not fat �" stocky. Big enough to beat her up, and she didn't believe he was above doing so.

The company she worked for was far from a professional environment, and if she could find any other job to pay the bills she would have gladly left her coat and bag behind just to be out of there as quickly as possible. She'd had no idea jobs like hers even existed before she'd found herself applying for one.

Just watching her boss made her shiver with terror. He didn't like to shout, not unless he was really angry; that wasn't his style. He was just unpredictable. And, for a lonely, young, shy woman, a slave to a routine and had been so since birth, unpredictable was what scared her more than anything.

“Come in,” his voice boomed. She stepped inside his office hesitantly.

“I...I need to leave, Sir. My son is missing. I need to find him. I will make up the time next week, or any other day, in fact. I promise...” she started, not daring to look up and meet his piercing eyes.

He tutted at her, not scornfully but intimidatingly. He looked at her with feigned disappointment, acting a good few mighty miles above her. She was just an employee to him. Expendable. Unnecessary. Yet willing.

But he liked her. She was so innocent: small, timid, mousy. He liked that she jumped every time he moved his hand, and how he controlled her so. She was such a pretty little thing. He'd always liked her.

“Oh, Grace,” he said, gesturing for her to come closer. Summoning her. “My dear Grace. This will not do.”

He stood from his desk, and walked over to her, as she had failed to receive his gestures, or simply ignored them. He used his big hands to physically move her head up, holding its weight in his palm.

He felt invincible. Like a cat playing with its prey before eating it whole; he was enjoying toying with his catch.

“No, this won't do at all,” he continued. He moved his hand to run his fingers down the side of her head, stroking her like a child. She instinctively turned her head to try and brush him off, but he could not be defeated that easily. He moved his fingers across to her lips, which were dry, chapped and uncared for.

He then cupped her face using both his hands, then moved one to the back of her neck. He ignored the glisten of water in her sparkling eyes.

He ran his fingertips down her spine, feeling each bump in the bone where her skinny little body was held together. And as he lowered his hands still, he heard her gasp.

In a sudden moment of strength, she tried to back away. Push him off. She bashed his shoulder-blade with some force, only to discover he was hard as rock. Her efforts did not move him away, but they warned him she wasn't prepared to take any more, so he made a wise decision to step back.

“That will be all, Grace,” he spoke in a solemn, serious voice, still holding her gaze.

As she turned to walk �" more run �" away, only stopping to grab her bag and coat in one swift arm movement, he laughed to himself.

Big, deep chuckles, one escaping his lips after the other.

Oh, how he loved his job.

Grace hadn't bothered to wipe her eyes �" which were black as she had failed to purchase a waterproof mascara; it was on her endless list of 'things to do' �" she just allowed the ink to stain her cheeks.

In one hand she held the steering-wheel, and beeped impatiently at someone who unarguably had right-of-way. She bit her nails angrily in the other hand, right down to the fleshy skin beneath it which bled in a hopeless plead to be left in peace as her reckless teeth gnawed through them. This particular trait she'd carried with her right back to sitting her O-levels or whatever they were called now. She'd failed then, and she would no doubt fail again.

She hated feeling querulous, but then again she had good reason to be.

Her mind was an egg; fried and ready to crack. Split two ways: one half of her really hoped Jake was okay. God knows where that child was.

The other half of her compressed all maternal instincts and squashed them like a bug meeting a cocky Converse boot, and wished that he wasn't at home, so the few unbearable minutes she'd spent enduring the company of that horrid, filthy man wouldn't be time wasted.

Don't think about it, Grace instructed herself. Then again, she'd never been one to follow orders.

She instead focused her attention on the road, and tried her hardest to concentrate on driving in a straight line. Narrowly avoiding hitting the speed limit as she soared past a surprise camera, she felt a wave of power crash over her.

Try to make my day any worse, she challenged the camera, her eyebrows rising to sickeningly smug heights.

Try to catch me out, I dare you.

After what seemed like a lifetime of lights turning red as she approached them, as if the very sight of her distressed manner caused them to anger and boil rouge, she eventually pulled up regretfully into the tight space she parked in every night.

Her hands shook �" not just because of the harsh brisk wind that was like a slap in the face to her unprepared skin cells that had gotten used to the pleasant air conditioning of her Honda �" as she fumbled in her bag for her keys.

