Connor Clover and the Lost Children (Book 1) Page 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jeremy

  Following the conversation, Connor grew curious about Jeremy. By the time he reunited with Deana and K, the table of food had been cleared. Deana, red faced and teary eyed, sat close to K. In between loud sobs, she explained to Connor what had happened and who had died.

  Fifteen minutes later they arrived outside K’s home in Sparkie’s van. Lights shone brightly within the house. Knowing his mum would be waiting for them, K braced himself

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ Deana reassured him, lightly brushing K’s cheek with her fingers. ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

  K nodded, unable to speak. Deana’s large eyes watched him sadly. Connor knew how much they meant to each other, especially at this time of sadness. Feeling like an intruder, he averted his gaze.

  What an awful night this had become. Connor had his own problems to contend with, but amidst the maze of events, K’s father had been killed. Had it been an accident? But K had hinted more than once of his father being the best navigator on earth.

  ‘Thunderbolt must’ve been malfunctioned!’ he kept repeating.

  ‘Thunderbolt?’ Connor quizzed.

  ‘Dad’s spaceship. Its defence mechanism is able to deliver a bolt of electricity so powerful it can blast other spacecraft’s.’ His voice quietened as he stared ahead.

  No one spoke for a while.

  Sparkie left the van and immediately clambered back in, shivering.

  He wrapped his arms. ‘Brrrr! It’s freezing tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed. Would someone please pass me my coat in the back of the van?’

  K blinked with a start and tugged heavily at what first appeared to be a dead animal. Grunting with effort, he hauled a dark grisly fur coat into the light.

  ‘Urgh!’ Deana made a face. ‘What is this?’

  ‘My coat!’ snapped Sparkie, looking hurt. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not real fur. I made it myself. It’s an imitation.’

  ‘Hope you didn’t make any more,’ mumbled Deana, examining the shabby coat, covered in grey bald patches.

  Sparkie left a second time, while the others braced themselves for the cold wind.

  K’s face paled. No longer the gallant fighter, K walked to the door, his legs stiff and heavy. The idea of breaking the news to his mum weighed heavy on his mind. Deana stroked his back in support. In the last fifteen minutes, he’d aged ten years and for the first time in his life took to biting his fingers nervously.

  ‘I don’t know how to tell her.’ Clearly anxious, he stepped back.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll know what to say,’ Deana soothed. ‘Remember we’re with you.’

  The detached cottage, covered in overgrown ivy, rested on the top of a sloped driveway. Two smaller buildings were adjacent to the cottage where evergreen trees and shrubs gave the cottage shelter, giving it absolute privacy from the road. An uneven cobblestone pathway led straight to the front door.

  In the night sky, several small black bats swooping past the outdoors light and circled it repeatedly.

  Heavy hearted, they trundled to the cottage.

  ‘I can’t do this!’ K panicked. ‘I can’t tell her. It’ll break her heart!’

  ‘Calm down, K. Listen to me!’ Sparkie held K firmly. ‘You have to tell your mum. You have to be strong for her. She needs you right now.’

  K’s eyes were wide. Nodding slowly, he faced the door a second time, his expression more apprehensive than ever. Sparkie’s words had done little more than increase his panic. Sadly K ran his fingers across a wooden plaque next to the front door. Engraved were the words, ‘Castaway Cottage.’

  ‘Dad made it.’ A lump formed in his throat. ‘He’d joked about being a castaway on this planet. He’d been here a hundred years before he met my mum. He called himself Robinson Crusoe.’ He pulled a key from his pocket and breathed in deeply, preparing himself for the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He placed the key in the lock but the door unexpectedly flew open.

  Connor peered between the bodies in front of him. With butterflies in his stomach, he watched nervously as a cuddly, old woman appeared at the door with outstretched arms.

  ‘K. I’ve been worried sick!’ she cried. ‘I thought something terrible had happened to you. You were meant to ring me an hour ago.’

