2: The Man In The Windows
Philip stared unfocused into the rain beyond the glass. The weather outside mirrored his mood: depressed and gloomy. He had never had a thing for being left in the dark and unknown. What was taking Tony so long?
“Ahem.”
Philip swung around on his foam chair.
“Finally, what took you so...”
But it wasn’t Tony as he’d expected. It was the girl from the neighbouring classroom he’d seen occasionally around the school, the girl that he used to fancy...no, not fancy, like, just like. Her flowing, glossy brown hair was mesmerising though...no, focus, it wasn’t. Oh, what was her name...Cary Cole, that was it. She swung her rucksack onto the carpet by her seat. And here came her gaggle of giggling friends: Susan Baxendale, Lucy Franks, Amy Tom and Anna Pepperdine. If only they would shut up. Their laughter dug into his skull, and rather distracted him from her.
Cary turned to them, “It’s okay, go...go...just go away! Thank you, I want to be alone.”
Thankfully, they dispersed, yet Philip could not help noticing the murderous looks they were giving the two of them. And it wasn’t only the group that was looking at him; Cary was in the seat next to him, resting her chin on her hands, as if she was expecting something. There was an awkward silence where Philip didn’t know what to do.
“Um...do you want something, Carolyn?” he asked tentatively.
“I’m Cary, not Carolyn.”
He sat up straighter, still unsure as to why she had come over, “Do you want something?”
“Oh, I just saw you all alone and...”
He cut her off. He might not have known exactly what she wanted, but it certainly wasn’t the spiel she would have him believe. He almost felt disappointed. And did she think he would fall for her sweet-talk?
“I asked you, what do you want?” he repeated, an edge in his voice.
Knowing this wasn’t going to go the way she’d planned, she confessed, “I want help with my Egyptian project.” She then saw his expression and hastily continued, “Everyone knows you’re the best in the year at that sort of thing.”
He had to admit, whilst trying to remain modest, that she was right. He knew of no one else who got marks as high as he did in the year. But it wouldn’t be fair if he helped one person without giving assistance to others, no matter how beautiful he thought they were...but she wasn’t just anyone, was she?
“I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
He didn’t see her get up. One moment Cary was in her chair, the next she was towering over him, casting an icy shadow in the warm room. She would be steaming at the ears, if it were possible. Her eyes burrowed into his own, as if searching for something to use against him.
“What?” He seemed to have taken her by surprise.
“I said no,” Philip reiterated, a bit more slowly, a hint of aggravation creeping into the words.
It was disturbing, the slight cackle in her laugh, “Ha, you can’t say that. I’m the most popular girl in the year.”
He shrugged, “So? And do people really say that, especially about themselves?”
She threw a cushion at him. In a flash, he phased, and the cushion went straight through his head. Once he knew she wasn’t going to throw anything else at him, he returned from static to solidity. He hadn’t meant to do that, to show her; it was just instinctive. This seemed to just increase her explosive temper.
“You think you’re so cool, don’t you? Just ’cause you can do that doesn’t mean you have to show off. It was bad enough doing it to escape being caught for breaking the library window last term.”
He made a potentially concerning mental note that she hadn’t seemed at all surprised by his abilities. “What are you talking about? Look, have you seen Tony?”
She looked perplexed, her anger forgotten, “Who’s Tony?”
“Tony Mantegna. He’s my friend,” he said, blankly.
“Who’d be stupid enough to be friends with you?”
It occurred to Philip now that he probably should have found out what this girl was really like before fancying her. The worst part was that he couldn’t find a trace of guilt or acknowledgement on her pale features that she’d said something remotely insulting. Oh, the pain he endured in trying to keep his face straight and his voice calm. He failed straight away.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied swiftly, not picking up on his sarcasm. “But really, can you help me?”
Philip stood up straight. He wasn’t going to pay attention to her pleas.
“Lessons are about to start.”
And at a brisk pace, he strode off. Cary tried to grab his sleeve as he passed, but only succeeded in tripping over her bag.
