Page 46 of The Eleventh Hour
“I don’t understand,” I say stiffly.
“Louis has come back for you, Jackie. But he doesn’t know that you belong to me now, and you’re going to be the key to his downfall. You and I are going to bring him down together.”
Oh, god, Doctor Sparrow is insane. This whole plan is batshit crazy!
He turns on me suddenly and sits down, bringing his chair right up close to mine, and puts his hand on my knee. He squeezes so tight I squirm.
“You aren’t going to go running off now and warn him, are you?”
“No!” I spit, aghast.
“You’re completely over him, and his influence over you is gone? We have worked hard. If you think for one second you might fall back under his spell, then we can arrange accommodation for you.” He jerks his head to the black door.
“No, no. I’m over it. I want to bring him down. Trust me, Doctor, I want my life back,” I say with a fervour that I don’t have to fake.
He lets go of my knee and sits back in his chair. Then he stands up and paces around his office again. There, the maniacal, terrifying gleam is back in his eye again.
“We are going to destroy him,” Dr Sparrow murmurs.
I stare at the man and wonder if the world has gone insane. “Dr Sparrow, while that sounds like a really great plan, how exactly do you plan on achieving that?”
He chuckles and sits back down, smiling happily. “Don’t worry about that right now, all in good time. We don’t want to spook him.”
We sit in silence for ten minutes, with him chuckling happily every now and then. Eventually, he waves me off.
“Oh, and, Jackie…if you see or hear anything, come and see me directly.”
“Of course, Dr Sparrow.”
“Good. Good.” He spins on his chair and closes his eyes. “Finally.”
I slip out of the room and get out of there as fast as I can. But in the back of my mind, I feel the strings of my life getting pulled in too many directions. I’m starting to unravel.
Jax
Isit outside the community centre and stare at it. I don’t like coming here; it reminds me too much of the past. It’s why it’s the perfect place to start.
But I still don’t have to like it.
The building is built like a giant M, if you were to view it from above. On the left is the ancient library, and the section on the right is the hall and recently converted Community Centre. In between are a few offices where some local doctors come and do some free screenings or counsellors give out some hours. It hasn’t been used as a council chambers for nigh on fifty years, and the building is a mess. Some cracks are wide enough to fit your hand in.
Yet, it gathers more people daily than the local shops do. They sit outside, huddled under the huge awnings. They go in and out, leaving with bags, coming with bags. And at night, the car park transforms into a tent city, where those who can’t afford housing turn metal barrels into fires and huddle against the icy wind and wait for dawn.
I cross the road, almost blindly, and find myself inside the building before I can really think about it.
I trail down the hallway to the left, following the quiet. There are frosted glass doors separating me from the library. I tentatively put my hand on the door, and I’m thirteen again.
I walk in, and it’s strange, seeing the past and present overlap, the shelves are in slightly different positions; the books are new; the computer is much newer but still old. Brown carpet smelling like disinfectant brings back memories I’d sooner forget. I follow the path I followed years ago.
Through the library, towards the very back. I can hear her giggling and telling me some story about seeing her mum and dad fucking in the spa of the motel they stayed at when her parents were working. She makes some gagging noises, then waves her hands as she tells me how she screamed, and they jumped out of the spa, slipped, and ran straight into the garden they’d just finished planting. Oh, yeah, her parents were landscapers, I forgot all about that.
I smile at the memory, but I remember what’s coming, and it fades away. I hear a noise and turn my head to see Dane watching.
“They were waiting for me.” I keep walking and point around the shelves. “Here. They were waiting to jump me.”
“Who were?”
“The girls, a few guys.” I shrug. “Bullies. Kids.”