  Her rosy cheeks and warm smile flowed with a mother’s love. A plain blue apron, covered in flour stains. Her grey blue eyes were full of concern until she saw her son. Wispy grey hair fell softly about her face, highlighting its roundness, and her speech took on an excited tone.

  ‘Where is young Connor? You did bring him, I hope,’ she beamed.

  Connor shyly stepped forward into the light. ‘Hi!’ he croaked, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

  ‘I’m so pleased to see you, young man. Come here so I can give you a hug.’ On the doorstep, Connor became encased in her plump arms and lifted off the ground. She winked at Deana. ‘My, oh my – how you’ve changed. You’re so handsome. You look like your parents, don’t you? You must break a lot of hearts now.’ She pinched his cheek gently. ‘Come in, my dear child, you’re safe for a while.’

  Connor tried to say thank you but he coughed instead, dying of thirst.

  ‘Well, come on in.’ She opened the door wide and stepped inside. ‘It’s too cold to be talking on the doorstep. Whatever is it you’re wearing, Sparkie?’ She caught a glimpse of his coat and wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘It won’t bite, will it?’

  Sparkie rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘No, but if you’re not careful, I will.’

  Chuckling, Marion led them into her large homely kitchen. She walked to the far end and placed the kettle on the stove. Freshly baked sponge wafted through the hallway, but no one paid it much attention. Burdened with terrible news their appetites had long since disappeared. A large stove occupied the far end of the kitchen, with dry herbs hanging from wooden beams. Chairs squeaked loudly as they were dragged across the tiled floor from under a large wooden table, where they sat.

  Marion continued chatting easily in her cheery voice, while K remained ghostly white and tongue-tied.

  ‘So how did the rescue from the hospital go?’ she breathed. ‘I must admit when you hadn’t called me, I thought the worse, but you made it so it must’ve gone better than planned. I except you’d love to have a hot drink inside you. It can’t be easy being out in this weather. Welcome home, K,’ she pinched her son’s cheek affectionately and headed back to the cupboards, using her best china cups and saucers. Placing them on the side, she hummed a tune whilst filling a teapot with several teabags.

  ‘I hope you want your tea strong.’ She glanced at Deana a second time. ‘Are you okay, love? You look a bit upset, although I understand given the circumstances. I mean – what with Connor’s rescue and knowing he’s safe with us now. And I should have known K would be fine if you were with him. You’re a good influence on him. You and K are meant to be together.’

  Deana blushed, any other time she’d have laughed, but not today.

  ‘Why, you’re a quiet bunch, aren’t you,’ Marion chirped. ‘It’s the weather. Makes people gloomy. My sponge will put a smile on your face. I’ve been cooking all day. Give it another ten minutes. It’s your favourite, K – you know, the one with the chocolate filling.’

  While Marion made the tea, Sparkie whispered to K. ‘You must tell her. You can’t put it off.’

  ‘Mum –’ he began, but broke off.

  Marion’s gentle eyes watched him curiously. Then, as if sensing something wrong, a furrow appeared between her brows.

  ‘What is it dear?’ she walked towards him and touched his forehead. ‘Well, your temperature is normal, which is good. I hope you’re not coming down with something.’

  ‘It’s not me, mum – it’s dad!’ K blurted.

  Marion fell silent, her bubbly mannerisms vanishing in a fraction of a second. The spark in her eyes disappeared instantly.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened to
your dad? He’s okay, isn’t he?’

  ‘You’d better sit, Marion,’ Sparkie rose from his chair and guided her to a chair. ‘Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it?’ She flitted her gaze from one person to another. ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me!’

  ‘Dad’s been in an accident, mum,’ K whispered, placing his hand on top of hers, pausing briefly before speaking again. ‘He died an hour ago.’

  ‘No! Tell me it’s not true!’ She clutched K and searched his distressed face. ‘There’s been a mistake. Mistakes happen all the time. What about that security guard – what’s his name?’

  ‘Arnold,’ recalled Sparkie.