Flustered, and generally embarrassed, she called after him, “I’ll want an answer!”
It seemed that for the rest of the day Philip could not shake Cary off. Every time he left his humid classrooms, she was in the corridor waiting for him. On the second of these occasion he was forced to resort to charging into the bustling crowd of students, eager to get to lunch. Considering the thickness of the throng, she did surprisingly well to keep close to him all the way out into the cafeteria. It was here, in the dining hall, that he could finally lose her in the queue. So that she would not have time to sneak up on him again, as soon as he had obtained his meal, he sped up as fast as he could without spilling anything, moving to the table in the corner, furthest from the other pupils.
After a while, though, he thought it strange, but pleasing, that Cary had not yet got to the end of the queue. Maybe she had brought her own lunch and left it at the common room. Yes, that was probably it. Sure that today there was no strange phenomenon occurring, he dug into his rock-solid slab of pork and partially burnt peas. How do you even burn peas? It tasted of cardboard, but the slightly out of date juice washed it down. When he had finished his main course, which had been small, but had left him with no desire for more, Philip leant back in his plastic chair and rested his head on the wall behind him.
Feeling as close to complete Nirvana as he was going to get given the circumstances, he let his head loll sideways to look out the window. The midday sun was shining in the absence of the earlier rainclouds, the trees were in full bloom, the blackbirds were foraging for crumbs and worms in the uncut grass, and there was a man skulking in the shadow of the building. Not again! This was not his week. His mind was racing, could it be the skeleton once more? No, the skeleton had been taller. This settled his mind the slightest bit. Could it be Cary then? No, the shoulders were too broad. What was stranger still, even though the man’s face was obscured by darkness, Philip had the distinct feeling that they were making eye contact, and that the man knew exactly who he was watching. This would be a great time to leave, in his opinion. As if he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, he got to his feet, slid his tray onto the racks, and strolled out back to the main school buildings.
When he got there, however, he began to regret it. As soon as he opened the doors, Philip ran straight into Mrs Cage, one of his substitute teachers. Philip could tell she was angry, it was written all across her surly face.
“Where’s that essay you were meant to hand in to me at break?”
Oh God, he’d completely forgotten, “Sorry, I’ll hand it to you at the beginning of...”
She leered, “I’m no longer covering for Mr Parkes, but rather your Geography teacher. She’s decided to start her vacation prematurely. And before you go running to Mr Parkes with your work, I’ve asked to collect in the stragglers before handing the whole load over to him.”
“Geography, then,” he answered hastily, before realising that that was next lesson.
Mrs Cage’s scowl deepened, “It’d better be.”
And without another word, Philip pelted down the corridor, putting as much distance between himself and the substitute teacher. Sometimes Mrs Cage and Mr Sneak were his least favourite teachers, and at these times they seemed to think on the same wavelengths. But that was just a coincidence, wasn’t it?
He slowed down at this point. He was in completely the wrong side of the school. He’d be in trouble for being late anyway. Philip sighed and looked out of the window stretching the length of the corridor. The road leading into town was clearly visible from here, as well as the man in black. Not again. And once more he could have sworn the figure was looking directly at him, knowing what he was seeing. His heart began to race at an alarming rate. The man had raised his hand in Philip’s direction, and beckoned him down. Firmly, Philip shook his head and strode away, not looking back; now everyone was following him. It was as if there was a large flashing sign above his head telling people he was special and needed to be treated differently. He hoped that no one was going to find out that he was seeing things, or that an asylum was anywhere near. Suddenly, up and down the school, bells were set off, signalling a quite likely detention for Philip because of his tardiness; Mrs Cage would find a way to make that case. Quickening his pace he turned the corner and flew down the flights of stairs.
