The Pickpocket

Chapter 22 - A Little Bit Of Death

“Tell you what…” I said quietly, grabbing Dad’s arm. I spoke softly so that Evil Owen couldn’t hear. “It would be a good time to roll, spin, twist, snap, flip, flip, roll and land, wouldn’t it?”

Evil Owen frowned, unable to understand what I was saying. Dad grinned and nodded.

“Especially if we did it facing backwards. Now that would be a challenge, wouldn’t it?” Dad added. My eyes glittered mischieviously and I pulled myself around until I was beside Dad, facing in the same direction.

“On three?”

“Okay.”

“One…” Dad said loudly.

“Two…” I added, louder still. Dad glanced at me and we finished the sequence at exactly the same time and volume.

“THREE!”

We launched ourselves backwards, hitting Evil Owen in the chest and face. There was a horrible crunching sound and its head came off. I grimaced. That was my fault.

Lights flashed and a booming noise echoed around the tunnel. Evil Owen’s body started to disintegrate, vanishing into the air around us. The tunnel swallowed the larger chunks up then began to close in on me and Dad.

“Dad…”

“I know,” Dad replied quietly. He reached out a hand and the wall swallowed it up. I heard screaming from the other side of the wall and frowned.

“There’s people out there!” I yelled, excitement lending my voice strength. Dad turned his head and frowned at me.

“How can you tell?” he said suspiciously. I rolled my eyes and shoved him through the wall. The air around me literally turned blue with all the swearing.

“Jamie Hatchett!” Dad bellowed through the tunnel wall. “Come out here immediately!”

“Alright!” I called back. “Get ready to catch me!” I readied myself to jump through the wall but just before I went something grabbed my back. I could feel cool air on my neck and realised that the tunnel wall on the other side was swallowing me up and depositing me in a different time! I screamed out for Dad but it was too late. I landed with a thud on the living room sofa. After sitting there for about five minutes, stunned into silence, realisation of what had just happened hit me. I curled up into a little ball and began to cry.

 

*

 

I looked around me. People were staring at me in shock. A child, about ten years old, held up a shaking arm and took a picture of me on a wafer thin, oddly large phone. I recognised the make of phone but not the brand. I frowned and tried to take in my surroundings.

I was stood in a cemetery. Everyone around me was dressed in black and seemed oddly small. Then I realised that I was standing on the coffin.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, climbing down and landing on the grass, “sorry.”

“Dad…” the child with the phone said, tugging on a young man’s arm. He turned around and crouched down to face his son.

“Yes, Billy?”

“That man looks like Grandpa did. Y’know, the photos you had of him.” The child pointed at me and the young man looked up. His eyes widened in shock then narrowed in suspicion.

“Jamie…” I whispered. The young man stood up and pulled his son backwards slightly. He took a step towards me until we were face to face. I realised with a jolt that he was taller than me.

“I don’t know who you are, or who sent you, but this is a sick joke to play,” he hissed suddenly. I blinked in surprise and tried a smile.

“No, Jamie, listen-”

“This is a sick and twisted thing to do so you can just-”

“Dad!” the child interrupted. Jamie looked around. The boy was stood right behind him.

“What is it, Billy?”

“What if it is Grandpa? Y’know, maybe he ended up in this time with the watch energy.” The boy smiled at me and I smiled back. Jamie crouched down so that he was at his son’s level again.

“Billy, I don’t know why your mom told you that story - she didn’t believe me when I told her - but there isn’t a chance of him coming back. He died, Billy. The tunnel crushed him.”

The boy was quiet for a minute. Then he said, in a whisper so quiet that Jamie had to lean closer to be able to hear him: “So dead people can’t come back?”

“Don’t be stupid,” a woman stood behind Jamie snapped. She pulled him to his feet roughly and dragged the child away. “I don’t know why you have infected this child’s brain - God knows why my sister married you - but I shall not permit it.” The woman had the same red hair as the boy but he had the same brown eyes as Jamie.

“He’s my son, Ursula,” Jamie said, instantly defensive. I recognised the tone and it made me smile. It was the same tone I used if anyone ever tried to hurt Jamie.

“He has the classic red hair of the Milvers,” Ursula sniffed. The boy reached up a hand to touch his hair and his other thumb went to his mouth.

“But he has the classic Hatchett eyes,” I said quietly. Ursula turned to me, eyes blazing. I raised an eyebrow.

“Explain,” she spat at me. I stepped backwards, careful not to touch the coffin. I’d worked out by now that the coffin was Jamie’s wife’s, the boy’s mother’s. Ursula’s sister’s.

“Rich brown eyes that shouldn’t match the colouring of the hair but do,” I replied. Jamie smiled and the boy giggled, thumb still in mouth. Ursula took a step towards me and I kicked out with my foot. She toppled over, into the grave. There was a collective gasp from the rest of the funeral procession. Jamie’s hands flew to his mouth but his son started to laugh. It was infectious and soon Jamie and I were laughing too.

“Listen,” I said eventually, feeling a now all-too-familiar pull on my shoulders, “I have to go. I won’t tell the Jamie that I know about this, because I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. But if I do, I’ll tell him that he has a beautiful boy and that I trip his sister-in-law into a grave. That alright?” Jamie nodded and smiled sadly.

“See ya round, kiddo,” I said softly as I was dragged back into the tunnel. “See ya.”

 

*

 

I felt wind brushing against my clothes and saw Dad half stuck in the wall. He waved at me and I laughed.

“What on Earth are you doing?” I giggled, holding a hand over my mouth. Dad raised an eyebrow and wiggled his free arm around.

“I appear to be stuck,” he replied. “And- oh wait.” His smile vanished and a look of concentration replaced it. He murmured something to himself and his eyes widened. Dad began to struggle, trying to pull himself free.

“Dad? D’you need a hand?” I asked, concerned. He shook his head and waved me back.

“I’ll be… fine… kiddo…” he gasped, face contorting in pain. I stayed back and watched as Dad was slowly crushed by the tunnel wall coming into our reality. He shut his eyes tightly and smiled sadly.

“See ya round, kiddo,” he whispered. A crunching sound blotted out the rest of his words. I turned away and held my hands over my ears, eyes screwed shut. When I turned around again all that was left was a large smear of blood on the wall.