  ‘Yes, Arnold. They declared him dead, didn’t they? He’d been paralysed for two weeks by a hideous alien. And no one knew – prepared his funeral and nailed him in a coffin. Luckily for him, he banged on the lid as they were lowering him into the ground.’

  K’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I heard a short while ago myself.’

  Marion’s face drained of colour as she comforted K. ‘Don’t fret, love. This has to be a mistake. I’d know it in my bones if your father were dead now, wouldn’t I?’

  Sparkie wore a grave expression. ‘Marion, I’m sorry but his body has been taken to the AAA, and a car will arrive to take you.’

  Marion shook her head. ‘No – he can’t be dead. He can’t be.’ She tightened her lips in disbelief. Gradually as the shock took its toil, her body shuddered. ‘I didn’t think for one moment your father could be in danger. He’s so careful. It doesn’t make sense. I asked him not to go, but you know him – he’s so insistent.’

  ‘Before he left did he tell you where he was going?’ enquired Sparkie.

  ‘You know Jeremy. He doesn’t mention work – says he doesn’t want to involve me – he kept wrapping me in cotton wool. But I must admit he hasn’t been his usual self – kept distant from me – I even had to ask for a kiss before he left tonight. It’s strange. I know something has been troubling him ever since the portal to Dramian had been discovered. He’s been edgy – kept saying sorry. I haven’t a clue why. When he left tonight, he told me he wanted to check the area. I told him not to go, because Connor was visiting. I knew how much he wanted to meet him. So what happened?’

  ‘He collided with another spaceship operated by the Armatripe,’ K explained, another lump forming in his throat making it difficult to swallow.

  ‘Your father hasn’t crashed Thunderbolt in his entire life. He knows his spaceship so well. It makes no sense…Do you think he suffered?’ she whispered, tears appearing as the news sank in.

  Sparkie held her hand. ‘No, he died instantly by all accounts.’

  ‘Is it meant to reassure me?’ snapped Marion, touching her throat. ‘I’m sorry… I…’

  Understanding her raw emotions, Sparkie remained quiet and patted her hand. Several times her expression changed as she stared in distress at Sparkie. As the words made their impact, her body trembled.

  ‘NO!’ she cried, shaking her head. ‘Not my Jeremy! He can’t be dead! He can’t be!’

  Sobbing, as she repeated her husband’s name, K sprung from his seat and hugged her. The grief in the room affected everyone.

  Through teary eyes, Deana pulled Connor from the room. ‘Let’s leave them for a while.’

  If Connor had ever met Jeremy he had no memories of him. Feeling awkward, he gratefully welcomed Deana’s interruption and followed her through the hallway into a small cosy living room, where a blazing fire greeted them.

  ‘It’s best we give them some space for a while.’ She lifted a poker and stoked the fire. A firework of sparks escaped the boundary of the fireguard. Deana leapt from her seat to catch them before they singed the carpet.

  She slumped in the armchair next to Connor, exhausted. She sniffed several times and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her fur trimmed denim coat. Spotting a box of tissues on top of a piano, Connor retrieved them for her.

  ‘Thanks.’ She took one and blew her nose. ‘Marion’s right. I saw Jeremy yesterday and he did act bizarre. He gave me this ring and told me if I were to marry K, it would be with his blessing. Why would he say that? Sparkie told me earlier that Jeremy wouldn’t allow him access to his cellar. Maybe he’s been working on something. I’m going to check it,’ she decided, springing from her seat to catch another flying ember. ‘That’s the trouble with open fires, you can’t leave them alone… not if you want to avoid another fire. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Can’t I come?’ he pleaded.

  ‘No. Keep an eye on the fire and tell the others where I am in case they want me.’

  ‘Fine,’ grumbled Connor. ‘But tell K what you’re going to do? He might want to come with you.’

  ‘What? In his state? Playing detective isn’t going to be on his mind right now.’

  Deana buttoned her coat. Giving Connor the thumbs up, she darted the back door. Connor relaxed back in the chair, opposite the fireplace, becoming captivated by the flames. The events of the past few days whizzed by in a blur and his eyes drooped. He sank deep into the soft armchair and stretched his legs in front of him.

