heard you cry out and Mercy said – that’s Mercy over there – Mercy said let’s see if he needs any help.”
“I said that,” the woman with the spiky hair confirmed, nodding her spiky head. “I was worried. Because I care.”
“She does care,” said the leader. “She wanted to know if you’d hurt yourself. Have you hurt yourself? She wanted to know if you’d hurt yourself and Obloquy said – Obloquy’s the big lad – Obloquy said how is he going to hurt himself in a library? Is he going to paper-cut himself to death?”
The leader laughed, and Mercy laughed, and the big one grinned.
“I’m funny,” he said.
“How did you hurt yourself?” the leader asked, coming down off the laugh with a friendly chuckle.
“I didn’t hurt myself,” said Ryan. “I’m fine.”
“But we heard you cry out,” said the man, suddenly frowning. “We heard you. Didn’t we hear him?”
“I heard him,” said Mercy.
“I heard him too, Foe,” said Obloquy.
The middle-aged man, the accountant, didn’t say anything.
The leader, Foe, examined Ryan curiously. “You don’t have to be scared of us. Is that what’s wrong? You’re scared of us? You don’t have to be. We’re not bad people.”
Obloquy laughed, and Mercy jammed an elbow into his ribs to shut him up.
“I know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” Foe continued, “but aren’t you a bit old for that? Isn’t that rule more for kids? You’re not a kid any more, are you? What are you, fifteen or so?” He reached out, dipping a finger into the silver dust on the bookshelf, then bringing it to the tip of his tongue. He tasted it, and smiled at Ryan. “And if you don’t talk to strangers, how are you going to make friends? Friends are important. We want to be friends.”
“We really do,” said Mercy.
“And we were standing over there,” said Foe, “talking about books, because that’s what we like to do, we like to talk about books, and we heard you cry out and we came over because we were worried, and we care, and now we’re here, having a conversation. Having a friendly conversation with our new friend.”
“I didn’t hurt myself,” Ryan said, really wishing he were somewhere else right now.
“Friends don’t lie to each other,” Foe said.
“I’m – I’m not lying.”
“You’re lying a little bit,” Foe said, smiling. “What’s your name?”
“Ryan.”
“Good to meet you, Ryan.”
Foe stuck out his hand. Ryan hesitated, then went to shake it. Instead, Foe grabbed his wrist and turned his palm to face upwards. The gang looked at the symbol imprinted on to his skin, and Foe released Ryan’s wrist and put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Ryan, my friend. You’re going to have to come with us now.”
Ryan shook his head. “I should be going home. My dad will be here in a minute to pick me up.”
“Ryan,” said Foe. “If you don’t come with us right this second, we’re going to kill everyone in this building and then we’re going to drag you out through the blood and the gore and what remains of their dead bodies.” Another smile, this time with narrowed eyes. “So really, buddy, it’s up to you.”
Ryan wanted to scream for help and run away, but his legs wouldn’t work and his chest was too tight. He looked at them. Foe, with his smile and his eyes. Mercy, an eager look on her face, like she was really hoping she’d get to kill someone today. Obloquy, standing there looking dumb and dangerous. And the accountant, whose gaze had never faltered, who was as still as a statue, completely detached from what was going on. The accountant was the scariest of them all.
And then, whistling.
TWO
T hrough the gaps in the books, Ryan could see someone in the next aisle over, moving slowly. Someone in black. Someone whistling. Ryan recognised the tune. It was the theme music to Harry Potter .
A pretty girl appeared at the corner of the bookcase. Tall, with long dark hair. Maybe a year or two
“I said that,” the woman with the spiky hair confirmed, nodding her spiky head. “I was worried. Because I care.”
“She does care,” said the leader. “She wanted to know if you’d hurt yourself. Have you hurt yourself? She wanted to know if you’d hurt yourself and Obloquy said – Obloquy’s the big lad – Obloquy said how is he going to hurt himself in a library? Is he going to paper-cut himself to death?”
The leader laughed, and Mercy laughed, and the big one grinned.
“I’m funny,” he said.
“How did you hurt yourself?” the leader asked, coming down off the laugh with a friendly chuckle.
“I didn’t hurt myself,” said Ryan. “I’m fine.”
“But we heard you cry out,” said the man, suddenly frowning. “We heard you. Didn’t we hear him?”
“I heard him,” said Mercy.
“I heard him too, Foe,” said Obloquy.
The middle-aged man, the accountant, didn’t say anything.
The leader, Foe, examined Ryan curiously. “You don’t have to be scared of us. Is that what’s wrong? You’re scared of us? You don’t have to be. We’re not bad people.”
Obloquy laughed, and Mercy jammed an elbow into his ribs to shut him up.
“I know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” Foe continued, “but aren’t you a bit old for that? Isn’t that rule more for kids? You’re not a kid any more, are you? What are you, fifteen or so?” He reached out, dipping a finger into the silver dust on the bookshelf, then bringing it to the tip of his tongue. He tasted it, and smiled at Ryan. “And if you don’t talk to strangers, how are you going to make friends? Friends are important. We want to be friends.”
“We really do,” said Mercy.
“And we were standing over there,” said Foe, “talking about books, because that’s what we like to do, we like to talk about books, and we heard you cry out and we came over because we were worried, and we care, and now we’re here, having a conversation. Having a friendly conversation with our new friend.”
“I didn’t hurt myself,” Ryan said, really wishing he were somewhere else right now.
“Friends don’t lie to each other,” Foe said.
“I’m – I’m not lying.”
“You’re lying a little bit,” Foe said, smiling. “What’s your name?”
“Ryan.”
“Good to meet you, Ryan.”
Foe stuck out his hand. Ryan hesitated, then went to shake it. Instead, Foe grabbed his wrist and turned his palm to face upwards. The gang looked at the symbol imprinted on to his skin, and Foe released Ryan’s wrist and put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Ryan, my friend. You’re going to have to come with us now.”
Ryan shook his head. “I should be going home. My dad will be here in a minute to pick me up.”
“Ryan,” said Foe. “If you don’t come with us right this second, we’re going to kill everyone in this building and then we’re going to drag you out through the blood and the gore and what remains of their dead bodies.” Another smile, this time with narrowed eyes. “So really, buddy, it’s up to you.”
Ryan wanted to scream for help and run away, but his legs wouldn’t work and his chest was too tight. He looked at them. Foe, with his smile and his eyes. Mercy, an eager look on her face, like she was really hoping she’d get to kill someone today. Obloquy, standing there looking dumb and dangerous. And the accountant, whose gaze had never faltered, who was as still as a statue, completely detached from what was going on. The accountant was the scariest of them all.
And then, whistling.
TWO
T hrough the gaps in the books, Ryan could see someone in the next aisle over, moving slowly. Someone in black. Someone whistling. Ryan recognised the tune. It was the theme music to Harry Potter .
A pretty girl appeared at the corner of the bookcase. Tall, with long dark hair. Maybe a year or two
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