Nightrise

TENTH STREET

Jamie opened his eyes and saw that he was no longer in Reno. He wasn’t even in America. Somehow, impossibly, he had been transported to a deserted beach that stretched out along the edge of a black, lifeless sea. Was it day or night? He looked up but the sky seemed to be caught somewhere between the two. Jamie gulped for breath. He was still in the grip of his first panic, the knowledge that he was somewhere far away and utterly strange, that he was on his own. There was nobody in sight. Nothing. Just the beach and the sea and, in the distance, what might be an island, rising up to a needlepoint high above the waves.

“Scott!”

He called out the name but the single word seemed to die on his lips. That was more frightening than anything. He could shout as loud as he liked but there was no one to hear him. He wasn’t just lost. He was completely abandoned. Where was he? Even the deserts of Nevada had offered more life and colour than the place where he now found himself.

And yet…

He had been here before. He knew where he was. Jamie drew his legs towards himself, wrapping his hands around his shoulders: not so much to keep himself warm but to create a sort of protective cocoon. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to relax. Yes. It had been a long time ago, maybe years, but he knew this place. The island… The last time he had come here, there had been two boys making their way towards him in a boat made out of straw. He had wanted to meet them – he didn’t know why – but he had woken up before they arrived. And he hadn’t been alone: Scott had been here with him.

And, standing next to them, there had been a girl.

“This is a dream,” Jamie muttered to himself. His voice still sounded very small but it was reassuring to hear anything at all. The waves were hitting the shore right in front of him, but they were sluggish and hardly made any sound, as if someone had turned down the volume.

A shaft of light flashed in the sky, far away. A storm. Jamie got to his feet. He was shivering. It wasn’t cold – like everything else here, the temperature seemed to be fixed in some sort of neutral – but there was something about the lightning that set his teeth on edge. There it was again. He watched it flicker twice more – white forks of electricity so brilliant that they seemed to tear into the world as if determined to smash it. Somehow he knew that this was no ordinary storm. It was an announcement. Something was happening. It was still far away but soon it would be closer. There was a very slight breeze now. He could feel it, clammy and dead, batting against his face.

“Scott!” he called out again. At the same time he wished, miserably, that he could wake up right away.

He heard something on the shingle, over to one side.

He glanced round, expecting to see his brother, but instead there was a man kneeling beside the edge of the sea, holding a large, flat bowl which he seemed to be filling with water. Jamie had no idea where he had come from. He certainly hadn’t been there the moment before. The man was huge – and he was completely grey. His face, his hands, his clothes, even his eyes were the colour of stone, and if he hadn’t been moving, Jamie would have assumed he was a statue. He was wearing old-fashioned shapeless trousers tied with a leather belt and an open-necked shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He also had a hat – not a cowboy hat but something similar – and boots that came up to his calves. He was completely focused on what he was doing.

Jamie stood up and went over to him. He was about to speak but his feet, crunching on the shingle, gave him away. The man twisted around and straightened up. At that moment Jamie saw that he really was huge – at least seven feet tall with hair curling down to his neck and a face that was hard and craggy and full of anger. He had dropped his bowl. Now there was a large knife in his hand.

“I’m sorry…” Jamie didn’t know why he was apologizing.

The man looked down at him but said nothing.

“Can you help me?” Jamie asked.

“He’s gonna kill him,” the man said. He had a peculiar accent. It was American yet strangely old-fashioned, like something in a black and white film.

“Who are you talking about?”

“You know that. You know who I’m talking about.”

“You mean… Scott?”

The man nodded. “He’s gonna kill him. And it’s your job to stop him.”

“But who’s going to kill him? You have to help me find him-”

That was all Jamie had time to say. The man suddenly lashed out with the knife. Jamie heard it as it came sweeping through the damp air. Something slammed into the side of his head and he thought he’d been stabbed. But the man had struck with the hilt, not the blade. With a single cry of pain, Jamie was thrown off his feet and went crashing down onto his back. He could feel blood oozing out of his hair and wondered if his skull had been broken. The man stepped forward and loomed over him. He was holding the knife in both hands, as if about to make a sacrifice. Lightning shimmered one last time.