The blue and yellow walls leading to his common room passed in a whirl of colour. Of course it had to be Mrs Cage’s class he was late for. Philip stumbled to a halt outside the metal doors. He’d left his rucksack against the far wall on his hurried way to the lunch hall, next to the furthest line of chairs. And there it was, surrounded by the throng of Cary’s friends. Cary wasn’t there herself, but that might have made it worse, as she wasn’t there to control them and to tell them to go away this time. None of them were actually looking at him, which gave him some advantage. Stepping back against the wallpaper, he shut his eyes and tried to blend in with the air. The sensation of entering an out-of-body experience trickled in his veins as his ever-busy brain turned off into a meditative state. He couldn’t think of anything too complex, else the illusion would have been broken. After a few painstakingly quiet seconds, he opened his phased eyes as a figure hidden from sight within the air. None of the girls were looking at him. Philip hastily slipped through the closed door and chairs to the group of highly annoying students. Here he stopped and took a deep breath. He had to stay calm to stay phased. Cautiously, he stepped through Susan, a cold air touching his non-corporeal form, and reached down for his black school bag. Adrenaline rushed through him as he reached for his goal. Nothing could stop him...until his hand went straight through it.
“You’ve gotta be joking!”
The mental link broken, Philip reintegrated amongst the group of girls. He stared up at them with a pained expression on his face, and swore loudly. Anna grabbed him by the ear and pulled him, quite agonizingly, to his feet. Philip wrenched himself from her steely grip and scooped up his bag. Sweating slightly he turned to each of the assembly one by one. It was starting to get on his nerves that he never showed his powers in public yet these giggling hangers-on who in his opinion possessed the combined intelligence of a new-born puppy (and even that might have been an overstatement) could have discovered, plus comprehended, his most profound and hardest-kept secret. This day just couldn’t be happening; it had to be a dream. Yep, hope was the cruellest of weapons. Now he’d thought that, it couldn’t be anywhere near as good as a fantasy. Anyway, was his mind twisted enough to think up this?
It was then that his brain gave up trying and took the easiest option, shutting itself off, letting whatever happened next flow over him. He didn’t hear what they said; he only pushed his way forwards and left with an exhausted trudge in his step. His brain, not focused enough for phasing, didn’t notice them jog along behind him, trying to get his attention. Consequently he didn’t see Lucy stride in front of him, resulting in their collision. Philip fell backwards onto the hard, cold floor. It was the second time in five minutes that he’d had those nuisances looking down on him. Lucy stepped forwards out of the crowd, brushing her blonde wavy hair out of her eyes, a smirk forming on her not-so-pretty features.
“Cary still wants you to help her.” Her tone suggested that she expected, and probably hoped, that he wouldn’t give the right answer.
His voice went into autopilot without his proper knowledge, “So?”
“She doesn’t like being kept waiting,” she informed him menacingly.
Philip returned to his unsteady feet. Glancing at his watch basically told him he was in for detentions until the summer holidays. As he began his walk to the classroom he concluded this reluctant conversation.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Luckily the geography department wasn’t too far from the common room. But to his dismay Cary was waiting for him a little way away from the geography door. Philip noted that there wasn’t anywhere to hide or a route to the door without her noting his presence. There was only one thing for it. Philip ambled over to Cary, predicting he wouldn’t enjoy the next few minutes any more than the previous ten. And the moment she saw Philip, Cary ran up to him and held him by the collar of his shirt. Blinding agony throbbed in the back of his already dizzy head as she threw him backwards onto the rock-solid lockers, lifting him off the ground. Oh, if only a teacher would come out of the classroom and stop Cary before any serious injury would come to him. Even Mrs Cage would be a good sight. But she, or anyone else for that matter, failed to arrive.
“Do you actually care that much?” was the remark he wisely held back.
“Where’s my project notes!?” she demanded.
“Non-existent.”
Fuming, she slapped him around the face with a flick of the wrist.
“Smart Alec,” she muttered.
Philip waved his legs slightly, trying to reach the floor. Of course the psycho had to be taller and stronger than him. Their first substantial encounter wasn’t exactly going as he’d imagined.
“Look, could you let me down please? I’m kinda late for class.”
She let him go, but not like he’d planned. Philip hit the ground with a dull thud, his back slamming into the combination lock. For a moment Cary seemed shocked at what she had done. Stepping backwards, she looked frantically from side to side. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, Philip climbed to his feet.