Eventually her hands fell against the cool metal with the jagged body and the smooth head, and she grasped it triumphantly before it could wriggle out of reach. She lifted it to its little socket, its own burrow in the front door, and twisted it. It gave a satisfying click as it fitted like the missing piece to a jigsaw.

The door swung open after an aggressive push, allowing Grace to enter her home �" a thought which most would be comforted by, but not this time. Grace knew what she had to face.

“Jake?” she called, using the little strength in her stomach to project her voice to ensure it channelled effectively up the stairs. She didn't hold back to stretch every chord of her voice box, straining her neck to create a larger sound. She stepped back to watch the invisible waves of noise and vibrations creep in and out of all the corners of the house.

No answer.

Allowing herself to break the rule stating 'no shoes allowed upstairs', she ran up the stairs two at a time in her black ankle boots. Her heart hiccupped as she nearly tripped, but managed to catch herself thanks to the sturdy banister running alongside the staircase. It was the only thing she could trust these days.

Jakes room. Open door. Empty. Jacket gone. Phone gone. Computer off. Bed unmade. Window shut. Curtains open. Half drank glass of Pepsi still crouched on his desk. Keys gone. Headphones gone.

Jake gone.

Grace collapsed to her knees, and for the first time in her life, preyed.

“Please. Please let him come home. Please let him be safe. Please bring him back to me. And most of all?” she gulped, as if trying to swallow the words she was about to say.

“Please tell me he hasn't been out like this every night whilst I've been at work. Unaware. Unsuspecting. Unbelievably stupid. If you're listening, God, or whoever you are...please.”

At last, a bit before two when she would usually be home, she heard the front door unlock.

The last hour had been painful. She'd not eaten or slept, or even moved from that spot on the floor much apart from dragging her frail body to Jake's bed, and waiting there patiently in silence. She'd been minutes away from calling the police.

Minutes.

She listened as she distinctively heard the noise of Jake taking his shoes off before coming up the stairs. A gesture that had convinced Grace over the years that he was still a good boy who followed orders. He was still trained.

Now she wasn't so sure.

She heard every step of his as he trekked his growing, now impeccably masculine body up each one of their stairs.

He's no longer a young boy, she noticed, as the heavy weight of his toned figure had an impact on the cheap floor boards beneath him. She heard him weave through the small corridor and near his bedroom. She waited for him.

“Mum?” he exclaimed, shocked. Shocked, not just because she was home, but because of the state she was in.

“Where the hell have you been?” she screamed, demanding no less than a full explanation.

“Out.” he replied, vaguely. This would not suffice.

“Out?!” she repeated, parroting him for lack of anything better to say. She watched him shuffle uncomfortably from side to side, swaying awkwardly on the spot. “Do you know how worried I've been?” she shrieked, unable to stop herself. She stood up to gain height. She took a step forward.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, then tried to turn away to escape the fight that would inevitably happen no matter what he did. The damage had already been done.

“Sorry?!” Grace said, outraged, reverting back to old methods. “I'd nearly called the police! Why weren't you at home? If something had happened, no one would have known where you were! Do you do this every night? Do you sneak out, hoping I'd never notice? Do you find that fun, to scare me like that?”

The rant continued; the same questions but worded differently and with more curses slotted in between as often as connectives. And finally: “Do you know I had to leave work early for this?”

This provoked Jake. This woke the monster. This caused him to look up.

“Sorry! Sorry to be such an inconvenience to you, mum. But, had it ever occurred to you that I don't like spending every evening alone? Excuse me for searching for some company. Sorry to get in the way of your work. Sorry to have gotten in the way of your life. I know I was a f*****g accident mum, so you can stop trying to act like I wasn't. Oh, wait.” Sarcasm dripped from his lips sourly.

Grace took another step forward, so angry she could barely contain herself. She could feel her head overflowing with bitter thoughts.

She shut her eyes and screamed.

When she opened them, Jake had been knocked back. A red stain had appeared upon his cheek, still cold from the fresh air outside. She was panting, yet still couldn't get enough air. A deafening silence embraced the room.

Jake looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain and hurt. And then they toughened. He scowled. He reached to feel the mark on his face and winced as he touched it. It hadn't hurt too much, but the thought behind it had.

He turned and walked away from her. He grabbed his leather jacket, felt absent-mindedly for the lighter inside, swooped up his keys, and Grace stood frozen, her hand still left dangling in the air, until she heard the door bang shut.

And then she burst into tears.

She hadn't known. She hadn't known her son knew he was an accident. How was she to know? She'd tried her best with him. How could that not be enough?