  A tall brass lamp in the corner swathed the room in a soft light. Creamy lace cloths were draped on the chairs and a larger one laid neatly on a two-seated sofa, occupying the edge of the room. A bold brass frame enclosed a magnificently painted picture of a landscape, which hung above the fireplace, showing a world where trees were blue and the sky as a mixture of pale oranges and reds.

  The house came alive with different sounds, the hissing and crackling firewood, crying, the dimmed voices from the kitchen and an annoyingly squeaky sound on the window as a branch scraped against the pane. The wind had increased tenfold, causing havoc outside.

  Five minutes later, Deana’s re-entered the cottage with windswept hair, looking more agitated as she scrapped her loose hair back off her pallid face.

  Connor jumped off his seat. ‘What’s wrong? What is it?’

  ‘It’s awful!’ she cried.

  ‘What is it? Tell me!’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She flung her arms in confusion. ‘I saw body parts lying on the ground – it was frightening!’

  ‘You must tell someone!’ urged Connor.

  She paced the room, nervously. ‘I’ll tell Sparkie – he’ll know what to do.’

  The door creaked opened. Sparkie stood in the doorway, taking off his coat. His expression strained with tension.

  ‘A car has arrived to take K and his mother to the AAA headquarters. If you’re going with them, Deana, it’s now time to leave. Young Connor and myself will wait for Tookar.’

  ‘Okay, I won’t be a minute.’ She waited for Sparkie to leave the room. ‘Connor, I must have a quick word with Sparkie before I leave. Will you be okay with me going?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Connor put on a brave face, despite hating the idea of her leaving him.

  She ruffled his hair and gave him a hug before dashing from the room. He watched solemnly from the window, as K and his mother hastily left the house.

  A short time later, Deana ran outside to the black car, her hair flapping wildly across her face, despite trying to hold it in place. She waved before disappearing into the back of the car with K, who waved as well. Connor waved back, feeling helpless to help. Despite his amazing powers, he couldn’t bring people back from the dead.

  The car roared into the night taking his friends away. As Connor entered the hallway, Sparkie bolted the front door securely.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to Deana,’ Sparkie frowned. ‘She’s upset, almost hysterical I’d say. She said she saw body parts in Jeremy’s cellar. I can’t believe Jeremy has been murdering people for a hobby. Still – I’d better check.’

  ‘Shall I go with you?’

  Sparkie shook his head. ‘No, go upstairs and make sure the windows are shut.’

  ‘Why? Are we expecting trouble?’

  ‘Possibly. I’ll have the van ready in the master bedroom i
n case we must make a speedy getaway. We’ll survive if we keep our wits about us.’

  Sparkie entered the hallway to check the windows were closed on the ground floor. When he’d finished he left by the back door, closing it with a loud click.

  Connor climbed the wooden staircase into the darkness. With no light on the upstairs landing, he half-expected someone to spring from a hiding place and scare the pants off him. Thankfully, he flicked the light switch with a soft click to illuminate his surroundings.

  Flowery wallpaper covered the walls of this old fashioned house. Checking the windows, Connor went from one room to another. He entered a master bedroom with an ensuite attached to it, two smaller bedrooms, a bathroom and a separate toilet. Connor came to the last room and the light from the hallway flooded the smallest bedroom, where a single bed had been prepared with layers of blankets neatly tucked under the mattress. Connor closed the small window, which had been left open to air the room. He closed the curtains, noticing the wooden furniture: a bed; wardrobe; dressing table; chair and side cabinet, made from antique oak. An oval mirror, framed with patterned bronze, hung proudly on the wall. Connor observed his shadowy reflection and noticed a distorted image staring back.