“I’m going now,” he called, bringing her out of her daze.
Philip grinned cheerily and entered, looking back just in time to see her obscene hand gesture.
Philip closed the door as quietly as he could and looked up. All the gormless, plain faces stared up at him from the symmetrically placed ordinary wooden desks. Three strips of afternoon light drew yellow lines on the dusty floor. The laminated maps that littered the four walls glistened and reflected the light onto his peers’ expressionless appearances. Twenty battered textbooks lay open before the torsos of twenty placid pupils. Philip peeked at the whiteboard. From what he gathered, they were halfway through writing notes on a long paragraph with probably no use in later life, just like most lessons. What was a certainty was that Mrs Cage sucked the life out of whatever she covered.
And his eyes drifted to Mrs Cage, the only person in the room with a discernible expression. Her mouth twitched into a sly sneer. She swaggered forward to draw level with him. Her unnatural upright stature emitted an air of superiority over Philip, and demeaned any excuses that had formulated in the misty thoughts of his throbbing head. Mrs Cage began to tap her foot on the ground.
“Why are you late?”
“Um...would you believe I was attacked by a psychotic student intent on knocking me out?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “Master Quint, you’ve missed five minutes working on your Egypt projects for the headmaster.”
Oh, of course it was work for the headmaster, when did the two devils want different things.
“You won’t be able to catch up on the time you’ve probably wasted mucking about or whatever it is you were doing,” she continued. “I would hope that you’ve done a considerable amount on your project if you feel that you can skip an important lesson on that subject. Oh, and before I forget, where’s your essay you should have been handing to me at the start of class, which you evidently think is beneath you?”
Obligingly, Philip took off his bag and unzipped it. His hand plunged into the dark recesses of his rucksack and pulled out the two slips of paper that was the research essay for his one other essay-based, if less extensive, project. As he did so, a stapled wad of paper got caught and pulled out as well. It fell to the floor and lay there limply.
“What’s that?” she snapped at him.
Philip took a turn to smirk, “That is the starting notes for my project.”
Mrs Cage swished up the sheets of paper and ruffled through them, examining the complex diagrams and lengthy paragraphs on Egyptian life, the notes on the backgrounds for Egyptian religion, and hieroglyphic translations.
“You did this in one day?”
“Of course. I think Egypt is fascinating.”
Mrs Cage thrust the project into his hands. From there he carelessly shoved it back into his bag.
“For the amount you’ve done I’ll reduce your detention time to just four lunchtimes.”
“Four!” he cried in outrage.
“Well if I had my way you’d be in for six, but I’m not allowed to keep you in detention after twelve o’clock on Friday next week.”
He gave her his Latin essay, which she only half bothered to glance at, angrily. Philip turned to his small, plain chair. The screeching sound of the chair legs scraping on the floor filled the room temporarily, and then all was silent. His grimy desk didn’t seem adequate for his extensive and important work, but it had to do. You didn’t complain to Mrs Cage. So, with robotic movements he opened his textbook to the pages listed on the whiteboard. He opened his pencil case and extracted his pen and ruler. His head cranked upwards to read what the rest of the class had already studied. And predictably, it was something he already knew and was shockingly easy. But he had to do it, so he began writing down the notes that he’d already written about on a project that he was already about halfway through. Ha, they couldn’t have chosen a less informative textbook on Egyptian life. But after a few mind-numbing minutes Mrs Cage stood up once more from her cluttered metal desk in the cramped corner and walked to the front of the dreary class.
“Now class,” she began, in what was obviously a fake, over-sweet voice, “as the headmaster said in his last assembly, we, that is to say, the teachers, want you to keep your little pathetic selves mentally active over the holidays. We don’t want you forgetting everything now, do we? Now, I know some of our newer teachers don’t keep to the curriculum after the end-of-year exams. They have yet to learn exactly how to teach in this school.”
Philip thought bitterly that the word ‘school’ was incorrect. ‘Hell’ was more like it, if that old hag was teaching.