“Stop him!” the man commanded.

His hands came plummeting down.

Jamie woke up.

His head was throbbing and for a moment he thought he really had been attacked. He raised a hand and touched it to the side of his skull. There was nothing. No blood. No sign of a wound. He was lying, fully dressed, on a bed. For a moment he lay completely still, allowing his thoughts to swirl around him, separating what was real from what he had dreamed, trying to work out what had happened to him, where he was now and how he had got here. The attack at the theatre. That was real. He remembered the blare of the traffic, the neon lights, the car cutting across the street to pick him up.

Scott. They had taken him. Jamie sat bolt upright, instantly searching for his brother even though there was little chance that he was anywhere near. But it didn’t matter. It was instinctive. He sent out his thoughts, first into this room, then into whatever room might be next door, then further. He was shouting his brother’s name but without uttering a word.

There was nothing. Jamie felt a sense of blankness that told him exactly what he feared. He was on his own.

He slumped against the pillow, feeling the stiffness in his shoulder where the dart had hit him, and knew that he had been drugged. How long had he been asleep? The sun was shining. A blind had been drawn across the window but he could see the light streaming in along the sides.

His mouth was dry and he felt sick. He looked around him and saw that he was in some sort of hotel room. He could tell from the emptiness of the place, the cheap furniture, the prints on the walls – black and white photographs of Reno as it had been fifty years ago. There was a glass of water beside the bed. He picked it up and drank. It was still cool. A few lumps of half-melted ice floated on the top. He was thirsty. He emptied the glass, then swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand up.

The door of the room opened and someone came in, morning sunlight streaming over her shoulders. At first he couldn’t make out who it was. Then the person closed the door and Jamie saw a young black woman, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with a brightly coloured cotton shirt hanging loose on the outside. She was carrying two supermarket shopping bags.

“When did you wake up?” she asked.

Jamie didn’t answer her question. “Who are you?” he demanded. “How long have I been here?”

“It’s after ten. I was getting worried about you. I thought I was going to have to call a doctor.” The woman paused. “You’re going to have to help me out here. Are you Scott or Jamie? The two of you are so alike.”

Jamie tried to stand up but he still didn’t have the strength. He felt as if he had been lying down for a week. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a motel,” the woman replied. “We’re still in Reno, right next door to the airport. The Bluebird Inn. Do you know it?” She put the shopping bags down on a table. They were full of food. A couple of apples spilled out and she scooped them up. “I thought you might be hungry so I went out shopping. I’m glad I timed it right. I didn’t want you to wake up on your own.”

“You were in the theatre.” Jamie recognized her. She had been the woman with the photograph at the last performance. She had volunteered to come up onto the stage.

“Yeah.” The woman nodded. “Actually, I saw you three times. I was there at the seven-thirty show. And the night before.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see how you did it. Your act…”

Jamie forced himself to his feet. He was weak and his head was still throbbing, but he didn’t want to stay here, on his own, in the room with this strange woman. Scott had gone. Someone had taken him. That was all that mattered.

“Where are you going?” the woman asked. She placed herself between Jamie and the door.

“I have to find Scott.”

“I know how you’re feeling.” She shook her head. “But you can’t just walk out of here. It’s too late.”

“What do you mean?” Without knowing it, Jamie had clenched his fists. His eyes were fierce and bloodshot. “You were there. Why? Did you know what was going to happen? Were you part of it?”

Now it was the woman’s turn to become angry. “I think you’re forgetting what happened,” she replied. Her voice was still soft but Jamie could see that she was having to control herself. “I saved you. If it wasn’t for me, they’d have taken you too.”

Of course. She had been in the car. Jamie hadn’t seen her he’d only heard her voice before he’d passed out. But there could be no doubt. He recognized it again now. “Do you know where he is?” he asked. “Do you know who they were?”

“No.”

“I have to look for him.”