  He took note of the photographs hanging next to the mirror and a large, wooden wardrobe with two cardboard boxes on top. He switched on the light and saw more photographs in the room. The one beside the mirror caught his attention as he recognised Marion and K as a youngster. A tall man stood next to her. He assumed it must be Jeremy, though his eyes shone with kindness and not those of a murderer. Another couple sat with a young child on a bench eating ice cream. They seemed familiar but before he investigated it further, a disturbance on the landing made him jump. Peering round the door, he spotted Sparkie dashing into the master bedroom. By the time he reached the door, Sparkie had lifted a rug and worked on a floorboard with a screwdriver. As the wood splinted and lifted, a secret drawer was revealed under the floorboards. A large padlock barred it from opening. Sparkie struck it with the screwdriver, a hungry desire in his eyes.

  Connor walked into the room. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Trying to get this locked drawer open.’

  ‘Why? Has it something to do with what you saw in Jeremy’s cellar?’

  ‘Yes. Deana saw bodies in the cellar,’ Sparkie gabbled excitedly. ‘Poor thing. She had the wrong end of the stick though. Jeremy hasn’t killed anyone. He’s made clones of himself and made another Jeremy.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘He’s made a replica of himself.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sparkie passed Connor a photograph from his pocket. ‘I have an idea but I must get this drawer open first.’ Again he tugged at the drawer, chipping and denting it.

  The photograph looked similar to K but on the back was another name – Daven.

  ‘I know! You do it!’ Sparkie’s frustration was replaced with hope.

  ‘What me?’ Connor was doubtful. ‘I don’t know how to unlock it.’

  ‘You know more than you realise. Will you try something for me?’

  ‘As long as it won’t hurt.’

  ‘Come. Open this lock for me.’ Sparkie grew more excited than ever. ‘Close your eyes and imagine the lock releasing.’

  ‘Sparkie – you’re acting crazy, you know.’

  ‘Forget how ridiculous it is and get on and do it,’ he snapped.

  Connor knelt beside him. ‘Fine. I don’t know what you expect to happen, though.’

  ‘I expect the drawer to open, Connor!’ he beamed. ‘And I believe the Starstone is going to help you do it.’

  ‘This isn’t a trick, is it?’ Connor peeped.

  ‘Not at all, dear fellow.’

  Again Connor closed his eyes and imagined the drawer opening. After a short time, something clicked and the drawer pushed against his palm.

  ‘What the –’

  ‘By Jove! Jumping butterflies! You did it!’ Sparkie thumped him on the back. ‘It’s opened!’ He proceeded to jump excitedly.

  Had he opened the locked drawer? Shaking his head, he suspected Sparkie had used a key or something.

  Sparkie wasted no time. Rummaging on his knees, he tugged the drawer upwards, tipping the entire contents on to the floor – photographs and documents sprawled in a pile. After a manic five minutes hunched on the floor, Sparkie waved a piece of paper.

  I’ve got it!’ he cried, holding a certificate of some kind.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A birth certificate,’ Sparkie remarked. ‘It belongs to K’s brother – Daven.’

  ‘I didn’t know K had a brother.’

  ‘Nor does he!’

  Sparkie searched for further evidence and came across an envelope full of photographs of Daven, pictures of a young boy whose name had been written on the back of each one.

  ‘By Jove. Jeremy has planned a rescue!’ whispered Sparkie. ‘The old devil!’

  ‘What? But Jeremy’s dead!’ Connor reminded him.

  Sparkie shook his head. Gathering the items he placed them into the drawer. ‘It makes sense now.’

  ‘Not to me,’ grunted Connor. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll explain later. First I must do something.’ Sparkie covered the secret drawer with the heavy patterned rug and left the room, leaving Connor more puzzled than before. He returned a moment later. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Marion wanted me to show you something.’

  Intrigued, Connor followed Sparkie to back to the small bedroom he’d been in previously.

  Sparkie folded the birth certificate and placed it in his pocket. ‘Your life is like the missing pieces of a jigsaw. Marion wanted you to see some photographs of when you were little to try and help you remember your past.’

  ‘She has photos of me?’ Connor’s mouth fell wide.

  ‘Yes, and since you can’t remember the time when you were a little mischief-maker, I’m to show you the photographs. Do you know what, I’d love to eat a wholesome apple pie right now. Maybe I’ll meet a generous woman one day who makes good pies.’