“I do not want you thinking that this time in your last week and a half at school is to relax. You are supposed to be working.”
If anyone was more condescending, Philip had yet to discover them or believe in their existence.
“And in this working time you should get the majority of your projects finished. At a minimum, they should include a basic introduction, eight different topics in adequate detail and a satisfactory conclusion. I know some of you will be further ahead already than others,” she glared evilly in Philip’s direction, “but I don’t want those who are a little behind to get discouraged. It’s okay.”
Gods, you’d think they were babies.
“It may be the faster people are not doing a good-enough job. But I digress. The headmaster will want this work handed to him at the start of next term, then, if they’re really good, he may display them. Won’t that be nice?”
‘And I thought I needed a long term in the local asylum,’ he thought.
“So to get to that stage you must try your hardest. If you haven’t figured it out yet, the pages in your textbooks that I have selected contain fascinating information on the way the ancient Egyptians lived, slaves to Pharaohs.”
Philip wondered if anyone else had realised she was repeating the same drivel over and over again (or at least that was the impression he’d got from listening to fragments of what she was saying), or if anyone had even realised she was speaking. He noted that some people had even drifted off to sleep, their heads resting peacefully on their now dribble-soaked books. He didn’t blame them. A few more minutes and he’d probably be in a similar state. His head was already nestling in the palms of his hands.
Mrs Cage wasn’t watching them anymore; she’d returned to her desk and was looking at something on her outdated computer. It just went to show how much the school was prepared to spend on their staff or equipment.
Philip rolled his head over to face the open window. Between the trees animals foraged in the undergrowth, skipped over the flourishing grass, and avoided the man in the black coat. He just could not get a break! The man inclined his head a little, as if to say ‘what?’
“Mrs Cage,” Philip called, not taking his eyes off the man, “is there some sort of construction or something going on around the school?”
“No...What does it matter?” He didn’t properly understand the inflection in her voice, but knowing her it couldn’t be good.
“It’s just I keep seeing men out of the windows. One of them is right there.”
She gave a little chuckle, like she thought him an idiot placed there for her amusement, “There’s nothing there. But if you’re scared of your imagination,” the rest of the class burst into a short chorus of dry laughter, “then say ‘no’ in time for it to go away.”
He looked at her. It didn’t seem right. Not just the fact that it seemed incorrect to get her message across in that way, surely it would have been better to say “say ‘no’ to make it go away”, but once again he got the feeling that there was something unnerving commencing around them without a soul realising. Philip turned back to the man. He was definitely there, and now he was nodding.
The rest of the school day passed without incident. For the remainder of the lesson and throughout Maths, Philip experienced nothing but boredom. He’d completely forgotten about Tony’s strange disappearance. So when the ear-splitting sound of the bell signalled the end of school, he was nothing but ecstatic to be shot of the place.
Once down at the school car park, he found his father, Samuel, waiting in his shining saloon car. His father seemed older, his hair was thinner and more of it was greying. But apart from that the man in front of him was his regular father. Philip opened the door and settled inside the vehicle. His father turned in his seat to face him.
“So, how was your day at school?”
“Fine.” When did he ever reply differently?
His father looked back out of the windscreen, glanced up at his mirror and reversed the car.
The car bumping along, his father turned to him again, “I thought we’d go to the ‘Cloak and Scythe’ for dinner tonight. Is that okay?”
It was peculiar. They had been to this restaurant many times before, but he’d never considered the name. Now all of a sudden it seemed a lot more menacing. But, that was just a coincidence. A lot of coincidences were happening to him recently, and that was only a little unnerving.
“Sure.”
His father placed his foot on the accelerator and they drove off from the crossroads along the motorway and towards the sun dropping ever closer to the horizon.
The town streets were packed with people wandering in and out of the shops, illuminated by their neon signs, the roads full of evening traffic travelling home after a hard day’s work. A few clouds were drawing in now, casting faint shadows over the forest of buildings. His father’s car was in the midst of the throng, trying to find a parking space outside the restaurant.