“I know how you’re feeling, Jamie. Can I call you that? You said you were looking for Scott so I guess that answers my question.” Again he didn’t answer, so she went on. “Just try to think straight for a minute. You want to find your brother. But where are you going to start?” She walked over to a table and picked up a small, silver object, shaped like a bullet but with a needle jutting out at one end and a black tuft at the other. “Do you know what this is?”

Jamie felt his blood run cold.

“I dug this out of your shoulder,” the woman said. “God knows what was in it but you’ve been asleep for eleven hours. Your brother was hit too, and right now he could be anywhere. You can look all over Reno if you want. You can look all over Nevada. But you’re not going to find him.”

She was right. Jamie knew it. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t stay here, not without Scott. “I have to see Uncle Don,” he said.

“Don? The woman blinked. “You mean Don White? The man on the posters? Is he your uncle?”

“No. He’s nothing – but he made us call him that. He’ll be wondering where we are. He was there at the theatre last night. Maybe he can help.”

“I’m not so sure…”

“I don’t care what you think.” Jamie took a deep breath. “We were renting a house. It’s over in Sparks. There’s him and Marcie. I have to tell them what happened. They’ll contact the cops.”

The woman thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “Why don’t you call them?”

There was a telephone on a table beside the bed. Jamie picked it up and dialled the number. He waited, listening as it rang at the other end. There was no reply. He let it ring a dozen times. Then he hung up.

“If they cared about you, they’d have called the police already,” the woman said.

“How do you know they haven’t?”

The woman sighed. “Fair enough. I haven’t seen the papers yet…”

“You knew what happened.” Jamie couldn’t keep the hostility out of his voice. “Why didn’t you call them?”

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Great. Well now you’ve talked to me. How long did you say I’ve been here? Eleven hours. That means you’ve given them eleven hours to get away with Scott. I don’t even know your name but you’re nothing to do with me. I just want to go home.”

“I’m not stopping you!” The woman raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “You want to go home? That’s fine! In fact I’ll drive you there myself. OK?”

Jamie nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

The woman went over to the door and the two of them stepped outside. Jamie screwed up his eyes as the sun hit him. The door opened onto a parking lot and he could feel the heat bouncing off the tarmac, roasting his forehead and cheeks. The air smelled of burning rubber and gasoline. The Bluebird Inn was an old-fashioned building, two storeys high, mainly white-painted wood. It had been named after the state bird of Nevada but if anything with wings came close to the place it was more likely to be a plane. The motel had been constructed exactly opposite the runway and even as Jamie stood there, he heard the roar of a jet – though whether it was taking off or landing he couldn’t see.

“You always stay here?” he asked.

The woman glanced at him. “I always stay near airports,” she replied. Why? What did she mean? But Jamie didn’t ask her. Whatever her problems were, they had nothing to do with him.

She had rented a car, a silver four-door Ford Focus, and Jamie saw that she had called someone out early that morning. The window had been repaired. But one of the wing mirrors was missing. That would cost her plenty when she took the car back. He got into the front seat and closed the door.

“Alicia McGuire,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You didn’t ask me my name, but I thought you’d like to know it anyway.” She started the engine. “So where are we heading?”

“It’s just off the 80. I can show you.”

They drove together in silence. Jamie looked out of the window as the offices and hotels of Reno slipped past. He knew them all. They had become as familiar to him as the features on his own face. And yet now, somehow, they seemed a long way away. As they drove up the ramp and onto the freeway heading east, he felt a sense of dislocation. It was as if someone had taken a giant pair of scissors the night before and cut a straight line through his life.

The air-conditioning was on full and he let the air current wash over him, separating his clothes from his skin. He hoped it would wake him up. He was still groggy, perhaps from the drug, perhaps from the shock of what had happened. He tried to make sense of the events at the theatre but he couldn’t. At least four men, perhaps more, had come for him and Scott. Two of them had been in the audience. The others had appeared from nowhere. But the whole thing had been carefully planned. That much was obvious. And if it hadn’t been for Jagger, the two of them wouldn’t even have made it out of the theatre.