  ‘I know one,’ grinned Connor, picturing Mrs Rosebud and Sparkie walking arm in arm along the road, while wearing the ridiculous metal hat.

  ‘Well, perhaps you can introduce us one day.’

  ‘Have you ever been married?’

  ‘No. I’ve pursued knowledge for I love it more than I love eating wholesome pies. But times change and I won’t be working for the AAA forever. It’s time for me to settle down. Travelling to other galaxies takes its toll on a man.’

  ‘I can’t imagine travelling to other galaxies.’

  ‘You will. By the way, in case you’re wondering, you stayed in this bedroom as a child, when Marion and Jeremy babysat for your parents. Marion thought it’d be nice if you slept in this room again. She had hoped to be able to go through the boxes on top of the wardrobe with you. They’re filled with photographs of your family.’

  ‘Really!’ With an excited expression, Connor hurried across the room to drag a wonky old chair from a dressing table to the wardrobe. Sparkie stopped him.

  ‘Why make life difficult for yourself?’

  ‘But I’m not.’ Connor itched to look in the boxes.

  ‘Let’s see how strong your powers are. Use your mind to move them.’

  ‘Use my mind? I’m not sure what you mean. Wouldn’t it be easier to use my hands?’

  ‘Yes, but let’s try this first. If you can’t, don’t worry. Call it a trial experiment. Use the power of your mind,’ Sparkie explained. He lifted his head and peered down the end of his nose, whilst adopting a matter-of-fact voice. ‘You’ll learn more about it at the AAA. They have useful training courses. Focus and believe in yourself. Concentrate clearly on what you want to do and it will happen. Visualise the boxes floating across the room and landing on the bed and it will happen.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  Although Connor wasn’t a hundred per cent convinced he opened the
drawer, he’d managed to heal Tookar, not to mention a hospital ward full of children.

  ‘Quickly lad!’ urged Sparkie.

  Connor tried to remember the appearance of each box as he closed his eyes. He tried to visualise them in his mind’s eye. It took a while before this happened but once he pictured them, he willed them to lift off the wardrobe and land on the bed. Could it really be so simple? At some point between the boxes leaving the wardrobe and travelling to the bed, Connor opened his eyes a fraction. Perhaps if his eyes had remained shut, the boxes would have landed safely. But as he peeped at the boxes floating in the air, he gasped in surprise, lost his concentration and watched as they fell with a thud right on top of Sparkie.

  ‘OW!’ yelled Sparkie, raising his arms in defence. He slumped to the floor, disappearing beneath a pile of photographs.

  ‘Sparkie!’ Connor called urgently, pulling the boxes off him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it – they fell – I couldn’t stop them from falling. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?’

  Groaning loudly, Sparkie woke, a drunken grin on his face. He blinked his eyes several times.

  ‘Don’t fuss lad. It’s my fault. First time I’ve had stars spin past my eyes though. I shouldn’t have made you try something so ambitious. It’s okay. I’ll live. It’s nothing a cup of tea can’t put right.’ Connor helped Sparkie to stand. ‘But I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to do that. I know the Starstone contains many powers, but you’re coming along in leaps and bounds already.’

  ‘I’m such a jerk!’ Connor fumed.

  Sparkie chuckled. ‘Let’s say, a few lessons wouldn’t go amiss at this stage. I’m going to the kitchen. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks and I’m really sorry!’

  ‘I know you are.’ Sparkie had a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘The Starstone chose you!’

  Connor watched the door close, leaving him alone in the room. Sparkie’s words rang loud and clear. Something good must be inside him that the Starstone favoured, but he didn’t know what. He tidied the photographs and stacked them neatly into the boxes. When he’d finished, he hauled the boxes on to the soft bed, searching for more clues to his past. Rummaging inside the boxes were the missing pieces of his early childhood, where he had known love and security. Somewhere over the years he’d lost both. Now he had a chance to recapture some traces of his past and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.