And now she'd hit him. She could imagine herself in prison, for abusing a child. She could imagine the headlines: 'crazy mother hits own child and drives him away'.

Picking herself up from the floor, she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

Perhaps she should have stayed at work, after all.

Jake was too angry to look back. He had no idea where he was heading. Just away.

Away from her.

His knuckles were still clenched; the nails digging into his palms and indenting his skin, and his veins bulging from his body.

He kept his hood up and his face down. Without thinking twice, he lit a cigarette, expecting to instantly feel calmer. But this time it didn't work. Not even that could tame the bubbling emotions rising inside of him.

It had rained since he'd last come home, not longer than 5 minutes ago. But in those 5 minutes it must have rained heavily, as the pavements were glowing with moonlit reflections. Not enough to make out colours, but hazy shapes could be defined.

Jake's shadow stalked him, cowering behind him as he stormed into what he'd learned the other kids called 'the passage'. He wished he had somewhere to go, or at least a direction he could head towards. But, being new to the area, he had no idea where he was. He knew little more than the route to school.

The inky blue sky wrapped up the Earth, trapping him beneath its netting like a prison. It was more like black treacle than tar. The towering trees looked down on him, judging him. The moon was a ghostly galleon, its harsh glow contrasting deeply against the thick darkness behind it, creating an intimidating atmosphere as it floated out-of-place in the sky.

Everyone knew it was stupid to go through 'the passage' at dark, but that was him: stupid. Stupid and unwanted and an inconvenience.

He wished he hadn't rushed out, as it only made returning all the more difficult. He would wait until nearly morning. When he was sure his mum would be asleep. He scorned at calling her his mum.

She'd never acted like one.

He kept walking through the passage, unaware of anything. His attention was too focused upon replaying the argument in his head and telling himself he didn't care.

And then he softened. He hadn't exactly been the most prudent person alive tonight. She was his mum, after all. Despite everything. He thought back to how worried she'd looked when he'd finally arrived home.

She only said those things because she cared, an irritating voice muttered in his ear. He tried to ignore it, but it was annoyingly persistent. Eventually, he admitted this voice was right.

If he were his son, he'd have slapped himself too.

At the end of the day, he liked to think of himself as quite a reasonable person. He liked to analyse both sides of the story as oppose to just his own. He liked to think he was fair and unbiased enough to come to his own conclusions.

And, in this scenario, he could see how they'd both been in the wrong. And he wasn't hurt. The skin upon his cheek wasn't damaged.

He felt almost untouchable. He felt like the better guy for forgiving his mother so quickly. Could other kids do that? Maybe it was partly because he still felt guilty for not telling his mum where he'd been.

He was about to turn back �" to go back home �" when he heard muffled voices laughing and footsteps from not too much further down the passage. He couldn't see very far in the dark, but he could make out the outlines of several strong silhouettes.

So this was what the other kids had been scared of.

“Hey, come on, I'm not after any trouble,” Jake said in surrender, holding out his hands palms-up as the silhouettes turned into shadows which turned into figures which turned into a gang which turned into around four big men surrounding him.

The tallest spoke first.

“No one comes here at half two in the morning not looking for trouble.” He paused, possibly for well rehearsed effect. “Especially no one with a hood up like that,” he sniggered, then looked round to his crew for appreciation.

“It was f*****g raining guys, in case you hadn't noticed.” Jake replied, bluntly. Well done, Jake. Make them angry. Mock them. That will help the situation.

“Look, I'm sorry,” Jake continued. In all honesty, he was getting pretty sick of apologising tonight. “I'm a new guy, in a new area �" I didn't know the rules around here. You don't need to waste your time putting me in place. I'm gone.” He took a cautious, slow motion step back. That was a mistake.

“Where do you think you're going?” the one covered in tattoos sneered. “We're not done with you yet. Why do you have to leave so soon?” He feigned disappointment sarcastically as he spoke.

The way they eyed him up and down caused the glands in Jake's throat to tighten and shrivel up with terror and trepidation.

“Just trying to get out of your way. Come on, man. I'm just one guy. You don't need this.” Jake tried hard to keep his voice from cracking. He tried to maintain calmness. So far, suppressing his fears had worked well enough. They would not break him.

They looked at each other. They shifted closer and closer to him, making him uncomfortable. Jake was no idiot. He was happy to admit to himself that he was scared now. Especially considering one had an empty beer bottle in his hand which he carelessly let smash to the ground, making his victim jump nervously. The implication that they were all pissed and not thinking straight following neatly behind like an echo. Another had a black, pointed object poking out from underneath his jacket. Jake had no doubt about what it was.