Frank Kirby’s dog. Jamie remembered the struggle and hoped the animal was all right. Frank was always worrying about the dog… it was old and had a weak heart. Jamie knew that the men in the theatre would have quite happily killed Jagger without so much as a second thought, and these were the same people who had taken Scott. Well Jamie would find them, with or without his uncle’s help. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know what they were up against.

“It’s the next exit,” he said.

Don White and his wife had rented a house in Sparks, a suburb of Reno, just a few miles to the east. Alicia turned off and they descended into a grid system of pretty, tree-lined streets that seemed a world apart from the main city. And yet the poker tables and slot machines had spread out even here. Two huge towers, bookends that didn’t quite match, rose up on the other side of the freeway. This was the Nugget, another enormous casino and hotel complex. Many of the people who lived in Sparks worked there as waiters, croupiers, cleaners or security guards. There was no escaping it. It seemed to look down and sneer at the little community as if to say, I am your master. You owe your livelihood to me.

Every house in Sparks was different and each one stood on its own little plot of land. There were cottages made of brick, wooden bungalows with painted shutters and verandas, villas built in the Spanish style with wrought-iron gates and white stucco walls. Some of the houses had been decorated with wind chimes, dolls and flowerpots. Others had been allowed to fall into disrepair. It just depended who was living there – and it seemed that all sorts of people had chosen this neighbourhood for their home.

Number 402 Tenth Street was at the top end, close to the casino. It stood out at once because it was the most dilapidated building in the street, with a garden that had been allowed to run wild and a rusting barbecue on its side in the grass. It had a porch with a net screen running all the way round, but it was full of holes, as if it had been stabbed. The paint was flaking. The window frames were rusting. A single air-conditioning unit clung to one wall as if by its fingernails. The house was two storeys high with a garage to one side. There was a caravan parked in the driveway and from the look of it, it hadn’t been moved in a long time.

“This is it,” Jamie said.

“I sort of guessed.” Alicia didn’t stop outside. She drove a few doors further down and pulled up beneath an acacia tree. “Park in the shade,” she explained.

Jamie nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He reached for the door handle.

“Wait a minute!” Alicia stared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s OK. This is where I live. You don’t need to come in.”

“It’s not OK! I can’t just leave you here. I want to see you’re safe.”

“Then wait in the car-”

“No!” Alicia turned off the engine. “I’m coming in with you.” Jamie opened his mouth to argue but she stopped him. “You’ve been away all night,” she went on. “Maybe it would help you if you had someone to explain what happened – to back up your story.”

Jamie thought for a moment, then nodded. The two of them got out of the car and walked back along the pavement, passing the house next to the one where he lived. It belonged to a family with two children – girls – about ten and twelve years old. Jamie often saw them playing on the front lawn and their bicycles were there now, parked next to a swing. But he had never spoken to them, not in all the time he had been at Sparks. The girls had probably been told to avoid him and Scott. Nobody ever went near number 402. It was as if the whole neighbourhood knew that these weren’t people you wanted to meet.

He climbed three concrete steps and crossed the porch to the front door. He was glad now that this woman was with him. There was no way that Don or Marcie could blame him for what had happened the night before, but the trouble was that the two of them were likely to strike out first and ask questions later. He had disappeared for more than twelve hours. At least Alicia would give him time to explain why. They wouldn’t dare hurt him while she was there.

At the last minute he stopped and rang the doorbell. It had suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t just walk in, not with a complete stranger. It wasn’t midday yet. Marcie probably wouldn’t be dressed. He listened for any sound of life, a door slamming open or the tramp of feet coming down the stairs, but there was nothing. As usual, the television was turned on in the front room. That didn’t mean anything. Marcie switched it on first thing in the morning and sometimes left it on all day, even when she was playing music on the radio in the same room. He could hear a man’s voice reading a news bulletin. He rang a second time. There was no answer.

“They’re not in,” Jamie said.

“Do you want to wait for them?”

“Yes.” Jamie nodded. “You don’t have to worry about me. You can leave me here if you want to.”

“No. I’ll come in too.”