The ‘Cloak and Scythe’ had a main window at the front with the company logo displayed on it, a scythe resting on a creased cloak, with the name encircling them. It wasn’t the biggest building in the area by far, but it still dwarfed the humans below. Eventually their search for a place to park ended and they were making their way to the restaurant, Philip fast, eager and hungry, his father walking slowly, not picking his feet up. Philip was already holding the door open when his father arrived.
The inside was decorated with pictures of all the food they served. A little bit arrogant, saying ‘we’re the best, we can make this, this and this’, and he couldn’t imagine them saving the owners much money either. They didn’t have to wait long for a waiter, but it took them a while to realise one was coming. It was Samuel who saw him first, a head bobbing up and down between the tall tables. Philip was startled when he saw the waiter; the man had to be wider than he was tall. Greasy red hair protruded from the company hat that all employees wore. The man stopped just short of them, panting, bent double, his hands supporting his vast upper half on his chubby legs. The waiter, when he’d got his breath back, stood up as straight as he could.
In a deep voice he croaked, “Good-afternoon sirs. Table for two? Very good. I am Stark; I will be your waiter this evening. If you would like to follow me, please.”
Like every time they had come here they followed, weaving in and out of tables, only a few of which had diners, until they came to a small table by the front window. They sat down in the seats he offered and he handed them the menus. On the front of them were a skull, rather like that of the visitor in his room; it had the same yellow eyes. He didn’t open the menu, he didn’t have to; he always had the same. Without giving him any sort of warning, he looked up at the waiter. He could have sworn the man was, for the want of a better word, examining him. But Stark had looked away hastily if he had been. Philip continued looking around the restaurant. There was a figure sitting by himself with a hood over his head. His sleeves were bulky and his back seemed to have things sticking out of it. Philip thought he saw red hands, but then they were hidden in the man’s pockets. Philip’s eyes wandered once more and fell upon a thin man at the bar. Every bone on the man’s body was visible under the extra-thin skin. His mouth seemed to hold little or no lips. His cheeks just started. His teeth were never covered. Moving on from that freak, Philip saw a muscular waiter exiting the kitchen. He had an orange tan and muscles so big he looked like he should have been a strong man in a circus. For a second he glimpsed a flame in the man’s mouth, but it was suddenly gone.
“Have you decided?” his father inquired.
Philip returned to the menu. The skull was still staring at him.
“Uh...Yeah. The usual please.”
His father smiled, “I could have guessed.” He turned to the waiter. “I’ll have the chicken burger and he’ll have the beef lasagne.”
“Yes sir. Oh, by the way, the meal may take some time to prepare as we are running low on staff today,” he rasped, in a manner that implied he’d rehearsed the line to many people before.
Stark waddled off and Philip looked the other way, out of the window and onto the street, where the man in black stood resolute, the crowds walking past, not really noticing him, like he was invisible. Another strange thing Philip picked up on was that only the people near the restaurant seemed to be moving. This time Philip could see the man was making eye contact with him. Philip just stared back. The man nodded, and pointed to a silver watch on his wrist. And Philip had hoped there would be no more cryptic messages. He broke the eye contact first and looked back at the menu. A white rectangle had appeared below the skull. It read:
He is the enemy. Don’t listen to him. Say NO!
Gryal
The Gryal guy evidently wasn’t going to leave him alone.
“Um...Phil?”
Philip listened to Samuel once more.
“You know how your mother and I are going to Venezuela during the summer, and that we’d have to leave you with your grandparents on the Isle of Tiree? Well, I’ve just had a raise at work, and we may have enough to take you with us. Your mother and I already have our tickets and have most of our stuff packed, but we should be able to fit you in. I mean, I know that you already have a science trip arranged by the school to go to Switzerland...Do you want to come?”
This couldn’t be what the message had been about, could it? Then he noticed the words on the menu had changed.
Yes. Say No.
Okay, the skeleton was bonkers to think a holiday mattered.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
And the front window exploded in a ball of flames and shattered glass.