He'd never been in this situation before. Outnumbered. Outplayed. He didn't know how to get out of it in the least painful way. Sure, he'd been in fights on the playground. But although in some of those, especially as he'd gotten older, he had intended to hurt the person on the other side, he'd never set out to kill. Hypothetical lasers had always been set not exactly to stun, but more to kick a*s while the hot college girls watched, impressed from the side.

He'd never felt so helpless before. So puny. So beatable. And to think �" moments before he'd been cocky enough to call himself untouchable.

He wished.

The gang of thugs �" seeming to be in their early twenties �" laughed amongst themselves. Then, the most shifty one pinned both of Jake's arms to the metal gate towering above him. The group advanced on him.

Jake saw a cluster of fat fingers clenched together forming a disfigured fist rush towards him, so he closed his eyes and awaited the pain.

Bang!

The first punch had been taken, and yet instead of pain, Jake felt purely numb. His nose tingled slightly, as if the nerves had just been knocked out and were buzzing off to a high sleep. He couldn't even feel the blood dripping from his nostrils down to his sealed lips.

Half a minute and several nasty right hooks to the corresponding eye later, Jake fell to the floor, defeated.

In this time, the gang proceeded to kick him tighter together as if bashing down a door. They knocked the carefully aligned bones that made up his ribcage out of place. They used the hard shells of their knee caps to brutally attack him; shoving him, bruising him, breaking him.

After what seemed like a lifetime, one of the guys eventually nodded to the rest of the crew and they rocked away down the passage, leaving Jake huddled in a ball on the dirt.

Alone, afraid, in the dark, with no place to go.

Jake was dangerously close to slipping from consciousness. He could feel the pain now. Oh, he could feel it all right. He could feel it so bad he wouldn't have noticed if the men hadn't stopped punching him. He felt like scrap metal. He'd never felt less intrepid in his life.

Luckily he'd watched them trek away with his one good eye, though he'd had to wriggle into a painful position in order to get them in view.

He squirmed on the floor, past the point of crying, and just trying to absorb the hurt. Trying to suck it in.

Jake tested out each of his limbs in turn. Legs still worked. Arms were fine. Neck: that hurt. Ditto stomach. Ditto face.

He instinctively attempted to stand up after discovering his legs were unhurt. He regretted that decision moments later when his body twisted from the fixed position it had began to relax dangerously in, causing him to wince awkwardly and cry out in manly shoots of noise.

No, standing would have to wait.

Any hopes he'd had of making it home before morning were crushed.

A cartoon light bulb flashed above his head tauntingly as it suddenly occurred to him that he had his phone. It would still be in his jacket pocket; the one with the zip. He felt for it first between the layers of coat, expecting to be disappointed. He expected to suddenly remember taking it out somewhere.

It was there.

He scrambled inside his small pocket and pulled out the device he'd never been more pleased to see.

Yes.

The flicker of hope inside him was a lone candle in a dark room. It lit up possibilities and illuminated the welcoming thought of getting home.

Mum, police, ambulance... he could phone anyone of them and be offered a hand up.

He could hardly contain himself as he more than gently pushed the power button with his stubborn fingertip. He watched in agony as the loading bar took longer than usual to display his home screen.

Half way there. Pause for a moment. A bit further. A little more. Only a quarter left. Another pause �" longer this time.

At last.

He browsed through his contacts. Mum first. He scrolled down to G for Grace Burns, which was what she was saved as.

It was then that he noticed the tiny fraction of the battery symbol that was left. The symbol was blinding red, and flashing dangerously. He would have to be quick.

He pressed the call button. He waited as patiently as he possibly could whilst still wriggling to find a less painful position. After marking this mission unsuccessful, he simply shrunk on the floor with the phone to his ear.

“Jake? Thank God! I was-”

Jake continued to shout 'hello' down the phone, but he knew his mobile had run out. S**t.

It was at this point that he burst into tears. He hadn't cried in years, yet being stuck here, in this pain, when he would rather be anywhere else finally broke him. After hearing his mum's voice and not having had enough time to say anything back, he suddenly felt all the more emotional.

He hugged himself up even tighter and waited for morning.

Morning took all night to come.

Reviews

[Katlyn Ribine]

good story

[Viccy Rogers]

Thanks:)