She was determined. Jamie shrugged and opened the door. He had known it wouldn’t be locked. It never was. There was nothing worth stealing in the house and none of the furniture belonged to them anyway. Don had rented the place through an agency. The owners were in another state, and whoever they were, they certainly hadn’t been house-proud. The carpets were thin, the wallpaper peeling and the light bulbs hung without any shades. The two boys had mattresses on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. Don and Marcie had a sagging bed next door. In the kitchen, there was a table and four chairs. That was about it. The house was little more than a shell. If it had been abandoned altogether, nobody would have noticed any difference.

“…with less than five months until election day and still no lead opening up between the two candidates, the pressure is most definitely on. Who will be the next president of the United States? It seems that only time will tell. This is Ed Radway reporting from Phoenix, Arizona…”

There was no audience in the room for the television presenter who chatted on regardless, searching for eye contact with two empty seats.

“This is where you live?” Alicia couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.

“We just rent it,” Jamie explained. He was feeling ashamed although he had no reason to. “You don’t have to stay,” he added.

“Excuse me! Are you still trying to get rid of me?”

“No.”

But he was. He didn’t like anyone seeing him here. He didn’t like admitting that this was where he lived. Alicia was looking at him and Jamie realized that he had barely spoken to her since they had left Reno – and when he had, it was only to be rude. And yet what she had said back at the hotel was true. She had rescued him. She had risked her life, driving through gunfire. And he hadn’t even thanked her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Forget it.” Alicia looked around her. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone at home,” she said. “What does this woman – Marcie – do for a living?”

“She doesn’t really do anything.”

“So how did you-”

But Alicia never finished the question. They both saw it at the same time. The image on the television had changed. A thin boy with long, dark hair and pale skin was facing them. With a strange jolt, a sense of unreality, Jamie realized he was looking at himself.

“…wanted in connection with the murder of his legal guardian, Don White,” the reporter was saying.

The picture divided into two. Jamie and Scott side by side. They were obviously twins, but on the television screen they didn’t look so identical.

“Scott and Jamie Tyler are identical twins. Although they are only fourteen years old, they are said to be armed and dangerous. The public is urged not to approach them.”

“This is crazy…” Jamie whispered.

“Sssh!” Alicia was staring at the screen.

The picture changed to the Reno Playhouse. There must have been four or five reporters standing outside, each one with their own personal microphone and cameraman, clamouring for attention. Their voices could be heard in the background as the local reporter – a blonde, excited-looking woman – told the story.

“Scott and Jamie Tyler were performing here, at this theatre in downtown Reno,” she was saying. “They were part of a so-called mind-reading act that used simple trickery to fool their audience. According to witnesses, both boys were heavily involved in substance abuse and last night it seems they lost control, stealing the gun from their guardian, Don White, and turning it against him…”

“It’s all lies!” Jamie exclaimed. He turned to Alicia, suddenly afraid that she wouldn’t believe him. “What she’s saying. None of it’s true!”

“Jamie…”

“He didn’t even have a gun!”

“Listen to me, Jamie-”

But at that moment there was a blast of sirens outside the house that could mean only one thing. The police had arrived.

As far as Jamie was concerned, it was all just another bad dream, worse even than the one he’d had the night before. It seemed to him that one impossibility after another was piling up on him and he almost expected the grey cowboy from his dream to jump out at him from behind the sofa, just for good measure. He heard the screech of tyres, the sound of cars pulling up in the street. At the same time, the squawk of radio transmitters filled the air. Doors opened and slammed shut. Somebody somewhere called out an order. “This way!”

It was Alicia who took control of the situation. As Jamie stood, rooted to the spot, she grabbed hold of him and suddenly she was very close.

“We have to move,” she said urgently. “You can’t be found here.”

“But…”

“You heard what they said on the news. That’s what they all think. You’ve been set up! If the police get you, you’re finished. We have to go.”

“Go where?”

Jamie turned towards the front door but it was already far too late. He heard footsteps coming up the drive. The front patio had been laid with gravel and the boots crunched against it. Alicia understood. That way was blocked. “Into the kitchen!” she commanded.

Jamie was angry with himself. The situation was completely out of control. If Scott had been here, he would have known what to do. Once again Jamie was weak and helpless, allowing himself to be pushed around… this time by a woman he had only met a few hours before. Fortunately Alicia had taken charge. A door led into the kitchen. She pulled it open and they went through. And that was when they realized that they hadn’t been on their own in the house after all.

Marcie was lying on the floor and it was obvious – even without the pool of blood – that she was dead. Her arms and legs were spread-eagled almost comically and her cheek was pressed against the linoleum as if she was trying to listen to something in the cellar below. In life, she had been a short, stocky woman. Death had somehow compressed her even more so that she didn’t look quite human. A fat, stuffed doll. But somebody had shot her twice and let the stuffing out.

Jamie tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come. He heard the front door open on the other side of the living room and realized that the police were already in the house. They hadn’t bothered to ring the bell. Somebody muttered something but it was impossible to make out the words against the noise of the TV. Meanwhile, Alicia was looking around. A pair of French windows led into the back garden but she didn’t know if they were locked or not and she didn’t have time to find out. There was another door right next to her. Grabbing Jamie, she pulled him out of the kitchen and into a narrow utility room. There was a washing machine, a drier, a couple of shelves of canned food. She stopped and held up a hand, warning Jamie not to move. At the same moment, the police entered the kitchen.

“Oh, Jesus!” Jamie heard one of the policeman gagging.

“That sure is a beauty.” A second voice.

“Looks like the kids came home last night.”

There was a way out of the utility room. Another door at the far end. Alicia signalled and she and Jamie tiptoed over to it. There had to be at least three policemen in the kitchen, separated from them only by a thin partition wall. The door was locked but the key was there. She reached out and turned it…

Just as a policeman walked into the room behind them. He stood, staring at them, like something straight out of a Hollywood film, with his black, short-sleeved shirt and black shades that completely hid his eyes. He was young and white and he worked out. The ugly tools of his trade dangled from his belt: gun, CS gas canister, handcuffs and baton. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then his hand dropped down to the gun.

Jamie had been standing behind Alicia. Suddenly he stepped forward so that he stood directly opposite the policeman. She saw him look up and there was something in the boy’s face that she couldn’t recognize, a sort of intensity that seemed almost unworldly.

“There’s nobody here,” he said quietly. “The room’s empty.”

The policeman stared at him, as if puzzled by what he had just been told. Alicia waited for him to say something. But he didn’t. His eyes were vacant. He nodded slowly and walked out again.

Jamie and Alicia heard voices in the kitchen as the officer rejoined the other men.

“Anything?”

“No. There’s nobody there. It’s just an empty room.”

“Hey – Josh. Why don’t you tell the paramedics to get in here? They can start clearing up.”

Jamie glanced at Alicia, as if challenging her to ask questions. But this wasn’t the time. Alicia opened the back door and the two of them passed through into the garage. It was empty apart from a rusty lawnmower and a deep-freeze cabinet. Don had taken his car to the Reno Playhouse and, of course, it had never been driven back. The two doors were closed but there was a window at the back. Jamie opened it and they climbed out. Now the garage was between them and any police officers who might be standing guard at the front. Jamie made sure there was nobody around, then slipped behind the neighbouring house, making his way through the garden where the two girls had played. Only when he was on the other side of the house did he cut back to the street. Alicia’s car was parked right in front of him.

He took one last look at the house where he had lived for the past six months. The entrance was already taped off. There were police officers everywhere: in the porch, on the front lawn, carrying equipment in and out. Three police cars were parked in the street. Distant sirens announced that more were on the way.

Nobody noticed as Jamie and Alicia crossed the pavement and got into the car. And if anyone had turned round, they would assume that the two of them were neighbours. It was only when they were inside the car – and before she had started the engine – that Alicia turned to him.

“What was that?” she demanded. “What did you do to that policeman? How did you make him…?” Her voice trailed away.

“I can’t tell you,” Jamie replied. “I don’t know what I did. And it doesn’t matter. Because I’m never going to do it again.”

Alicia nodded and turned the ignition. One of the policemen glanced in their direction but did nothing to stop them.

Alicia put the car into gear and the two of them drove away.